Archive of Our Own (BETA rev. 2101)

"Are you quite certain this is the right way?" asked Helga, looking at her husband nervously. The forest was very thick around here, the road was muddy, and the village was -- well, non-existent. Rowena resolved to bring her broom next time.

Basil Hufflepuff squinted at his map, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth. "Nearly," he said, though he wasn't very convincing.

"Nearly quite certain?" asked Helga.

"Nearly quite certain," agreed Basil.

"I say we should go back to that little hermitage and ask for directions," said Helga.

"What?" asked Basil. "When we could be enjoying the wilderness?" He raised his arms to indicate the dark green foliage surrounding them.

"In case you haven't noticed, we are not just in the middle of nowhere," said Rowena. "We are in the epicenter of nowhere. This place practically radiates nothingness. Let me see the map." Rowena had been Helga's best friend since they were both six, and even then she had always been certain that she knew the best way to do anything.

"I can read, milady," said Basil.

"I know," snapped Rowena. Her dark eyebrows came together. "And don't call me 'milady.'"

Basil shot Helga a mischievous glance. "Yes, milady," he said, performing a peculiar half-bow.

Rowena groaned. "Helga," she sighed, "please tell him to stop calling me 'milady.' It's aggravating enough when Helena does it." Helena was Rowena's daughter. She had been left at Rowena's castle while the three adults searched for a suitable Transfiguration professor.

"Basil," scolded Helga, "you know perfectly well that you should address Rowena as 'Your Highness' at all ti--"

"Not you too!" said Rowena. Finding herself without allies, Rowena simply grabbed the map from Basil's hand and read it herself. She squinted, as she was rather nearsighted, and finally decided that Basil had been right. "Well, come on," she said, motioning for Helga and Basil to follow her.

Helga and Rowena were hoping to start some sort of school for magic, with Basil's rather hesitant participation. Helga's idea had been to teach children the basics of the most important sorts of magic. Helga's mother had tutored Rowena when she was small, as well as several other fortunate children, but it was hardly uncommon for the child of two gifted magicians to get no tutoring at all in the area they were most talented in, simply because there were no Transfigurators or magical theoreticians for miles, or Herbology was looked upon as suitable only for the very lowest classes, or their parents were just too poor to afford proper dueling lessons. This, they had decided, was a problem that needed solving.

Helga had no qualms about teaching something suitable only for the very lowest classes -- she had made quite a lot of money, designing botanical security systems for paranoid nobles, and she was extremely good at what she did. Rowena, meanwhile, had never actually had to work for herself, but her skill had always been in magical theory -- charms were what she found most interesting. And though Helga would never have told him so, it was for her husband's sake that they had really decided to go through with the idea, because Basil had been a top duelist until he'd been bitten on a werewolf hunt and barred from competition.

They would find their Potions professor later; experts in potions were not particularly difficult to come by, in fact, and it was more a matter of finding one whose knowledge was fairly well rounded, rather than one who specialized in poisons or healing potions or cooking.

So today the three had set off in search of a Transfigurator to employ. Transfigurators were rather rare beasts, as it took a great deal of training and knowledge to do anything of practical use. Their first object had been Thaddeus Fudge, possibly the most well known Transfigurator in all of Britain. However, on the long journey, Rowena had had a lot of time to think about the great man.

For one thing, she'd seen him. Only once, very briefly, and across a long feast table, it was true. But she had caught a glimpse of his aura through her aura-lens. It was very weak, she'd noticed, and greyish. Someone as powerful as Fudge would have to have had a bright aura, indicating a strong gift in magic.

Nevertheless, someone was transfiguring all those things. She reasoned that it whoever it was had to be rather weak-willed, considering how they had let the opportunity to become rich slip past them -- but that made no sense, because skill in transfigurations tended to mean stubbornness and inflexibility. The person was definitely a more powerful wizard or witch than Fudge had ever been, so perhaps they were famous in their own right? Unfortunately, the village he lived in was a singularly unremarkable place that had produced no one of any importance besides Fudge. Rowena had even wondered if the true Transfigurator was a charitable noble who'd taken pity on Fudge, but the only nearby nobles were very thoroughly Muggle, as was most of the surrounding area.

And then Rowena had looked at the name of the village. Gryffindor's Hollow. And she had remembered someone who fit the description perfectly -- a weak-willed but occasionally rather stubborn wizard with such strong talent that Helga's mother had agreed to tutor him, if only for a few years. He'd been born to Muggles and had lived in a village called Gryffindor, and his name had been Godric. As with many villages, a small magical counterpart, Gryffindor's Hollow, had sprung up to the side, hidden from Muggles with enchantments and lots of nice solid trees and hills and things. A Confounder was usually stationed in the Muggle area, instructed to offer minor aid to the Muggles, to watch their children for signs of magic, and to keep everybody complacent.

Of course, the last time she'd seen Godric he'd been rather young to charge money for his magic, and she hadn't really given him much thought over the years -- there'd been that disturbance with the goblins, and she'd been married for several years and had Helena, and they certainly had never been friends. Far from it. But he'd been good at transfigurations and surprisingly clever at Latin, and easy to bully, so she'd been rather fond of him in a way.

After that, there was the problem of finding a place for the school. The castle Rowena and her daughter were living in now didn't actually belong to Rowena at all. It had at one point belonged to Rowena's husband Lord Ravenclaw, but he had mysteriously taken ill several years previously and died. His will dictated that, until such time as either Rowena or her daughter were married, most of his money and property would go toward the care and feeding of his hunting dogs, with only a small portion to support the two women. The rest went towards a monastery. Rowena reflected rather bitterly that he would have felt differently if Helena'd been a boy, but those had been the terms of the will, and at least they were permitted to live in the castle, if not to set up a school of magic within it.

But now was not the time to worry about inheritances. By this time they had reached the tiny cluster of houses that dared call itself a village. Evidently, Rowena's earlier statement had been quite wrong -- this was the epicenter of nowhere. Except for an inn with a picture of a green crow hanging over the entrance, and a rather large house that bore the man-changing-into-a-toad sign of a Transfigurator, there was really nothing of interest.

"All right," said Rowena, "Fudge has to know where he is, let's go break his door down and threaten him."

"Why don't we just go to the inn?" Helga said. "Everyone in the village is probably there regularly, so they'd know where Godric is and when he'll be stopping by."

"...are you certain that this Godric fellow is about to just drop everything and come along with us?" Basil asked, uncertainly. "Perhaps he's quite happy here. Perhaps he's a vampire or something," he continued, "that'd explain why he'd bother with Fudge at all. If I had a twin who'd pretend to be me during the full moon..."

"Don't be silly," said Helga, "Godric wouldn't get bitten by a vampire, he was always very good at running quickly in the other direction." Unlike Basil, Rowena thought, but she knew not to bring that up.

"Yes, he'd probably be terrified at the very idea," said Rowena. "...Helga, did the Runt even know about vampires? He was Muggleborn." Godric had always been rather short, and so he'd been subjected to a whole host of amusing and clever nicknames. Well, clever if you happened to be twelve.

"You know, I don't know," said Helga, frowning, "but the Muggles have all sorts of stories about magic, and they do tend to focus on the worst of it, so it's possible."

"Yes, but we're going to need a backup Transfigurator, is all," said Basil, who didn't seem to have realized who was in charge just yet. "We should have a backup Transfigurator."

"I don't see why," said Rowena. "If he really is happy here, we can just make him unhappy," she said sensibly. "Until he comes with us." It had always worked in the past.

"Yes, but what if he doesn't?"

"Basil, do shut up, dear, you're just holding us up," said Helga, not unkindly. "I've no doubt we can make him very unhappy if we need to. Come on, let's find Runty." She led the three into the inn.

The noise was the first thing Rowena noticed on entering the inn. Apparently the entire male population of the village was in here, discussing various terribly important -- and loud -- subjects. Then the sour smell of bad ale assaulted her nose. A fight had broken out in the back of the room, and a man who looked about twice as tall as anyone else was attempting to break it up, pleading, "Would you both please sit down and shut up! This is the third time I've had to keep you from breaking his nose!" It looked like a truly dismal place.

"Excuse me," began Basil, speaking to the innkeeper, who was apparently slightly deaf. Small wonder why, Rowena thought. "Er, excuse me?" he tried again, louder.

"Who're you?" asked the innkeeper.

Basil tried to dodge the issue of his name, as anybody who followed dueling would know what he was. "We've just come here fr--" But the innkeeper didn't wait for an answer. He tossed a silver sickle at Basil, who promptly recoiled.

"Well go on, then," sneered the innkeeper. "Pick it up!"

Basil continued to avoid it. "Helga, would you please --"

"You're a vampire," growled the innkeeper. Helga winced.

"Now look here!" snarled Basil. "I'm a werewolf, not a vampire -- yes, there's a rather significant difference between the two, thanks very much -- and it's not as if either would want to bite you, because you look like you're already rotting. If you want your bloody Sickle you can pick it up yourself."

"Do something!" Helga whispered to Rowena.

"You do something!" Rowena hissed back. "You married him!"

"Excuse me?" It was the huge man who'd broken up the fight in the back of the inn. He was staring down at Basil and the innkeeper. "Is there a problem?" Rowena couldn't see his face, but he sounded rather annoyed. It seemed to be his job to break up fights.

Helga poked Rowena in the ribs. "Rowena! Use your Infinitely Superior Noblewoman Voice!" she hissed.

"I was just getting to that," said Rowena. She cleared her throat, brought out her wand, and said, in the most commanding tone she could muster, "Excuse me! Do you know who you are dealing with?" All right, so far so good. "I am Lady Rowena Ravenclaw, daughter of Lady Ophelia Aeaeae, and I should hope you'd know that name. He's in our group. Leave him alone."

The man turned to face her before she could start shouting at the innkeeper, and Rowena saw his face. It was familiar, but it took her a few moments to work out why. Rowena thought it needed to be muddy to have the right effect. "Rowena?" he asked. He blinked. "And Helga?"

"Godric!" Rowena exclaimed. "There you are! We were looking for you! ...what happened to you?" Not only was he much taller than everyone else, but he looked so worn out, as though he hadn't slept for days. This was not the Godric she'd expected. He just looked so tired and defeated -- not to mention half-starved -- that no wonder he'd rely on a nothing like Fudge.

"It's a long story," he said, wincing. "I thought you'd married a Muggle, not a werewolf," he said, blinking.

"Oh, Basil is Helga's," said Rowena, "mine's dead."

"...Oh. Er. I'm sorry," he said.

She shrugged. "Don't be. He was only a Muggle."

"But what are you doing here?" he asked. "Sorry about that," he told Basil, "Andrew always gets werewolves and vampires mixed up." Basil was still gaping at Godric with a deer-in-the-wandlight sort of look, and seemed not to have heard him.

"Not like there's much difference," Andrew muttered to himself.

"It's not the full moon, and anyway, vampires never pay when they leave, or eat or drink anything except the fellow guests," said Godric. "Werewolves are a much sounder investment, on the whole." He bent down and picked up the silver sickle, and dropped it onto the counter. Basil was still staring at him, halfway between shock, relief, and horror. "Is something wrong?" asked Godric, this time sounding concerned and rather worried. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Basil's expression broke as he was startled back into the real world. "Er -- what? I -- no --"

"This is my husband Basil," said Helga quickly. "He means well, really, he's just a bit -- Basil, stop gawping!"

Godric rolled his eyes. "It's all right, I'm used to it."

Rowena said, "Look, can we talk? And not in here, it's too noisy."

He nodded silently. Rowena studied his face for clues as to why he was in... well, whatever situation he was in. All she could tell was that he looked quite unhappy and terribly tired. He turned and led them up a flight of stairs to a doorway that she thought must be his room.

* * *

Godric usually brushed off gawpers and curious patrons with a glower, but he really wanted to know what could possibly bring Helga and Rowena to this horrible little village. If they'd wanted something transfigured by old Fudge, they'd be better off owling it to him. Or, for that matter, owling it to me. But they seemed to be looking for me. I can't imagine what they'd want with me.

After stomping up a flight of stairs, Godric turned to face his room's door. He put his hand in his pocket for the key, already knowing he'd left it in the room. "That's the second time this week," he muttered, and motioned for Rowena, Helga, and -- Basil, was it? -- to step back. Sighing, he pushed the door down, then looked tiredly back at the three. They were all staring openmouthed. He sighed. "Locked myself out," he explained. "Happens all the time," he added, trying to shrug it off. It was his routine remedy for others' astonishment.

Rowena recovered first. "Don't you have a wand?" she asked.

"Too expensive," he said.

She looked a bit disappointed. "Why don't any of your sentences have subjects?" she asked, changing the topic.

"What?" asked Godric, blinking.

"You said, and I quote, 'Locked myself out,' 'Happens all the time,' and 'Too expensive.' You should've said, 'I locked myself out,' 'This happens all the time,' and 'Wands are too expensive.' The last one was missing a verb as well," she added.

"Right," said Godric, deciding then and there to leave out as many words from his sentences as possible. It would irritate her, he knew, especially after she'd corrected him. Irritating Rowena was always fun, and he hadn't had the chance to do it for at least ten years. He smirked to himself as he put the door back in the frame and fixed it with his limited wandless magical ability.

Godric didn't have any furniture, as he spent all his money on necessities -- food and books, mainly -- but even so, the room was very small, especially with him in it. Helga, in trying to make room, stumbled into a tall stack of books on the floor. "I'll get them," she said, starting to stack them again.

Rowena, ever the assistant of Murphy's Law, spotted one particular book and picked it up. "Now this one I don't recognize as a standard transfigurator's manual," she said. Grinning, she added, "I was right, though. Fudge isn't really Fudge!"

"...what?" asked Godric.

"Thaddeus Fudge," said Rowena. "You're transfiguring things for him, aren't you?"

"Er... no," he said. Two syllables, he thought. Does 'er' really count?

"If that's true," said Rowena, "then why do you have a copy of the Voluma Animaguum? And it's more expensive than a wand, too. Or at least, mine was. Did you steal it? No, you wouldn't be able to. You'd have trouble sneaking away, I bet," she said looking up at him.

"I --" started Godric. This would be tough to explain in monosyllables. "All right," he said, "I give up. I have been transfiguring things for Fudge, but it's not anything illegal. Right?" he added, as he wasn't quite sure himself.

"I knew it!" shrieked Rowena. She looked quite happily mad. "Oh, yes, I knew it! I knew you wouldn't fail us, Runt!" she said.

"...I think I've missed something important here," said Godric, still a bit worried, and quite concerned about his book.

"Godric," she said, "how would you like a job?" And at this sentence, a tiny bit of the fear turned into hope.

"You mean it?" he said. "A real job? I -- I mean -- it's not anything stupid, is it?"

"Yes, Godric, we've tracked you down through Fudge's Transfiguration to ask you to collect some rubbish for us," said Helga, rolling her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. We're starting a school. I'm doing Herbology and Rowena wants to teach charms and reading and languages, and Basil's tackling dueling and defensive magic. And we want you to teach transfiguration. If you're really Fudge, you're the best there is anywhere."

"Oh." It was a very small 'oh.' He blinked. "...but I can't teach," he said.

"Oh come on," said Helga. "Have you ever tried?"

"No," said Godric, "but I'll scare all the children away," he said. "I mean, look at me." No one would take him for anything but some sort of dimwitted troll-creature like this, after all.

"No, you will not," said Rowena sternly. "However," she said, "you will turn that Voluma Animaguum over to me."

Godric was startled out of his cringing. "What?" he said in horror. "No!" he said. Rowena, however, had taken the book. "That -- that's mine!" he said. "I bought it myself. Give it back!"

"No," she said. "This is a very dangerous --"

"And how would you know?" said Godric. It was a dangerous thing to attempt becoming an Animagus, but he didn't have much to lose. "You said yourself you were going to teach Charms. You came to me for Transfiguration."

She was insulted. "I never said I didn't know anything about Transfiguration," said Rowena.

"You're trying to work it out too, aren't you?" It wasn't fair; he'd worked for ages to be able to go to all the way to Dunn's Torre and see the supposed copy that was there, and when it'd turned out to be real and not a hoax, he was so pleased he could barely bring himself to go back home and work for the money to buy it. And she'd probably just wandered over to the bookseller's and asked for it, and had it imported from God-knew-where, and not thought twice! And she was smarter than him, too, so of course she'd get it worked out before he could.

"And what if I am?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong with that? Are you afraid I'm going to steal your little victory, Runt? Oh, of course you are -- as if you'd be able to work it out before I did." She snorted.

"You give that back," said Godric, "it's mine."

"I'd really rather not," said Rowena. "I wouldn't want our Transfiguration professor to inadvertently turn himself into a baboon. Unless you'd rather not have the job? Well, I should probably take the book anyway. For your own safety, you know." She turned to leave.

"Stop," said Godric from behind her. She didn't stop. He was expecting that, actually, and he picked her up and turned her around so she was facing him.

"I thought you couldn't teach," she said, glowering at him and clinging to the book.

"I can't," he said. "But if you give me the book, I'll do it." He couldn't lose the progress he'd made. "Anyway, who else are you going to be able to bully into a job?"

"I told you we should have had a backup," Basil said.

"Fine," she said. "I'll give you your book back. But you're just going to be terribly disappointed when I manage to become an Animagus before you."

"I don't think I'll be too disappointed. Especially since I'm going to win." This was a complete lie, but it made him feel better.

"Fine, fine, whatever you say." She held out the book and rolling her eyes. "Now put me down!"

He took the book and put her down. "I'm sorry about that," he told Helga and Basil as Rowena recovered from her brief humiliation. "I should be more careful about where I leave things." He glanced pointedly at Rowena, who ignored him.

"We're leaving tomorrow at dawn," said Helga, still uncertain of what was going on.

"And if you aren't there," said Rowena, "we'll leave without you."

"Fine." He shooed them out. "Goodnight," he said. "It's been good to see you again, Helga, and I'm glad to meet -- Basil?"

Basil nodded. Helga smiled, just as uncertainly. If looks could kill, however, Rowena would've been a murderess. Godric ignored this and put aside his anger for a few seconds. After he had repaired the door, he looked out the window at the cloudy skies above.

My God, he thought, I'm not going to starve to death! I have a job! He felt like dancing around the room, laughing. A real job! he thought in elation. He grabbed a quill, dipped it in black ink, and wrote on the inside cover of the book, This book belongs to Godric of Gryffindor, and if any book-stealing fiend should forget that, they'd do well to remember it quickly. He stabbed the page savagely to make a 'full stop' mark and underlined the word 'fiend' for effect.
Then, after making sure his new employers were safely out of earshot, he ran downstairs to tell old Andrew the innkeeper that he was quitting, jumping down the stairs about five at a time and whooping, "I'm leaving!"

He had no idea what he was in for.

Rowena turned around and looked down the busy cobbled street, sighing. "GODRIC, COME ON!" she shouted, and rolled her eyes as he trudged sheepishly over. "You'd think you'd never been to London before," she said, shaking her head.

"Well, I haven't," he said, staring around. "There are an awful lot of people..."

"What, this? This is nothing," said Rowena, snorting. "It's too early for most people who don't absolutely have to be here."

"Why?" Godric blinked.

"Well, most people have to fly in, you know," she said. "Or walk, even." She shuddered. Rowena liked flying, and so she usually volunteered to fly ahead and summon the Transport Key, but to have to walk everywhere must be awful. It had been bad enough traipsing through the forest and going in circles for hours. The problem, she thought, was that maps made far more sense from above than they did from the ground. Well, minus the sea serpents drawn in the corners, she supposed, but Rowena'd never been on a boat.

"Walking's not bad," said Godric, still gawking and not really looking where he was going. It was all right -- he was big enough that everybody automatically avoided him. She supposed he was used to it by now.

"Well, I don't like it," said Rowena. "It's slow, and muddy, and -- Godric, don't wander off, otherwise we'll never find you again," she said, although this was perhaps not exactly true. "Come on, you need a wand," she said, "it's just in here." She watched as he grimaced at the prospect of fitting himself through the tiny door of the shop, and, ignoring his plight, pushed it open. "Ollivander!" she shouted, and immediately regretted it -- the heavy silence put her in mind of a library, and not just any dismal ten-book monastery library, but some great and important ancient library with marble columns all down the front and thick walls to keep the temperature constant. "...Master Ollivander?" she asked, in a somewhat more respectful tone of voice.

There was an imposing silence.

"Excuse me? Hello?" She felt like a four-year-old sneaking around in her mum's room. "Godric, come on!" she hissed, feeling that if she did end up getting caught, she'd rather get caught along with a twelve-foot-plus acquaintance.

"Mistress Aeaeae?" The white-haired man with those odd silver eyes came out from behind a shelf, startling Rowena rather a lot. "Or is it Lady Ravenclaw now? Ten and a quarter inches, rather inflexible, manticore claw, I believe."

"Yes, it is," said Rowena, trying to look confident and unspooked, and clutching her wand a bit protectively.

"I heard about your husband's untimely demise," he said. The look of his eyes made her shiver a bit, and she recalled tales of grey-eyed Athena. Athena was her favorite of the gods, but hardly ever kind.

"Yes, well. Muggles never live long," she said.

"And who is your gentleman friend?" Ollivander asked, looking significantly at a spot several yards above her head.

"Oh, this is Godric. Godric, this is Master Ollivander the wandmaker. Best fine wands in London. Godric's a Transfigurator," babbled Rowena. "I'm buying him a wand, so don't worry about the price."

"Hullo," said Godric cautiously.

"A Transfigurator, you say," said Ollivander, looking him up and down. It was not even a rhetorical question. "Something powerful, I suppose."

Godric looked a bit dismayed, for some reason. "Oh, I don't know about --"

"I do," said Ollivander. "I'll see what might work. Something you won't lose or break."

Rowena couldn't help but snort at that, as she knew Godric's memory and luck had always been particularly poor. Godric's expression of dismay had only deepened.

And the wiry old man walked back into the depths of his shop.

"Is he always like that?" Godric whispered.

"Like what?"

"...terrifying?"

"I suspect so," she said. "Actually, I haven't seen him since Mum took me for a wand when I was four... you know, he should probably be dead by now. Perhaps it was his father."

They both shut up, however, as Ollivander glided into the room bearing several large and ornately-decorated boxes. "One of these may work," said Ollivander, carefully setting them on the counter. "Wave it in the air," he said. Godric looked rather doubtful, and poked the air with one of the wands rather gingerly, as though he was afraid he might break something.

"Oh, for gods' sakes, just wave it, you're not going to break anything beyond repair," Rowena finally snapped, getting annoyed.

"Your Transfiguration professor is a bit of an odd choice, don't you think?" Ollivander said quietly, as Godric tried the wands.

"Well, he's a -- who said he was a professor?" Rowena demanded.

"Well, I had simply assumed. Associating oneself with a Transfigurator and covering various large expenses of his when one is running around the British Isles looking for a conveniently university-sized castle... or is he a student?"

"He probably ought to be," Rowena muttered, watching Godric try another wand rather cautiously. "Does everybody really know about the school?"

Ollivander nodded.

"Oh well," said Rowena, shrugging. "More of the right sort of students that way. ...right?"

Ollivander shrugged. "My trade is wandmaking, milady. Nothing more."

"Of course, more students," said Rowena quickly. "It was a rhetorical question." She felt stupid.

"I see." The old man looked amused, but it was rather hard to tell. Rowena felt rather like smacking him.

"Um. What am I looking for exactly?" Godric asked worriedly.

"Just keep trying them," said Ollivander calmly. "It's not your choice to make. Hmm." He studied Godric for a moment. "Try the holly and giant bone -- no, the box on the left. Your other left, yes, that one. Which reminds me... Mistress Aeaeae, I was never quite satisfied with the wand your mother gave you."

"What? It's Lady Ravenclaw," snapped Rowena, who usually preferred people not to use her title, "and I happen to like it." She clung to her wand.

"Oh, it's a fine wand, of course," said Ollivander. "I made it, after all. It just isn't quite a match."

She frowned. "You said it chose me when I got it. You said it was a perfect match."

He dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. "And it hasn't been misbehaving, has it?"

"No. No, of course not. Why would it be?"

"I confess that I myself am not entirely certain what is wrong with it, if anything. Have you lost any significant duels lately? ...may I look at it?"

"No, of course not, and you're looking at it right now," Rowena said, glaring.

And without another question, Ollivander simply grabbed Rowena's wand from her.

"You can't do that!" she sputtered as he ran his hands over the grain of the wand's wood, frowning in concentration and, of course, not heeding her at all.

"Hm. Yes, it seems to be in good working order... if you ever have any problems with it, of course, bring it here." He looked a bit unsettled as he handed her wand back, and Rowena took this to mean he'd been wrong. When other people were wrong, it usually meant that she was right, and that plus the safe return of her wand made her feel much better.

Godric was also looking unsettled, she saw, when she turned to see how he was progressing. "This one shot sparks, sir. Is it supposed to do that? I didn't break anything, did I?"

"Here, let me see that one... ah, dragon heartstring and oak. Quite powerful, yes. I ought to have known."

"Oh. All right," said Godric, looking very lost. While Ollivander had his back turned putting the wand back in its box, Godric shot her a mystified look. Rowena shrugged, and mouthed I think he's mad. At this he nodded wholeheartedly.

"Well, there you go," said Ollivander, handing the box to Godric. "That will be all?"

"Yes," said Rowena. "Come on, Godric." Clutching the box as though it was going to fly out of his hands at any moment, Godric ducked out of the shop.

"Shouldn't we, you know, pay for it?" he asked once they were out.

"Oh, no, every cutpurse in the city's after us anyway, didn't you notice?" she asked. "I'll send an owl with the money. Better a beak and a good pair of talons between my gold and thieves than a bit of cloth and leather."

"I don't think most people would try to take my money," he said doubtfully. "I don't think most people could reach it. If I had any."

"Good," said Rowena, "I can send you down here to buy things." At this, he looked absolutely terrified, and she smirked.

* * *

Rowena liked flying, because it gave her time alone to think, but she was quite glad when she finally saw Lord Slytherin's castle in the distance. She'd been surprised when she'd received the owl from Slytherin's son, as her mother and Lord Slytherin had some sort of long-standing political disagreement. She'd hesitated in taking them up on the offer, until she realized how very angry it would make her mum. Besides, what other large castle came with a Potions professor and an Arithmancer?

She'd been having second thoughts, though, so she was reassured when the castle came into view. It was bright and solid and modern-looking, she thought, and the surrounding forest and lake would probably keep the number of unwanted visitors to a minimum. Not to mention the guardian trees Helga had made. From this distance, Rowena thought they looked like weeping willows, but she'd seen them up close, and she knew what they did. Avoiding the willows, and guiding her broom down gently -- she much preferred dropping straight down and then stopping the broom at the last possible moment, but that would have been undignified -- Rowena squinted and managed to pick out a blob that was a shade darker than the grass of the lawn. Landing, she wandered up to it.

"Lady Rowena?" it said, and resolved itself into a dark-haired man in deep green robes. "I'm Jasper Slytherin," he said warmly. "Pleased to meet you." He took her hand to kiss it.

Rowena shook his hand firmly instead. "As am I," she said, a carefully neutral expression on her face. She'd never actually spoken with a Slytherin, because while she hadn't quite been raised to believe they all had venomous fangs and split tongues, they were still the Evil Enemy of House Aeaeae.

"Er, well... this is the castle," he said, waving vaguely with one hand. This one looked rather lacking in the fang-and-tongue department, and his skin was red and peeling. The last time Rowena'd met an overly-friendly man with bad sunburn, he'd been a vampire, so she supposed the fangs were still a possibility.

"I had realized that, thank you," she replied. "I suppose I ought to Summon my colleagues. Should I do that here?"

"What? Oh, certainly," he said, "I suppose everyone's still using those Transport Keys?"

Rowena looked strangely at him. "Do you know of any other way?"

He nodded eagerly. "It's called Auto-Apportation -- I invented it myself, you see. In Damascus! I just got back."

"I see," said Rowena. She supposed that explained the sunburn. Unless he was a vampire, of course. She didn't encourage him to rant any further, but she knew it was probably inevitable.

"Of course, it still requires having been to the place you're going, and a good deal of magic, but..." She let him blather on. It seemed to involve a good deal of Arithmancy, which Rowena understood well enough, but had never been her favorite subject. While he spoke, Rowena laid out the pentagram with which she would magnify her power in order to Summon the Transport Key. Then she shook out the seeds of Transportwort that Helga'd given her. She wasn't really very good at transfiguring the seeds into Platonic solids, because her dodecahedrons almost always turned out not to be proper dodecahedrons, and for some reason her tetrahedrons liked to be square pyramids instead. Finally she managed a good cube, placed it in the center of the pentagram, and then stood and waited for him to finish babbling before she Banished it back to London and then did the Summoning Charm.

"And of course, if you could skip all the messing about with transfiguration and the seeds and all that, you could just go wherever you liked in the blink of--"

"Do you have proof?" asked Rowena, cutting Jasper off mid-sentence.

"I -- Of course I have a proof!" He seemed insulted, and then, before Rowena's eyes, he popped! out of existence.

"Er... hello?" She wondered what she'd got herself into, but then, he might've just come up with a variation on an Invisibility Incantation.

Pop! "Here it is!" he said from behind her. Rowena turned and saw him carrying a thick scroll. "Haven't got the coordinates exact yet -- that's a bit dangerous, I suppose I might end up in the lake one of these days -- but it works in theory."

"I'm going to Summon them now," said Rowena, "so would you please be quiet?"

"Oh!" he said. "Er, yes, I'll go inside. Yes. Sorry." With another pop! he disappeared.

Rowena took a deep breath and Banished the cube-seed. She gave them a few minutes to surround it and touch it while she concentrated on the charm. All her concentration had to be on this one spell if she wanted Helga, Basil, and Godric to arrive in one piece. Not that she'd mind if Godric got split in two, but then she'd be short of a Transfiguration professor. Actually, now there would probably be enough of him left for at least two decent professors, she decided.

"Accio!" she intoned.

There was a tremendous rush of wind, and suddenly Helga, Basil and Godric were standing there. Helga had fastened herself to Basil's arm, and Godric looked very green, in contrast with his new red cloak.

"Well, come on," she said, "we haven't got all day." Helga and Basil followed, but Godric was looking up at the towers of the castle, wide-eyed. Rowena rolled her eyes and left him outside.

Inside, Rowena found that Jasper was talking animatedly to a man she assumed to be his father. He had a long white beard, a patient expression, and a wrinkled face, but no matter how he tried to seem like a modern-day Merlin, he couldn't hide the fact that he looked rather like a monkey. House Slytherin seemed far less threatening than she had been led to believe.

"Ah, Lady Ravenclaw," said Lord Slytherin, nodding. "And you must be Mistress Hufflepuff," he said, nodding at Helga.

"You've been treating the Willows well?" inquired Helga. "...Rowena, where's Basil?"

"I don't know, he's yours, not mine," said Rowena. If other people were going to lose track of their husbands, it was their business.

"I hate to interrupt, but might the gentleman pounding his fists on the doorway outside be him?" Lord Slytherin asked, motioning behind them.

They turned and saw Basil clawing at empty air. He appeared not to be able to get through the doorway.

"Excuse me," said Helga politely, "but my husband will be an incompetent fool at times. Although usually he manages doorways just fine. What is that? It looks like a ward of some sort..."

"Oh dear," said Jasper, "it's one of my wards gone wrong again, I suppose. I've got the castle warded heavily against Dark creatures, you see," he explained. "I'm fairly certain I'd got it working again, though..."

Basil, evidently, couldn't hear a thing, nor could they hear what he said. "What's going on?" he mouthed. He then stepped aside, shaking his head, and Godric ducked into the door.

Jasper's jaw dropped. His eyes and mouth were wide open, and Rowena hadn't realized one could go quite so pale with such bad sunburn. He looked a bit like a cooked fish. "Something is wrong with the wards," he muttered.

Godric frowned at Rowena and Helga. "Basil can't get in," he said. "He says there are wards."

"We'd heard," said Helga darkly. "Could you possibly take the wards down, Master Slytherin?" she asked Jasper.

"But..." Jasper looked doubtfully up at Godric, and back at Basil.

"Godric, could you possibly ask him to take the wards down?" Helga asked, nodding at Jasper.

"...um." Godric frowned at Helga. Then he frowned at Jasper. Then he frowned at Helga again. "I can only assume you warned them about my pathological hunger for human flesh," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Godric, this is Jasper Slytherin," said Rowena, "the noted Arithmancer, and his father Lord Salazar Slytherin, the noted... er. The. Well, he's on the Council, that's notable. And," she said, now addressing the Slytherins, "this is Godric of Gryffindor, our Transfigurator. He happens to be afraid of blood, dogs, bees, snakes, carnivorous plants, loud noises, heights, rodents, thunderstorms, Tuesdays, vampires, and the number thirteen. Do feel free to mock him about this whenever possible. Am I forgetting anything?"

"I'm not really much for closed-in spaces or low ceilings," said Godric, looking up at the high ceiling as though it might fall in on him. "But other than that, I don't think so. I'm doing better about the rats, but they're still nasty." He shuddered.

"We, er. We didn't know you had a part-giant Transfigurator with you," said Jasper, obviously trying to be polite.

"Part-giant?" Godric looked disgusted.

"Godric is Muggleborn," said Helga pleasantly. "Can we please let Basil in? I'm a bit surprised he hasn't managed to break the wards down by now, frankly."

"Ah. Muggleborn," said Jasper weakly.

"Part-giant? Eugh." He sounded vaguely traumatized.

"Jasper, perhaps you had better take the wards down for Master Hufflepuff?" Lord Slytherin supplied. He had clearly kept all the common sense in the family for himself, Rowena decided.

There was a sudden crash like shattered glass from the doorway, and they turned in time to see Basil fall through, onto the stone floor. He stood and began to dust himself off. "Those were very good wards," he said, "so I hope you paid the wardmaker good silver, but you're going to have to owl him and have him put new ones up that'll let me in."

"...well, I think there's something wrong with the -- what exactly -- how did you break it?" demanded Jasper.

"Well, it had a sort of net thing, so I just moved that aside --"

"Oh, that's the anti-werewolf bit. I thought I'd got that one right."

"You had, in fact," said Basil, sounding a bit tense. "Good thing it wasn't very strong," he added.

Jasper blinked, and started whispering furiously at his father. Among the more distinguishable words were "...permitting a werewolf..." and "...wake up with our throats slit in the night!"

"Is there a problem?" Basil asked, glaring.

"Yes," said Jasper, at the exact same time that Lord Slytherin was smiling and saying "No, not at all."

Jasper looked as though he was about to explode. "But --"

"Jasper, why don't you fix your wards so that they'll let werewolves in?" said Lord Slytherin.

"But --" Now he was just getting whiny.

"Would you like to see the rest of the castle?" he asked them.

"Of course we would!" said Rowena, perhaps a bit too cheerfully.

"Yes, yes, we would," said Helga, nudging Basil, who was still glaring.

"Follow me, then," said Lord Slytherin, walking briskly down the hall.

"Come on, Basil." Helga tried to dragged Basil away.

"Mind you keep a short leash on your mutt," Jasper told her. "I suppose I'll go redo the wards, then," he said lightly. He turned and walked away without another word, leaving Basil grumbling.

"...you know, we should probably follow Lord Slytherin before we lose him, and we get lost in the castle, and have to depend on that Jasper to tell us where everything is," said Godric ramblingly.

"Yes, we should," said Helga. "Basil!" she hissed.

Rowena rolled her eyes at the rest of this and followed Lord Slytherin, whether or not the others were coming. This was going to be a long day, and she already had a headache.

Godric paced around and around, the action seeming almost natural because the room itself was round. He put his face in his hands. Dear God, he thought, why did I agree to do this?

He took another glance at the open book resting on the desk that sat in front of an arrow-slit he used as a window. The book told him that this was the first of September and that the year was 1113 Anno Domini, while the arrow-slit window told him that the sun was just starting to rise. Godric had risen with the sun since he was a child, but that wasn't why he was awake now.

It was nerves. He was frightened beyond speech, and by children who he hadn't even met. Calm down, he told himself. No, I can't calm down! another voice said. I was right when I said I couldn't teach! How could I have been so stupid? Why did I decide to do this?

Then again, it hadn't been much of a choice. He could have starved in Gryffindor's Hollow. And Fudge would have found out about his copy of the Voluma Animaguum soon enough. Better to be here, with Rowena trying to steal his work, than to be shouted at for not being able to instantly grant Fudge with the mystical ability to turn into whatever animal he so chose. At least Rowena understood that it didn't work that way. Of course, she was cleverer than he was, and more well-versed in languages and heathenish stories, and the original Society of Animagi had done all they could to obfuscate their art, so he was fairly sure she'd beat him to it anyway. But it was a labor of love and futility, not of practicality.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he should have been working on the Voluma Animaguum right now, but he didn't think he could concentrate, and transfiguration without concentration was more dangerous than many intentional curses. So he resumed pacing. Pacing was something he could do without effort, and also something he could do while thinking about something else. But in this building, it was better to go to a private room to pace, as everything in the castle seemed to shift around, and Godric's memory was terrible anyway.

Godric really couldn't blame the castle for being restless on a day like today.

"I am not going to panic," he said aloud, although he didn't seem to hear himself. "All right, perhaps I am going to panic. In fact -- yes, I'm panicking right now," he realized. "That must be why I'm talking to myself! Oh, lovely, I'm going mad, too." He looked out the window and saw that the sun had levered itself halfway above the horizon. "I should really stop talking to myself -- supposing someone should hear me," he said, more to break the silence than for anyone's benefit. He supposed he should go down to breakfast at this point, but he decided not to. While Godric felt like he'd never really had enough to eat until he'd come to the castle, today he felt vaguely nauseated and not particularly hungry.

I think I'll skip breakfast, he thought. In fact, can I skip the entire day? With this thought he sat down on his bed and quietly panicked once more.

When he looked up at the arrow-slit again, he realized that he was probably going to be very late to his first class.

"Gah!" He was too frightened to think coherently, much less to teach. He ran down the staircase to the dormitories below, where he found that the students had all left to go to their first class: Transfiguration. He closed his eyes. No. This is bad. Make it stop!

Well, he thought, when the universe had failed to obey him, I suppose there's nothing for it but to run like hell. He dashed out of the common room at a terrific pace.

* * *

Six frightened children were standing in a worried knot just outside the Great Hall.

"Our first class is Transfiguration," someone said authoritatively. Julian de Malfoie looked up and saw that it was a brown-haired girl who looked as though she knew what she was doing. She was squinting at a wrinkled bit of parchment.

"What's Transfiguration?" he asked curiously.

"Ah, you're Muggle-born, aren't you?" asked the brown-haired girl.

"What?" asked Julian. Whatever she'd said, it sounded like an insult. Perhaps it was a curse. But Lady Ravenclaw had seemed nice when she'd asked Julian's father if he wanted to send Julian to a wizard school. So what did he have to worry about?

She squinted at the parchment again. "I think the room's down here, but I'm not sure."

"Who are you?" a red-haired boy asked her. He had several tons of freckles on his face, and Julian studied him with faint disgust -- he was very poorly-dressed, and he had a peasanty accent. But he seemed to know as little as Julian himself did, and for that Julian sided with him.

"And what's a Muggle-born?" asked Julian.

"I know it because it's written right here," said the girl, pointing at some incomprehensible lines scrawled on the parchment. "My name's Helena," she added.

"I'm Devlin," said the redhead.

"Julian," Julian said.

"Isn't that a girl's name?" asked Devlin.

"No!" said Julian. Who did he think he was, anyway?

"Is your nickname Julie?" asked Devlin.

"Juliet," said Helena, squinting. "He looks a bit like a Juliet."

Julian felt himself going red. "It is not a girl's name! And what kind of a name is Devlin, anyway? It sounds as though you're a devil." Two girls, who seemed to know Devlin, laughed weakly before returning to their standard frightened rabbit expressions.

"It does not!" Devlin said.

"Come on," said Helena. "We're going to be late! And what's a devil, anyway?"

"Isn't that one of those dangerous Christian things?" asked a thin, pale boy nervously.

"Devils are these evil demon things, with big horns coming out of their heads and pointy tails and they breathe fire!" explained Devlin in one breath.

"Sounds boring," said Helena. "Come on, we're going to be very late to class," she said, motioning them down the hall.

"They do not breathe fire," said Julian.

"And how would you know?" asked Devlin. "My older brother says they do."

"And I suppose he would know?" asked Julian.

"As long as nothing shows up here, we're fine," said the thin boy.

"I heard there was a demon professor," said Devlin.

"From who?" asked Julian and the thin boy at the same time.

"My older brother," Devlin muttered.

"If I were your older brother, I'd tell you all sorts of things," said the thin boy. "You're very gullible."

"I am not!" said Devlin.

"Well, then, we're all a bit gullible if we're here, aren't we?" asked Julian. "Magic isn't supposed to be real," he added. "The Pope said so himself, says Father."

"No good can come of an institution that restricts things like that," said the thin boy sanctimoniously. Helena sighed as though she'd heard it all before. "My Uncle Glendower isn't even allowed to study corpses! Even if he promises not to make them do things!"

Devlin and Julian exchanged horrified glances, but Helena simply rolled her eyes. "You're scaring the Muggle-borns, Ethelbert. This is Ethelbert Filch, by the way," she told them.

"Sorry," said the previously nameless Ethelbert. "Muggles are a pet peeve of mine."

"Shouldn't we be going to class? We're going to be late," said Julian, who was anxious to make a good impression. And so Helena, Devlin, Julian, Ethelbert Filch, and the two frightened rabbit girls (whose names turned out to be Gwen and Alice), they set off to find the classroom.

When they reached the empty classroom after going in circles around the castle for what seemed like forever, Helena told everyone where to sit, saying, "Won't the teacher be surprised that we're here before him, and in the right order?"

Devlin asked eagerly if she knew what subject the demon professor taught. She looked annoyed. "There is no demon professor," she snapped.

"Perhaps he teaches this class," said Devlin. "Perhaps that's where he keeps peoples' bodies," he added, pointing to a sort of wooden box that sat at the front of the classroom. It was huge and rectangular, with the longer side facing them. It looked, Julian noted uncomfortably, as though it could hold at least four bodies.

"The Church wouldn't let him keep bodies in there," said Ethelbert glumly.

"Well," said Devlin, "if he was a demon, the Church wouldn't be able to do anything about him, would they?"

"They could exorcise him," said Julian.

"In a godless place like a school of magic?" asked Devlin.

"Excuse me?" asked Helena. "Godless? We aren't godless! We have quite enough gods, thank you very much!"

"The Church thinks you're godless," explained Devlin, sounding offended. "I never said I thought you were godless. Have as many gods as you like!"

"This whole debate is pointless," said Helena, "as there's no demon professor and there never will be. My mother wouldn't employ anyone who ate people," she continued.

"Your mother?" asked Devlin and Julian.

Helena turned bright red. "She wouldn't," she repeated under her breath.

Their earlier 'Julian-is-a-girl's-name' dispute forgotten, Devlin and Julian exchanged glances.

"Your mother wouldn't happen to be Lady Ravenclaw, would she?" asked Julian.

She said nothing.

"Perhaps her mother's the demon professor," said Devlin helpfully.

She turned her head slowly towards Devlin and Julian, her eyes mere slits. Gwen (or was it Alice?) emitted a small squeak and put a hand over her mouth as Helena jumped at them, fists clenched.

Devlin and Julian jumped out of their seats just in time -- both of them knew that you shouldn't hit a girl, and Julian, for his part, had never hit anyone and didn't know how it was done. He was about to ask Filch for some help, when Alice (or Gwen? Everything was so confusing today!) gave a much louder squeak and fell over in a dead faint. The blood had drained from Helena's face and she was staring at something at the front of the room.

"Oh dear," said a worried voice from where Helena was looking. Julian and Devlin's eyes slid towards the direction of the voice, and saw that the speaker was a man of about twenty, who had brown hair and an apologetic expression, and was comparable in height with a fully-grown mountain troll.

"I'm assuming that's not her mother," hissed Julian angrily. Devlin nodded, gulped, and sat down rather delicately, as though any sudden moves might upset the recent arrival. Helena had already done this, of course, and not wanting to be left out, Julian grabbed his seat and collapsed into it. Now the only person out of their seat was Alice-or-Gwen, who was still making up for missed sleep.

"Does she always do this?" asked the Demon Professor, indicating Alice-or-Gwen.

"A-all the time," stuttered Devlin. Gwen-or-Alice nodded.

"Isn't there some sort of long Latin name for that kind of thing? Oh well, never mind," said the Demon Professor, who wasn't behaving in a particularly demonic manner. To tell the truth, it was a bit disappointing.

He walked over to Alice-or-Gwen, got down on one knee so that he could see her face, and said "Ennervate!" suddenly, waving what appeared to be a wand at her. Julian sat up -- this was more like it!

Alice-or-Gwen opened her eyes, shrieked, and said, "Please don't eat me!"

The Demon Professor looked truly horrified, but then, Minions of Evil had to be good actors, hadn't they? "Are you all right?" he asked her. He turned to the rest of the class. "Did she hit her head?"

Alice-or-Gwen didn't seem to know about the job requirements of Minions of Evil. "He was talking about dead bodies," she said, pointing an accusing finger at Ethelbert Filch. "And he's a heretic," she added bravely. "And he," she said, pointing at Devlin, "said something about a demon professor."

"A demon professor?" asked the Demon Professor, who was obviously going to attempt a clever ruse. Julian, however, was on to his game. "Come to think of it, we have got a demon professor. She's not around at the moment, though," he said sadly.

Suddenly someone started pounding on the door. "Godric, you idiot!" shouted a woman from behind it. Julian wasn't sure, but he thought it was Lady Ravenclaw.

"This is not my day," said the Demon Professor, whose name was apparently Godric. He put his face in his hands and muttered something about a headache.

"Godric, you're going to give that book back in good condition if you want to stay in one piece!" said the voice, which was definitely Lady Ravenclaw. She slammed the door open, and the teacher gulped. Perhaps he wasn't a demon professor, thought Julian. He doubted anyone would treat a demon the way most people treated a younger brother.

The teacher gulped and held his wand uncertainly. "Now, Rowena, if you'd just--"

"Just what?" asked Lady Ravenclaw. "You -- you little runt, it'd better be in good repair or I'll repair you! With a cleaver!" Julian was not certain exactly what Lady Ravenclaw was seeing, because their Transfiguration teacher fit the description of 'little runt' about as much as a dragon could be termed 'a charming pet.'

"W-would you let me explain --" started the professor, backing up behind the giant wooden box so that it was between himself and Lady Ravenclaw. Julian suddenly realized that the wooden box must be his desk.

"Explain what?" demanded Lady Ravenclaw, shooting several balls of fire at her opponent, who side-stepped them quickly. Julian was now completely convinced that, despite outward appearances, this was not the dreaded Demon Professor.

The ex-demon (and apparently ex-professor) seemed to be condemned to a fiery death at the wand of a madwoman, when suddenly he pointed his wand at his desk. It became a huge monstrous thing with a lion's body, a scorpion's tail, and the face of a man, but with razor-sharp teeth.

"You can't do that!" said Lady Ravenclaw, shocked at an apparent gross violation of rules. She distanced herself as much as possible from the beast. "Ninane's Non-Undoability Principle forbids it!"

"It's a Deformis Disparity," he countered as the monster roared. There was a small smile on his face, and Julian waited for him to say 'Ha!' defiantly.

"Rowena, you're slipping," she muttered, putting her hand to her forehead as though she had a headache. She waved her wand at the beast, and it paused woodenly, then melted back into a perfectly mundane (if rather oversized) desk. "Where was I? Oh yes, the book --"

"Is right here!" he said, holding a thick, leather-bound volume over her head. "I just had to look something up, that's all. I meant to put it back but I got lost on the way to the library..." He trailed off, looking glum. With a flick of her wand, it flew into her arms. She tossed it some distance away, opened it with a spell, and, when she was satisfied that it wasn't rigged, grabbed it, flipped through it one last time, and left.

By this time, most of the class was looking deeply impressed with their teacher, except for Helena, who was deeply embarrassed but only vaguely impressed.

* * *

Godric, now that he was in front of an actual class, was wondering if he should have just let Rowena kill him, because the class was apparently convinced he hailed from a circle of Hell and not a tiny Muggle village, and he hadn't actually prepared a good introduction to his class. He supposed that Transfiguration was not entirely useful, but it was worth learning because... er, well, because it was? Because big complicated spells needed it, he supposed. He glanced at the class, and from their astonished faces he supposed he'd have to explain himself.

"Can you do that again?" asked a red-haired boy whose name Godric didn't know, as he'd left his seating chart in his tower room.

"How did you do that?" asked a blonde boy seated next to the first. Godric didn't know his name either.

Two girls, who looked to be more or less the same person, clung together in fright.

A tall, dark-haired boy was writing something down quickly. "What's Ninane's Non-thingy-majigger?" he asked quickly. "And how do you spell it?"

"En eye en ay en ee," said a girl with a very red face. "And I don't know what it is. Ask him."

"I was!" countered the boy.

"Er," said Godric eloquently. "I don't know anyone's names."

"Oh, that's all right," said the girl who'd spelled 'Ninane'. She held up a piece of parchment and said, "Mum gave me this -- and yes, she is my mother," she added nastily to the blonde boy, while waving the parchment at Godric.

Godric took it. "So, there's... Devlin, Julian, Helena, Ethelbert, Gwen, and Alice," he said, pointing at the relevant seats. Gwen and Alice must have discovered that they were in the wrong seats, as they switched hurriedly and continued looking terrified.

"Er, yes," said Godric. "This is, er, Transfiguration, which basically means turning one thing into something else, as with that desk and the manticore. We won't be covering manticores anytime soon, unfortunately, because they're a bit dangerous and I don't want anybody to die." With some surprise, Godric realized that he did have some idea of what he was talking about, and that the class seemed to understand as well, even Gwen and Alice. He went on to explain some basic principles of the subject, and soon noticed that he didn't seem to be fouling everything up. In fact, he seemed to know what he was doing. Perhaps he would keep this job after all...

* * *

The students filed into Rowena's classroom, laughing and talking until they saw who was sitting at the front of the room. Rowena realized that her little confrontation with Godric might have unnerved them slightly. She supposed she'd better make it clear that her grudge was not against them, but against Godric. Flicking her wand almost unnoticeably, she cast a mere suggestion of a Calming Charm and stood up. "Good morning," she said cheerfully.

They all mumbled in response, but sat down. Most of them stared at either Rowena or Helena. Rowena noted that the de Malfoie boy was amongst the students and raised an eyebrow -- his Muggle father had not consented to let his son attend the school, preferring to leave the child's education up to some sort of religious institution. She decided that later she would ask the boy how he'd made his father see the light, as the father had seemed loving but rather closedminded.

The other students who were already here were mostly the children of poor Muggles, though Rowena knew that a few other wizard-born students would be flying in later in the day, when their parents were awake enough to bring them in. For this reason she had decided to devote her opening class to explaining the fact of magic's existence, non-malevolence, and lack of specific religious affiliation rather than to learning actual magic, as this was the bit that wizard-born students could afford to miss.

"This class," Rowena began, "is called Charms, and in it you will be learning a variety of spells and incantations, as well as the theory behind them. However, I'd like you to gain an understanding of magic before we begin, as I know most of you don't really have a good idea of what magic is. Most of you -- excepting young Master Filch, of course -- have grown up hearing that magic is something you may obtain only through dealing with demons. So, today we will start with these." She pulled out a large box of aura-lenses, on which she'd cast multiple Unbreakable Charms, and passed one out to each student. "Now," she said, "what do you make of them?"

The confusion on their faces turned swiftly to wonder as they discovered that their classmates were glowing with bright colors. Even Alice was grinning as she scrutinized her classmates through the lens. "Gwen, look! You've got the loveliest sort of green around you!"

"Where?" Gwen examined her hands.

"Here, look through this," Alice said, pressing the lens into her hand.

"You're all pink! ...Devlin's the color of his hair, look at that!" The freckled boy stuck his tongue out at them, and they laughed.

* * *

It was lunchtime, and most of the students (several more had trickled in throughout the day) were either greedily stuffing their faces or preparing to do so.

"I'm confused," said Julian, grabbing five or six almond-cardamom cakes and popping one into his mouth. When he'd swallowed, he continued. "Why do they hate each other?"

"I don't know!" said Helena. "I think it has something to do with this experiment... thingy... that Mum's working on.

"Experiment thingy?" asked Devlin (though it came out sounding like 'Effeffifenf fingee' through his mouthful of roast beef).

"Yes, an experiment thingy. And she won't tell me what it is, either."

"Perhaps it's dangerous," Julian ventured.

"Perhaps it's evil!" Devlin suggested enthusiastically.

"I don't think it's evil," said Helena thoughtfully, staring into space. "The last time she did something evil, she was behaving much more oddly..." she continued, trailing off. Julian and Devlin exchanged glances, both looking like suckling pigs, with their mouths stuffed full of food and their eyes wide and startled. "No, it's definitely not something evil," concluded Helena. "It could be dangerous, though. I'm going to find out," she decided suddenly.

"How are you going to do that?" asked Julian. Devlin was still processing Helena's earlier comments.

"I don't know," said Helena. "I suppose I'll just poke around a bit. She's not very good at hiding things. Particularly sweets," she added with a satisfied smile.

As September progressed students trickled in from all areas, though they didn't seem to be coming from as many of the larger families. Rowena knew that this was probably because the Wizard's Council had not formally approved the school, though Salazar was the head of one of the Thirteen Houses by which it was governed. She suspected her mother had spoken against it. Lord Slytherin might have been one of the most powerful members of the Wizard's Council, but Rowena's mother, Lady Aeaeae, was Chief.

Ah, yes. Rowena's mother. That was an interesting subject if ever there was one.

Most people with embarrassing relatives usually pretended that they didn't exist. Batty old aunts or black-sheep-of-the-family sons were prime targets for this sort of thing. "Aunt?" one could say, "I haven't got an aunt! What gave you a silly idea like that?"

On the other hand, everyone had a mother.

It wasn't that Rowena didn't love her mother. She did. She just didn't get along with her very well. Rowena wasn't sure if it was that her mother wanted to control everything about Rowena's life, or if it was because her attitude towards government was roughly the same as her attitude towards parenting, but with more oubliettes and torture chambers.

So when her mother owled her, saying that she would be coming to see the school, Rowena nearly choked on her porridge.

"Is something wrong?" asked Jasper as her face turned green.

"No!" she said a bit too quickly. Perhaps she could salvage the situation. Her mother's handwriting wasn't particularly legible, after all - perhaps she'd written that she wanted to go back to her roots and move to Greece, though this was unlikely. Mother never had cared for that sort of thing. It wasn't fashionable.

"What's this?" asked Godric, rudely reaching over Jasper's head and grabbing the scroll.

"Give it back!" said Rowena, forgetting that her spoon was not a wand and pointing it at Godric.

"That's terribly threatening," he said sarcastically. Upon unrolling the scroll, however, he shouted "Ack! My eyes, my eyes!" With a hand over his eyes, he gave the scroll to Basil, saying, "It's full of Dark magic!"

"It seems to be some sort of cryptic prophecy," said Basil, turning it sideways and squinting. "If we could only figure out what these ancient symbols meant --"

"Give it back!" shouted Rowena, readying herself to dump porridge all over Basil's head.

"Good Lord, Rowena," said Helga. "How do you decipher this, anyway? She should send a clearly printed answer key with each letter."

"And what's this about a... 'yak-infested'... er... 'particulate?'" asked Godric, turning his head sideways so that he could read it, or at least pretend to.

"That," said Rowena, finally grabbing the letter from Helga, "is none of your business. With friends like you, I should be paid one Galleon a week per enemy."

"Ooh, am I being counted as a friend?" asked Godric with an air of great surprise.

"No, you're one of the enemies," snapped Rowena.

"What? I'm only worth a Galleon?"

Rowena simply rolled her eyes. She'd been having a perfectly good week -- all of her students had scored highly on the last test she'd given, which meant she could go on to something more complex than Levitation. And now this! It simply was not fair. Then again, she supposed that she was luckier than most.

"How is your mother, anyway?" asked Helga, in an attempt to cheer her up.

"She's... she's my mother, Helga," said Rowena.

"Ah," said Helga, nodding understandingly. She cocked her head. "That would go with you being her daughter, then?"

"She's coming to visit," Rowena said impulsively, immediately regretting it.

"Is she bringing an answer key?" asked Basil, leaning forward eagerly.

Helga gently hit him over the head with an empty plate. "Basil, be nice."

"I am being nice! This is me being nice! You don't think I'm nice?"

"Basil, shut up," said Helga pleasantly. "And pass me the milk."

"I don't think I've ever met your mother," said Godric, with some interest. If she'd believed in extra-sensory powers, she'd have thought Godric knew exactly the worst thing to say in any conversation.

"That's because you hid in the corner when she came," said Rowena. "Consider yourself lucky."

"Oh, was that her?" Godric asked.

"Oh, don't exaggerate so much," said Helga. "Your mother's actually very nice."

"Nng," said Rowena eloquently, putting her hands over her face.

"She's just a little... er... controlling," said Helga tactfully.

"I don't think you need to defend my own mother for me, Helga," sighed Rowena.

"Well you don't seem to be doing a very good job," said Helga.

"That's because she's beyond defense."

Helga sighed and got up from the table. "Oh, never mind. Now remember, the meeting is in the greenhouse before lunch," she told them. Rowena and Basil rolled their eyes as though they'd been reminded all-too-often, but Godric suddenly sat up straight.

"Ink," he muttered under his breath for reasons understood only by him. From the depths of his pockets he pulled a quill and a bottle of ink, and proceeded to write something on the palm of his hand in large red letters, but whatever it was promptly got ruined when he closed his hand and the wet ink went all over. The others had by now finished breakfast, and soon the Great Hall was empty.

* * *

Later that day, Helga dismissed her literacy class, which she and Rowena taught alternately. This was a class to teach the less-educated children how to read and write, and it would hopefully be extended to teaching proper Latin later when the students had learned how to write phonetically in the langue d'oïl.

Rowena was already waiting outside when the students left. With only one small class of students running around the school, the castle was largely empty, and teachers had entirely too much free time on their hands. Not that anyone else seemed to mind this, but Helga had an unfortunate tendency to become bored. When she'd been commissioned to do the security trees for Lord Salazar's castle, Basil had had to keep her from making the willows breathe fire and spit venom. Helga was the kind of person who needed to be kept busy, or she would keep herself busy.

But Rowena still looked upset. It was just like Rowena, to get upset about the little things and miss the big picture entirely.

"Oh, come on, it's not all that bad, now, is it?" said Helga.

"She's going to try and get me married again, Helga, I just know it," said Rowena despairingly. "And I just can't put up with that, not now with Helena starting school -- I think Helena's finally forgotten."

"Forgotten what?" asked Helga.

"Her father," said Rowena with a sigh.

"Good riddance," said Helga, moving some potted plants from the table to the corner of the greenhouse.

"You shouldn't say that," said Rowena, digging her finger absently into some soil.

"Well, you didn't like him, I don't see why I should," said Helga, crossing her arms. "After all, it's his own bloody fault he's dead. If he'd let you look into some good healing potions, he'd be alive and, er... as well as a Muggle gets, at any rate. And don't look so guilty!" she snapped at Rowena. She inspected the students' projects - one of the plants was getting frightfully over-watered and the roots were sticking out above the soil, gasping for air. "That de Malfoie boy. How's he doing in Charms?"

"Julian?" asked Rowena, brightening. "Oh, he's my best student."

"Is he?" asked Helga in surprise.

"Why?"

"Oh, nothing, he's just giving his poor beans root-rot. Frightfully earnest boy, at least."

"Beans?" asked Rowena. "You're not making them grow Venus Mantraps?" she asked in disbelief. "Why are they growing just beans?"

"Ah," said Helga, "but they're magic beans!"

"Where have I heard that one before?" asked Basil from the door. He was carrying a large bundle of scrolls under one arm.

"You, Master Wolf, are in quite the wrong story," said Helga.

"But in this one nobody gets eaten," said Basil. "Good afternoon, milord," he said, tipping an imaginary hat to Lord Slytherin.

"Magic beans?" Lord Slytherin asked. "No giants, please, they make cleaning the castle quite a task. Peeves is beginning to grumble." Peeves was one of Lord Slytherin's goblin servants. "Not that he doesn't already, of course." Now they were only waiting for Godric, as Jasper was teaching a class this hour. It was a good thing, too, reflected Helga, because she really didn't think Rowena needed anything more to be irritated at.

Godric was ten minutes late. Predictably, Rowena glared at him, and predictably, he glared right back.

Well, it's not as though she can blame him for being so late, thought Helga. After all, she did put him in that tower, and it's far away from nearly everything.

"What's that?" asked Godric, pointing at one of her latest experiments, a plant with long, streaming vines straggling out of it, waving in every direction. Each vine was dotted with small, elegantly-curved thorns.

"Oh, that's my Venomous Tentacula," said Helga.

"Tentacula?" Rowena asked, studying the plant with great interest.

"Venomous?" asked Godric, with equal but opposite interest. He edged away from it, carefully.

"Aren't Tentaculas found mainly in Africa?" asked Rowena, peering at the plant.

"Venomous?" repeated Godric. Helga blinked at him.

"Yes, venomous," she said cheerfully, nodding. "This new strain creates a poison not unlike the venom of the three-headed Runespoor, which is also native to Africa."

"How did you manage to do that?" asked Lord Salazar curiously.

"Well, -- and you probably already know this, but -- the rightmost head - the poisonous one," clarified Helga, "retains some of its --"

Godric cleared his throat. "Are you telling us that there is an extremely poisonous plant sitting right over there and it's ready to reach out and bite any one of us?" He was looking at the plant as though it might jump out of its pot at any moment. "It's just sitting there without any wards around it?"

Helga rolled her eyes. "Really, Godric, you're making a big fuss over nothing," she said. "Besides, I fed it just this morning. It won't be hungry for at least an hour," she said.

"But that thing is dangerous!" said Godric.

"Godric, shut up and stop whining," snapped Rowena. "Helga can take care of herself."

"Yeah, but I'm not worried about her, I'm worried about me," said Godric.

"Yes, because you're a coward," said Rowena.

"So what if I am?" he asked, shrugging.

"If it means that much to you," said Lord Salazar, holding up a hand to stop the argument, "I will begin looking for an antidote to Runespoor venom immediately. May I assume they are nearly the same?" he asked Helga.

Before Helga had a chance to answer his question, the door flew open, and there stood Jasper, looking as though he'd just run from Marathon to Athens.

"What are you doing here?" asked Rowena, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"I -- er, I was teaching my class, and suddenly, Alice - or was it Gwen? I can't keep the two apart --"

"Never mind that," said Basil, "what's going on?"

"She was looking out the window, not paying attention at all --"

"And?" asked Rowena.

"And there are a hundred Muggles standing outside with weapons."

The others stood dumbfounded for a second or two, but Helga broke the silence. "The willows!" she snarled. "If they laid a hand on those willows, they're going to die!"

"Well, if they get within ten feet of them, the willows will kill them anyway," Godric pointed out.

"We can't kill them," said Basil. "The Wizards' Council will --"

"You forget, I'm on the Wizards' Council," said Lord Salazar.

"We'd better not hurt them, though," said Rowena. "If we do, all of the other Muggles will want to avenge their deaths or something like that. Very bandwagonish, Muggles."

"How else are we going to get rid of them, though?" asked Jasper.

"What we need," said Rowena thoughtfully, "is something to frighten them. Can any of you do illusions? We need to be able to produce a dragon or something..."

"No, no, not a dragon," said Godric. "Haven't you ever heard of St. George?"

Rowena shook her head.

"A Muggle who took on a full-grown Welsh Green-Hebridean hybrid because he thought it was the Devil," explained Basil. "And won." The others looked impressed.

"No, no, what we need is something that isn't going to be mistaken for evil incarnate," said Godric. "Something familiar enough that they won't want to kill it immediately. It ought to be at least vaguely human." An evil grin spread slowly across Rowena's face. She caught Helga's eye, and nodded her head slightly toward Godric. Helga agreed with her; if anyone was going to be mistaken for evil incarnate, it wasn't Godric. The object of their silent conversation continued on, oblivious. "A simulacrum, perhaps, or... what?" he asked suddenly, realizing that they were staring at him. "Vaguely human!" he said, voice rising in panic. "It has to be vaguely human!" He backed into the Venomous Tentacula, which wrapped a vine around his wrist. There was no escaping it now.

* * *

"Are you certain that this is a good idea?" Godric asked nervously, although they'd spent the last few minutes explaining to him that this was a very good idea. He was clutching his wrist where the Tentacula had tried to bite him; it still stung a bit.

"Of course it's a good idea, as it's mine," said Rowena simply, as though she didn't think he'd understand the longer explanation.

"I should have known," he muttered. Oh, please God, let me live, he thought to himself as the Muggles' battering ram slammed against the door again. "What if I die?" he asked suddenly.

"Don't worry," said Rowena cheerfully, "no one will miss you." She looked as though she might try to pat him on the head.

"Rowena!" Helga snapped. "If you die, we'll have a nice funeral," she said reassuringly.

"It had better be nice," he growled to himself. I will not panic. I will not die. There's only an army out there waiting to kill me, after all! "There are Muggles out there! Muggles! Do you know what they do to people? They burn them or poke their eyes out with fire or they throw stones at them until their skulls are -- are -- are all --" He shuddered. "And that's without killing them first!"

"There wouldn't be much point to the punishment if they burnt them dead," said Rowena dryly. "Oh, that reminds me, don't forget your cloak. It's bound to be nippy."

"Yes, milady," said Godric, rolling his eyes. Rowena glared, and she reached for her wand, but before she could do anything Godric was out the door. He shut it quickly behind him. It was better to face angry Muggles than an angry Rowena.

Or was it? He gulped, looking around at the mass of soldiers, each clutching a long, deadly-looking pike. There were six men holding up a battering ram, although one let go when he saw Godric. The rest found it too heavy and dropped it on their toes.

"Er..." said Godric, wondering where to start. He lifted the battering ram off the soldiers' feet so they would stop howling. "Good morning," he said politely to the man who appeared to be their leader. He had a thin, pale face.

The Fearless Leader's expression changed from frightened to puzzled. "We demand that you surrender!" he said, shaking one fist up at Godric.

"Well, that's very... too bad," said Godric, wringing his hands. "I think maybe you should revise your demand -- it's a bit more than they're willing to do, you see. Now, me, I think surrender's generally a really good idea when you're outnumbered, but --"

"Then I challenge you! To a fight! To the death!" said Fearless Leader, waving his fist in the air at the end of every sentence. He sounded like every cliché hero there had ever been put together using bad Amputatis Charms.

Godric started to feel a bit queasy. In his mind, Rowena laughed, Don't worry, no one will miss you, over and over again. "I'd really rather not," he said. "Erm... your army is running away, you know," he added helpfully.

"What?" asked Fearless Leader, whirling around. It was true -- most of the Muggles had dropped their weapons and were retreating quickly. "Stop! Would all of you stop! Please? STOP! I'M RAISING THE TAXES! COWARDS!"

Suddenly, something clicked in Godric's head. "You wouldn't happen to be Julian de Malfoie's father, would you?" he asked.

Fearless Leader turned back to Godric, eyes wide. "What have you done with Julian?"

"Nothing at all," said Godric, "he's actually very good at Charms, I've heard, and also -- erk!" Lord de Malfoie had picked up one of the pikes and held it at Godric's throat. Godric grabbed it back. "Now look here, you're going to hurt someone with that!" he said, breaking the weapon in half. "I was going to invite you in for lunch," said Godric, "but if you're going to start grabbing sharp objects and ramming them at people, I suppose you're just going to have to leave," he said, glaring at Lord de Malfoie as he would at a misbehaving student.

Something in de Malfoie's face changed. "You're not a demon, are you?" he asked.

"No," said Godric, "I'm a teacher. Come in," he said, "it's getting rather cold." He pushed at the door, but it didn't move. "Rowena!" he shouted through the wood, "if you don't let me in, I'm going to break this door down, spell or no spell!"

He heard a flurry of muffled voices - Lord Salazar ("He won't really do that, will he?"), Helga ("Rowena! Do you know how much doors like that cost? You're wasting trees!"), and Rowena ("All right, all right! You have no sense of humor, Helga. Finite incantatem!"). The door opened, and he let himself in. Hesitantly, Lord de Malfoie stepped into the castle, perhaps expecting everyone else to look like Godric. He was met with an angry chorus of "Godric!"

"This is Julian's father, Lord de Malfoie," said Godric. De Malfoie blinked.

There was silence for a moment, then Rowena said "Oh!" Shaking de Malfoie's hand, she continued. "Julian is one of my best students," she said, becoming Happy Teacher Lady. Godric groaned: he hated Happy Teacher Lady. "Come, won't you join us for lunch?"

"We have very good house-elves," added Helga, who, though she looked concerned, tactfully neglected to mention the whole army-attacking-the-castle bit.

"H-house-elves?" De Malfoie looked bewildered.

"Yes, house-elves. You should try them, they're quite efficient," said Rowena, "much better than human servants."

Lord Slytherin eyed their guest with suspicion, as though he expected the man before them to metamorphose into a Dementor. "Jasper," he said, turning to his son, "let the students out of the common rooms, would you? And get Peeves. I want him to take notes. And have him send out a team to retrieve and count the army. And the weapons, don't forget to keep track of those."

Jasper nodded and hurried away.

* * *

"Checkmate," said Helena, grinning widely.

"That's the third time she's beaten you, Julian," said Devlin, looking up from his Literacy assignment, a word search puzzle. "I think you'd better just give up."

"Oh, shut u-- what are you doing here?" he sputtered, upon seeing his father enter the common room.

"You needn't sound so horrified. I came to rescue you," said his father. "They told me about your trick, sneaking out of the monastery," he added.

"But it was so boring there!" protested Julian.

"Yeah!" said Helena. "Here he can lose to me at chess!"

Julian threw a pawn at her, and she ducked, sticking her tongue out. "I won every game yesterday!" he told her.

"And thanks to you, I'm going to have to retrieve about a hundred of my men from the woods," Lord de Malfoie added nonchalantly.

"Do I have to leave?" asked Julian. "I'm in the middle of a game here," he said, setting up the pieces again and grabbing the pawn back from Helena.

"It looked like you'd just finished," observed his father.

"Er..." said Julian, frozen for a moment. "Oh! We're playing the best out of three!" he invented, shooting a look at Helena that said, Please play along?

"That's all right," said his father. "You can stay here. Just -- be good, and do your homework, and listen to Lady Ravenclaw, and be careful who you trust. Lots of commoners about, they'll probably try and steal everything you have."

At this, Devlin pretended to be in rapt contemplation of the wonders of the alphabet. "And eat your vegetables," he muttered to himself. Lord de Malfoie gave him a strange look, but let it pass.

"Er... how's Cassius?" asked Julian.

"He's doing very well in his training, from what I understand. I'm sure he will do admirably in my place," said Lord de Malfoie. Julian winced; his older brother was seemingly perfect in every way in the eyes of his father. "What kind of lunch do they serve in this place?" asked Lord de Malfoie.

"Oh, it's very good," said Julian. Devlin nodded, before remembering that he was supposed to be blending in. "They don't go all-out for normal lunches like they do at the feasts, of course, but it's still much better than -- it's. It's good. Er. Not that Aedelthryd is terrible or anything," he said hastily. He worried that perhaps his father would insist upon sitting next to him at lunch, so that Julian wouldn't get a chance to talk to anyone else, or even eat, but thankfully his father seemed quite content at the High Table, conveniently seated between Lady Ravenclaw and Master Slytherin.

* * *

Rowena picked at her food while Lord de Malfoie spoke hesitantly with Jasper. She noted Julian shooting anxious looks at his father from the student's table. Sending a disapproving glance at Helena, who was taking too many pieces of bread, she decided that she'd just have to work out some way to keep her mother at home.

I'll say we've all come down with dragon pox, and -- no, she's had that already, it wouldn't do any good... we've all got leprosy -- no, no, she'd insist upon visiting so I could make a will... I know! We're preparing a very delicate enchantment that will keep the school from being destroyed -- No, she'd want to see how it worked so she could get around it...

This would definitely require some thought.

"One hundred and twelve Muggle soldiers," said the goblin, "complete with weapons. All of the weapons could have been dismantled with a simple well-placed charm. In my assessment, sir, they were no danger to the castle."

"Thank you, Peeves," said Lord Salazar to the goblin. "Where is the Muggle staying?"

"I'm working on it, sir," the goblin said. "We can add a room in the South Tower, and..." he looked at his sheet of parchment, "...there's a disappearing bedroom he can use on the ground floor, near the entrance to the storage facilities."

"The dungeons, you mean?" asked Rowena with a frown.

"They are not dungeons," explained Lord Salazar. "'Dungeons' implies torture devices and necromancy and shackles and chains. Dungeons," he continued with mild distaste, "are places for people to... to dunge in. I will tolerate no dungeing in my castle."

"The Muggle thinks they're dungeons," piped up Peeves.

Lord Salazar thought about this for a second. "Put him on the ground floor. Don't bother to correct him."

"Yes sir," said Peeves, bowing and hurrying away.

"Lady Ravenclaw, may I have a word with you?" asked Lord Salazar. Rowena winced inwardly; she had known she would be in trouble for this, but she'd hoped to avoid it for as long as possible. "It was you who was responsible for Master de Malfoie's attendance at the school, was it not?"

"Well, I saw that he had talent, yes, but when his father said he couldn't, I left it at that," she explained. "I didn't realize he would work out how to get here -- he really is a clever boy, my best student, in fact, and after five or ten years here learning magic, I wouldn't be surprised if he was at least as good as any of the Wizards' Council brats who --"

"Be that as it may," said Lord Salazar, "I do not want a Muggle army pitted against the castle. Lord de Malfoie is proof that the Muggles are clever enough -- or at least determined enough - to get through that forest and Mistress Hufflepuff's trees."

"But that goblin, didn't he say that all of the weapons were susceptible to spells?"

"And how would you go about disarming one hundred and twelve Muggles at a time?"

Rowena had to admit that she didn't really know how to answer that one -- not offhand, at any rate. "But Godric took care of it," she said, ignoring his question.

"Very well," said Lord Salazar, doubt present in his tone, "but next time, may I ask that you don't accept children from the Muggle nobility? The peasants have no real power -- I'm hardly worried about them -- but there are Muggles with more than just a hundred and twelve soldiers at their command. I know your family has collaborated with our, ah, present Muggle rulers in the past, but I'm not familiar enough with Muggle politics to trust them. Our situation here is too delicate to afford disruption from opportunistic forces we're unfamiliar with, and as the peace with the Muggles is sustained through mutual ignorance, it's uneasy enough as it is."

Rowena nodded glumly. There were some people she could afford to push around, but the landlord was not one of them.

* * *

Lord de Malfoie's small army had also made a difference in the day-to-day lives of the students. For one thing, there was now a password spell on each of the four common rooms and sets of dormitories, and students who had friends in other dormitories had to restrict their conversations to mealtimes. This was frankly irritating, as students were mainly assigned dormitories in accordance with which dormitory had had the most beds open at the time. For those in the Red Common Room, however, watching Professor Gryffindor try to remember his own passwords more than made up for the inconvenience.

Meanwhile, Lord Salazar was getting a case study on Muggle behavior from Peeves, who kept detailed notes on where de Malfoie went, whom he spoke with, what he said, and how he reacted to others. Rowena was the only one who had noticed the green-liveried goblin following the Muggle around, ink and quill in hand; she didn't think the other professors even knew much about Peeves at all, much less de Malfoie, but it was becoming evident that Lord Salazar was concerned about Muggle reactions to magic. She had given up scheming to keep her mother away from the school, and started instead on trying to discover a loophole in Lord Salazar's prohibition regarding students from the Muggle nobility. While her mother could be troublesome at times, Rowena could tolerate her if it meant she could get more students for the school.

She was gradually building up an argument against Salazar. Item One was the way Godric had handled the situation. If even an idiot like Godric could make a good impression on the Muggles, chances were anyone could do it. Item Two was Lord de Malfoie, who showed consistently good behavior, even with the Venomous Tentacula, which had managed to put him in the hospital wing for a good four hours while Helga and Salazar argued over whether Venomous Tentaculas had glands or not. The man might be overly curious, but Rowena could hardly blame him for that -- after all, she was experimenting with dangerous Transfiguration, which wasn't even her specialty. There were, of course, flaws in her argument, and she needed more evidence, but how would she get evidence without more Muggle-born students? She would just have to sneak them in under Lord Salazar's nose.

* * *

Midwinter came and went, with Basil and Helga taking the Muggle-born students to a wizarding church in a small town nearby. They'd been doing this every Sunday, but the extra-long Christmas service was a special occasion, and when they returned, Rowena made sure the house-elves had prepared a large feast for the occasion. She didn't normally hold with the monotheists' holidays, and wouldn't have celebrated them even with a thousand rabid Muggles holding knives to her throat, but anyone who could stand around listening to Latin (which, she knew, most students didn't even understand) for that long in an unheated building deserved something special. Lord de Malfoie didn't seem to have noticed that some of the students were happily celebrating things like Sol Invictus instead. This was definitely good, as he hadn't commented on it. Hopefully it would make him look more accepting, and translate into a better report for Lord Salazar.

Meanwhile, she'd been making some progress on the Voluma Animaguum, which were more difficult than they looked. The original Animagi had seemed to enjoy making life difficult for those who sought to join them, so they explained things in terms of references to myths. Some, like the Greek myths Rowena had grown up with, were obvious, and the Roman myths were nearly as easy, because they had stolen everything from the Greeks. The Egyptian ones were, by far, the hardest, as Rowena had never been to Egypt before, and there was an alarming amount of references to Egyptian religion and culture in the Scrolls. She decided it was lucky they had been written in Latin and not hieroglyphics - the original group seemed to have originated in Egypt, from what she could tell.

Furthermore, her mother's visit was approaching quickly, and while Rowena knew that she had to be ready for it, she wasn't sure how she ought to prepare people. She knew there would be the inevitable conflict between her mother and Lord Salazar -- they would not, of course, say anything outright, but Lady Aeaeae was Chief of the Wizards' Council, a position Lord Salazar was widely known to desire. Rowena honestly wished he would get what he wanted, as she was never quite certain that her mother was an appropriate leader for the modern wizarding world, especially considering how awful her handwriting was. She was, however, undisputedly good at keeping her power, and those who wanted it tended to underestimate her gravely. Even Rowena did this at times. It had always been hard to separate the facade from the reality with her mother.

* * *

Lady Aeaeae arrived on a chilly spring day, Rowena's father in tow. Officially he was supposed to be Lord Aeaeae, but he'd always been treated more as a consort than as a noble in his own right. After all, Aeaeae was her name, not his. When Rowena opened the door to greet them, she had a large smile painted on her face. It would not do to wince in public.

"Rowena, dear, how are you?" asked her mother.

Rowena shrugged. "Good, I suppose."

"Where are your friends?" she asked. "Dear, you do always have the oddest friends, I'm glad you've met some nice people finally, even if they are all tied to that snake. Oh, and I've found another man you might be interested in."

In spite of herself, Rowena finally caved in to the pressure and winced. "No," she said, frowning.

"No?"

"No," she repeated. "I'm not going to do this again."

"Rowena, dear, this one won't die on you," said her mother. "What's not to like?"

"Plenty of things," said Rowena. "For one, I don't even know him!"

"You read too much," said her mother. "If I'd worried about silly things like that, your father and I would never have married. Isn't that right, Gualterus?"

Lord Aeaeae blinked. "Of course, dear," he nodded.

"His hearing's gotten worse," her mother said in a low voice. "He doesn't realize it yet."

"Are you two talking about me?" he asked, squinting with his watery eyes.

"Of course not, dear," said her mother, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She turned to Rowena. "Please, at least think about it. It would keep --" she stopped and looked around, "-- you know who, --" she said significantly, gesturing around at the castle in general, "-- from being such an irritating pain in the -- Hello, Salazar! And has my Rowena been behaving?"

Lord Salazar greeted her mother cheerfully, as though she were a friend and not a bitter rival. Rowena hated their fake smiles and their fake emotions, and yet she couldn't help going along with it fake-cheerfully. Rowena preferred shouting matches to politicians' sugar-coated betrayals, and she wished, not for the first time, that she had been a second child and not an heir.

Helga and Basil entered, and her mother caught sight of them. "Helga! It's been so long since I've seen you!" She gave Helga a welcoming hug and smiled kindly at her. "And how have you been?"

"Very well, milady," said Helga politely, shooting a victorious glance at Rowena. See, she's not all that bad! it said.

Rowena's mother then glanced warily at Basil, without actually seeing him, and 'tsk'ed. "I heard about the accident," she said, looking sympathetically at Helga. "You poor thing - you really do deserve better, you know. There's no obligation to a betrothal when something like that happens." She patted a dumbstruck Helga on the shoulder and turned back to Rowena. Helga, grinding her teeth, reached for her wand, but Basil grabbed her and pulled her out of the room before she could do anything. Rowena hoped the Silencing Charms on the walls would hold.

Before her mother could chatter for long, Godric poked his head in, looking confused. "What's that?" hissed her mother, stepping behind Rowena.

"Rowena," said Godric, "do you know why Helga's yelling? None of what she's saying is at all suitable for students..."

"I don't know," she told him, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. "Perhaps she stubbed her toe? Mother, Father, this is Godric of Gryffindor, our Transfiguration professor."

"What?" asked her father loudly. Her mother, however, turned calculating eyes on Godric.

He shivered. "N-nice meeting you," he nodded with an oh-please-don't-hurt-me smile. "I'll go... set the table, shall I?" He practically ran away.

"Gualterus, would you take those things to the room, dear?" her mother asked.

"Yes, very nice place," said her father gruffly, shuffling away holding the luggage. When he'd gone, mother looked at daughter. "He's the one behind Thaddeus Fudge?" she asked in disbelief.

"I know," said Rowena. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"Why is he so skittish?"

Rowena shrugged. "I've no idea. He's always been terrified of everything."

"Really?" said her mother, a vampiric smile on her face.  "That's convenient."

"What is?" asked Rowena; not sure that she wanted to know.

"Nearly everyone on the Council agrees that the Glendowers have had far too many charges of necromancy. We're going to throw them out."

"Do you have enough support?" asked Rowena. The Wizards' Council had several different factions, and some members had private rivalries that caused them to side against anything their rival wanted, mainly out of spite.

"I've got the support of Muhammed al-Aziz and Ari ben Shlomo!" Lady Aeaeae said enthusiastically, as though announcing that the world was now forever free of problems. "You know they've never agreed on anything practically since I took office."

Rowena looked impressed, but felt confused. "What's the point, though?"

"There have always been thirteen houses represented in the Council -- we'll have to appoint another one, and at the moment, the most likely man for it is Thaddeus Fudge. But if it were somehow discovered that he was, in fact, not the best Transfigurator in the world, the real Transfigurator would almost certainly be up for consideration."

"But -- Mother! Godric doesn't even look human!"

"Is he?"

"Yes, but that's not the point! He's -- and even if they knew -- well, his parents were Muggles, Mum!"

"They'd overlook that if he had a well-born wife. And you are the best-born, Rowena. You could control him easily -- the poor boy's obviously not the brightest candle on the chandelier."

"All right, Mother, putting aside the unpleasant aesthetics, let's look at this logically, shall we? I couldn't control him at all!" said Rowena. "Firstly, he's possibly the dullest candle on the chandelier. He's clumsy -- dangerously so -- and he'd probably forget his own name if someone didn't write it on the insides of his clothes or something."

"Use Imperius," said her mother with a shrug.

"He's a Transfigurator, Mum. He's stubborn and powerful!"

"And Enchanters are lazy and overconfident," said her mother, a small smile on her face. As a specialist in Charms, Rowena was an Enchantress. There were a lot of things written about the various personality types and humours and astrological signs associated with people skilled in certain sorts of magic, most of them at least mildly contradictory. "But you don't seem to be overconfident. And he's not stubborn."

"He may not be, but I am!" said Rowena. "I will not marry him. That's -- just -- no." She'd had quite enough of marriage. Once was enough.

"Well, all right, then. I only want you to be happy, dear," said her mother sweetly.

Come, now, Mother, surely you want more than that, thought Rowena. Aloud, she said "I'm happy! I'm very happy!"

"You don't sound happy," said her mother, her face a mask of concern.

"She has a point, there," said Godric.

Rowena nearly had a heart attack when she realized that he was standing behind them, regarding them placidly. He had a mildly annoyed expression on his face. "Godric! Aren't you supposed to be setting the table?"

"The house-elves have already done it," he said, shrugging.

"Gods, Godric, you're as silent as a cat! You could have said something."

"What am I, a leper?" he asked angrily. "Do I have to shout 'Unclean!' wherever I go? When I heard you talking about Fudge, I was going to explain about the whole set-up, until you started talking about me as though I wasn't here. And then I thought, why not stay and listen?" He shrugged. "But then you went on to whether or not Rowena was happy. Frankly, I don't think she really cares whether she is or not, as long as no one else is, but that's really none of my business, is it? So I said something." Rowena opened her mouth, but he went on. "I think you should make her marry Jasper. They deserve each other."

Her mother blinked. "That might work..." she said slowly.

"No," said Rowena stubbornly.

"If we played it right..." she mused.

"I think we should head to dinner, shouldn't we, Mum?" asked Rowena through clenched teeth. She was going to kill Godric.

* * *

Dinner was an ordeal, but, as they say, every cloud has a silver lining. Rowena supposed that this one's had been filched and replaced with a cheap copper one, if indeed there was such a thing.

Her mother, for one, was going endlessly on about the latest architectural marvels, making snide comments about the construction of the castle to Lord Salazar. Lord de Malfoie, by some heartless madman's design, had been seated on her other side. He was looking increasingly frightened and kept trying to edge away. Helena was bragging loudly about how her grandmother was Chief of the Council and wasn't that nice?

About halfway through the feast, Basil tapped Rowena on the shoulder and hissed, "Help! She's gone mad!"

For a second, Rowena thought that he meant her mother, and was going to reply that, yes, in fact, she'd always been that way. Then she saw Helga sitting at the other side of the table, unmoving, unblinking, and glaring fiery hatred at a battle-axe someone had unwisely hung from the wall.

"What do you mean?" she asked Basil.

"Good Lord, I'd think even you'd be able to see it," he said.

She'd known that Basil could see magic, as a werewolf, but it was always a bit strange to be reminded of it. She shook her head, then fished her well-worn aura lens out of her pocket.

Upon further inspection through the lens, she found that Helga was aiming a jet of butter-colored magic at the axe with her wand concealed under the table. It was being blocked by an ungodly amount of red, scattered all over the place in a dreadfully inefficient way.

Rowena looked at Godric, who was sitting at the other end of the table. He didn't seem to be eating, but he didn't have a wand, either. She could see that he hadn't touched a bit of his food. He was staring at the axe as though hypnotized. The lens showed that he was radiating enough magic to burn the castle down. She itched to go and correct him for every little thing he'd been doing wrong, preferably in red ink. Instead she turned to Basil again. "Don't you have your wand?"

He shrugged. "Who brings their wand to dinner unless they're trying to kill people?"

"I do," she said. She brought her wand everywhere. "Distract her!" she told Basil. "I'll make sure it doesn't overbalance. And after that, we're quite finished with this Sword of Damocles business."

Basil thought for a moment, then poured a glass of wine over Helga's head. Rowena, meanwhile, concentrated on compensating for Godric's fierce hold on the axe. After several seconds, it was all over. Rowena quickly cast a rather strong Fixing Charm on the thing, so that Helga couldn't do anything to it, and for extra measure she reinforced it with some of the red magic. Godric wouldn't miss it.

"What are you doing?" Jasper hissed. Rowena handed him the aura-lens, and he gasped as he saw the aftermath of all the magic.

"When is she leaving?" asked Helga, voice shaking with anger. Her dress now had dark purple-red stains on it, as did the tablecloth, and there was a small handprint in the same color on the front of Basil's tunic.

"As soon as is humanly possible," sighed Rowena.

"What's going on?" asked Jasper.

"Do you know what they'd do to you if they found out you'd tried to assassinate the Chief of the Wizards' Council?" Basil whispered fiercely.

"What?" Jasper asked, voice inconveniently loud. "Who tried to -- mmph!" Rowena had just stuck a roll in Jasper's mouth -- she did not want 'them' to do anything to Helga, as she felt assassination attempts were fairly reasonable when dealing with her mother.

"They send you to the Isle of Drear! Or worse yet, Azkab Island!" Jasper had a coughing fit as Basil continued. "Do you want to spend your life dodging Hairy MacBoons and Dementors? Because I certainly don't, and my specialty is dealing with horrors like that."

Helga shook her head. "Basil, dear, you wouldn't have to deal with them. They'd only send me to Drear. Really, I think you're overreacting." She smiled sweetly, then shot an approximation of the Evil Eye at Lady Aeaeae.

"But --" started Basil. He was interrupted by Jasper, who had finally dealt with the roll.

"Really, you still call them Hairy MacBoons? There's no reason to believe the stories -- they should be called by their accurate name. They're Quintapeds."

"Excuse me," said Basil, "but I do believe I'm the expert on this particular subject. Besides, what kind of a name is 'Quintaped?'"

"It means 'five legs,' which you'd know if you had any knowledge of --"

"You can kill them," Rowena told Helga. "They've just proven themselves to be incapable of concentrating when there's a fight to be had."

"...slang which has never been accepted," Jasper was saying, "and furthermore --"

"This one's rather sweet, though," said Helga, pointing at Basil, who was arguing his case at the top of his lungs, with a ferocity equal to any Hairy MacBoon.

"The thing to remember is not to name them," said Rowena. "Otherwise you risk getting attached to them.

At Rowena's pronouncement, Basil and Jasper stopped arguing and looked horrified at the two women.

"N-name them?" asked Jasper. "Why would you want to name them?"

"What would you name one? Harry?" asked Basil

"Quirinus!" Jasper countered.

"Quirinus? That's the stupidest name I've ever heard!" Basil said.

Helga put her face in her hands.

It was nearing May, and Lady Aeaeae had not yet seen fit to leave.  Rowena had brought the subject up numerous times, but each time it had been brushed off with a calculated distraction. It was becoming obvious that her ladyship not only wanted to keep an eye on her daughter, but also on Lord Salazar, her rival in the Council.  But Lady Aeaeae's activities did not stop at observation.  Recently, she had rearranged all the books in the library by size and color, insulted a staircase, and changed the Blue Common Room's password three times because she didn't like the way it was pronounced.  She was becoming a nuisance.

Rowena spoke first at the monthly staff meeting.  "We need to make her leave."  They all knew which 'her' she referred to.  "Any suggestions?"

Helga raised a hand.  Rowena pointedly ignored it.  "Anyone?"

Lord Salazar cleared his throat.  "I could call a meeting of the Council," he said.  "We'd have to go to all the way to Rome, and the Glendower issue could even be cleared up by the end of the month."

Godric blanched.  It seemed that in his opinion, the Glendower issue was best left untreated.  "No," said Rowena hurriedly, imagining Godric stuttering and pale in front of the Council, "with all due respect, sir, that would only get her away temporarily.  We need something permanent, or at least as close to permanent as possible."

"We could feed her to the Venomous Tentacula," said Helga.  "That'd be permanent."

"No," said Rowena.

"I could feed her to the Venomous Tentacula."

"No."

"Someone else could feed her to the Venomous Tentacula."

"No."

"I thought you said it wasn't dangerous," said Godric.

"I lied," Helga said, grinning.  "Besides, what's life without a little danger?"

"Longer?" Godric asked.

"He's got a point," said Rowena.  "Oh, that reminds me, there've been some... botany-related complaints."  She rolled her eyes at Godric, who shrugged.  "Lord Salazar, Helga, could we set up a due date for Whomping Willow removal?"

"But -- but -- the Muggles!" said Helga.  "If anything, we need more Willows!"

"She's trying to take over the world with them," said Basil skeptically.

"Come, my minion!  Help me brainwash them!" said Helga, ruining the effect by poking Basil in the shoulder.

"You can't take over the world with plants!" Basil insisted.

"I can try," said Helga grumpily.

"Ahem," said Rowena.  "Can we save the take-over of the world for later?  You have significant competition from my mother."

Lord Salazar snorted.  "The Council is hardly the world, milady.  Those on the Council have no more power over the common wizard than you or I have over the students.  We may ask the children to be quiet while we are speaking or to write this essay on that subject by a certain date, but we cannot force them to obey us any more than the Wizard's Council may enforce its petty laws on basilisk breeding and interspecies trade."

Rowena blinked.  It was, quite possibly, the longest speech she had ever managed to get out of Lord Salazar, and by far the most enlightening.  Though there was no official leader at the staff meetings, by all rights Salazar was the one who should have the authority, being the oldest and the only one with a high-ranking governmental position.  Yet Rowena always seemed to preside over the meetings.  She wondered why he let her do that -- if he wanted Lady Aeaeae's secret schemes, he wasn't going to get them from her.  Ophelia Aeaeae trusted her daughter less than anyone, save a trained assassin or two.

"That was a very interesting speech, sir," said Rowena quickly.  "Will you be giving it to the Council?"

"Certainly not," he said with mild distaste.  "No one on the Council has ever attempted to teach twenty-three eleven-year-olds how to brew wart remover.  The concept of 'work,' especially homework, is far too distant for them, I fear."

"That's an idea," said Basil.  "We could make Lady Aeaeae teach a class if she wants to stay any longer.  She wouldn't want to waste her time by actually doing something for a change."

"It's a start," said Rowena, "but what would she teach?"

"Why, napkin folding, of course," said Helga.  "Why do you even have to ask?"

"She's never folded a napkin in her life," said Rowena.  "That's what house-elves are for."

"House-elf directing, then," said Helga.  "Make something up.  Divination.  Snail racing.  Gossip-mongering."

"Book-arranging," said Rowena.  "If I think of anything that sounds legitimate, we'll go with it, but offhand I don't think any of those could possibly be of practical use to anyone.  What about you, Godric?  Are you just going to sit there whining about trees or do you have anything useful to add to this meeting?"

"No," he said, "I'm here to whine.  Besides, she's your mother.  You work out what to do with her.  I don't care if she stays here until Lucifer is kind enough to come and take her back."

Rowena perceived some insult in his speech, but wasn't sure what it was.  She shrugged it off.  "Very well, then," she said.  "We shall, as Godric says, wait until Lucifer takes her back, whoever this Lucifer might be," she added, frowning.  "Does anyone wish to discuss something else at this meeting?"

"The Muggles," said Helga.  "How did they get through my Willows?  None of them were harmed at all, thankfully, but I should think they'd prevent an army from attacking.  They nearly circle the castle, after all!"

Rowena shrugged.  "You should ask Lord de Malfoie himself, unless Lord Salazar wishes to enlighten us.  He may know."  She watched Lord Salazar out of the corner of her eye, waiting for a reaction of some sort.

"I don't know at all," said Lord Salazar, looking quite innocent.  "It's rather vexing.  Perhaps the defenses of the forest prepared them for your trees?  And as to the issue of removing them," he said to Rowena, "I agree with Mistress Hufflepuff in that they should certainly be kept until further notice; Muggle armies are known to be savage, even with the admittedly crude weapons they use."

"I've changed my mind," Godric announced.  "I'm going with what he said."  He jabbed a finger at Lord Salazar.  "I don't want to be sent out there for another army.  If they hadn't run away when they did, I think I might've run.  And de Malfoie nearly slit my throat before I let him in."

"Then why did you let him in?" asked Rowena.

Godric shrugged.  "What was I supposed to do, say 'Go away!' and shut the door in his face?"

Rowena sighed, for that had been exactly what Godric was supposed to do.  She couldn't exactly berate him for it, though, because good had come from it.  "All right, we'll keep the trees as long as they don't hurt anybody other than Muggles.  Does anyone have anything else to bring up?"

There was silence.

"Meeting adjourned," said Rowena with an informal wave of her hand.  "I'll go and tell Jasper about the new class so he can recalculate all the timetables."  She left the room without another word.

After climbing what seemed like an infinite number of stairs, she came to the final flight.  She rested on the landing for a moment, waiting for the Arithmancy class to finish.  There was a small window here, just under the top of the tower, and as she looked out onto the grounds she saw the huge forest, the Whomping Willows that circled the castle, and the large lake that interrupted the circle of trees.  It was a very nice view, even now when the sky was grey and the trees bare.  Students began coming down the stairs, chattering to each other as they walked, some carrying thick rolls of parchment and abacuses under their arms.  Most of them nodded or waved at her as they passed.  When they had gone, presumably off to Potions in the dungeons (or were they 'storage facilities'?) below, Rowena continued on to the classroom at the top of the tower.

She knocked sharply on the thick wooden door, which opened almost immediately.  Jasper blinked when he saw her, but she pushed him aside, stepping into the room.

"We will be adding a new class to the curriculum shortly," she said, sitting down on a student's desk.  "Can you fit it in?  You can take time out of the other classes, but be sure not to make it more than ten minutes per class.  And don't shorten the time given for students to travel between classes," she added.  "This is a large castle and students need time to find their ways around.  Especially with those moving staircases we added.  Can you do that?" she asked.

"What?  What's the class?" asked Jasper, looking utterly bewildered.

"We don't know yet," Rowena told him.

"But -- but who's teaching it?  Which students are taking it?  When is this effective by?  How long --"

"My mother is teaching it and I've no idea what it will entail except that it must be very irritating to her.  Put it as near as you can to breakfast -- she's not a morning person --"

"Are you trying to get rid of her, then?" asked Jasper, with great interest.  "Because I can adjust the wards momentarily --"

"No, no, I want her to stay away from here under pain of extreme annoyance," said Rowena.  "I don't want her to be driven away by spells."

"All right, I'll see what I can do," he said.  He was silent for a moment, as if expecting her to leave.  When she didn't, he nodded his head hopefully at her.  "Is there anything else?"

"I would like you to make some wards for me," she said.

"Wards?"

"Yes, you know, those things that are supposed to keep armies out, but don't?  The things we were discussing several seconds ago?"

Jasper looked hurt.  "They don't keep Muggle armies out.  Besides, there's only so much Muggle-repellent charms can do.  Muggles simply don't exist to most wards.  Why don't you ask your pet werewolf to make wards for you, if mine are so horrible?" he said grumpily.

"Because it's not Basil's week for wards -- and he's not my pet werewolf, he's Helga's," she said.  "I only need wards against one person -- Godric.  He's been turning my classroom upside-down lately, and all evidence suggests he enjoys teaching morning classes."

"How exactly has he been causing trouble?"

"I told you," she said impatiently.  "He's been turning the classroom upside-down.  Once he turned it sideways," she added helpfully.

"With some sort of matrix spell?" he asked hopefully.  "I can block those with a --"

"I'm afraid not," she said sadly.  "Very strong glue.  He is hopelessly Mugglish."

"All right," said Jasper.  "Come up to my office and sit down -- I'll need to write things down, anyway."  He waved his wand at a spot on the floor, causing a spiral staircase to emerge from it, climbing up to a trapdoor in the ceiling.  Jasper ascended the staircase, stopping halfway up to wait for her.  She followed after a moment, leaving the dusty Arithmancy classroom behind.

They emerged into a room with a stained-glass skylight of geometric patterns.  The cold winter sunlight dimly illuminated a small round room, surprisingly warm, and filled with equal proportions of scribbled-on parchments and leatherbound books.  Distributed with the same regularity as stars in the night sky were tiny orbs of light of various colors, contained in what seemed to be glass.  A scale model of the castle sat on one side of the room, while on the other was a battered wooden cabinet full of quills, inks, and more of the strange globes of light, including a clear glass bulb that was apparently waiting to be filled.  When both of Rowena's feet had left the stairway, the trapdoor snapped shut and melted into the rest of the floor.  She saw that a huge pentagram had been built into the floor.

Rowena looked around the room with raw avarice.  Jasper grinned naively at her wonder - she supposed he thought she was impressed, and she was, to a degree, but Rowena was not one to stay impressed for long.  I want it! said a little voice in her head.  She ignored it and tried to look bored, but it was impossible -- what were the little glass balls? -- and there were so many books!  She didn't have most of those books.  How dare he own books that she didn't have?  The sheer impudence of it was astonishing.

"What's this?" Rowena asked, pointing at the tiny castle, and without waiting for a response, ran over to it and reached down to take one of the tower roofs off, as though it were a dollhouse.

"Don't touch that!" said Jasper, running over to pull her away from it.  "It's an experiment in sympathetic magic -- very delicate -- don't even breathe on it.  Sit down over there," he added, pointing his wand at the farthest point of the pentagram, where a cushioned stool suddenly popped out of the floor.  Rowena hung back to examine the model.  Now she could see that there were little tiny people moving about inside the castle: there was Helga in her greenhouse scolding the Tentacula (it looked as though it'd eaten another cat) and Godric was lost in the forest again.  She wondered what would happen if she put her hand in front of the little figure representing Godric as she had sometimes done with ants crawling back to their nests; would the real Godric notice, and how would it affect him if he did?

She opened her mouth to ask Jasper, but then remembered she should be in and out of this room as quickly as possible.  This was, after all, Jasper Slytherin, the patronizing one.  Reluctantly, she sat down at the far side of the room.  "What's it for?" she contented herself with asking.

"It controls the wards," said Jasper.

"Surely there's an easier way," said Rowena.

"Well, yes, but this one's more interesting," said Jasper helplessly.  "But what's this about wards?"

"Oh.  Yes," she said, "the wards.  I only want them to keep Godric out -- none of the students should be prevented from coming to see me if they need to speak to me."

"And your classroom is on the third floor?"

"Yes, it's at the end of the corridor that opens into the oubliette," confirmed Rowena.

"Ah, yes, the oubliette," said Jasper, nodding.  "There's actually a whole series of rooms in that oubliette; quite a pity we can't use them for anything, since we don't have anybody to ouble."  Jasper grabbed a spare piece of parchment and wrote something on it.  "Do you want just a simple facial-recognition block, or something more complex?"

"I don't want just a facial-recognition spell -- he might use some sort of invisibility spell," said Rowena, "though I don't know who he'd get it from.  He's awful at normal spells.  It would be best if you did the facial-recognition and blocked things over ten feet tall.  If one doesn't work the other can take over."

"What is he, anyway?" asked Jasper.

"I don't know," said Rowena, frowning as though all was not right with the world.  After all, she ought to know everything.  "I mean, well, he's human.  He's Muggleborn.  That might have something to do with it, I don't know all that much about Muggles.  But he used to be short!  And his aura's clearly human, but there's funny magic shot through his bones, like someone put a spell on him and then it faded away."

"Funny magic?" Jasper sounded curious.

"It's not human -- elvish, perhaps.  The closest I've seen to it was house-elf magic, but this is much wilder and it has a savage, hungry sort of edge to it.  No decent house-elf would be running around with that magic.  Quite odd."  Anyone else would have asked her how magic could be hungry, or have any edge to it at all, but Jasper simply nodded.

"It's too bad we can't just make the wards keep that sort of magic out," he said.  "Of course, if we don't know what it is...."  He frowned.  "Now, if you'll just answer a few more questions, I can have them set up by tomorrow."

"All right," said Rowena.  "What do you need to know?"

* * *

Godric stomped up several more staircases than any reasonable building needed.  He wanted to get to his common room quickly so that he could light a nice big fire and unfreeze his blood.  He'd spent several hours in the forest, pretending not to hear its creatures' eerie noises, and trying to find out where Lord de Malfoie and his army had come from.  Lord Slytherin seemed to be worried about it -- he apparently had no faith in his son's wards -- and Godric, being the only professor who had ever known how to survive without magic, had been sent out to go and find any paths through the forest that would be relatively safe for a Muggle army.  Godric had ascertained that no army could pass through the forest without being noisy enough to be eaten by things like the notorious Grendel and his mother.  It was only common sense.  But, he thought bitterly as he stopped at the doorway to work out what his password was, nobody listened to him, because he was the big stupid one who'd been hired to move furniture and drive armies away.  He wasn't allowed to have common sense.

This, combined with Godric's total lack of directional sense, had got him very lost for several hours.  Oh yes, and he could have sworn he'd seen a giant hand in the sky somewhere... best not to think about that, though.  Probably just a cloud.

Godric suddenly remembered what the password was, and the door swung open.  He ducked inside and knelt on the floor to light the fireplace.  With a quick poke from his wand and a muttered spell, a warm, crackling flame rose from the logs.

Godric closed his eyes for a moment.  He thought perhaps he should just drift off to sleep right now, but he shook his head to stay awake.  Missing a hot dinner was not in his plans at the moment.

He saw something move out of the corner of his eye, and, twisting around to see what it was, he detected a small, long-nosed figure dressed all in green.  A goblin.  He hated goblins more than Jasper hated werewolves.  Godric was not a hateful person by nature, but he loathed goblins with a vengeance that anyone who knew him would have been astonished at.

With an almost inhuman roar, he grabbed the goblin by the throat and stood, bringing it up to eye level as he did so.  "Who sent you?" he demanded of it.

It looked down nervously, and, realizing it was being suspended twelve feet above the ground, ceased struggling.

"It was Rowena, wasn't it?  She's mad -- bringing goblins into a school -- do you have a name?  ...probably only speaks Gobbledegook," he muttered, disgusted.

"P-peeves, sir," it squeaked.  "A-and I don't belong to Lady Ravenclaw, and I didn't mean any harm, and I'll leave immediately, sir, if it suits you."

"It does not suit me," Godric said.  "You're coming with me," he added.

"I can't breathe!" it whined.

"Get used to it," he growled.  Keeping a tight hold on the goblin he left the room, the warmth of the fire forgotten.

* * *

Rowena sat in her classroom; a book propped up by a bottle of ink on her desk.  She leaned forward to turn the page, and inspected the colorful illuminated 'D' at the beginning of the paragraph, which showed a knight and a dragon in combat.  She grinned as the dragon shot orange flames, and the knight realized that his metal armor was an excellent conductor of heat.  Jasper was actually not all that bad, she decided, although he did have far too many delicate experiments in his study.  He was, at the very least, intelligent, a fact which far outweighed many of his bad qualities.  Although, she thought, frowning, he knew more than she did on certain subjects.  She skimmed the paragraph at the top of the page, which was detailing the exploits of particularly foolhardy Muggles and what had been done to get rid of them.

Godric burst into the room, eyes wild with some illogical rage.  She couldn't wait until Jasper's wards were done.  She sighed.  "What?" she snapped.

"Why are there goblins running around this castle?" he demanded, holding up his fist.  In it was clenched a terrified Peeves, who had shut his eyes tightly and was muttering something very rude in Gobbledegook.

"There's only one that I've ever seen, and he's not mine, he's Lord Salazar's.  Ask him."

"How do you know there's only one?" asked Godric.  "What are goblins doing at a school?  Isn't that dangerous?"

Rowena rolled her eyes.  "Really, Godric, you're afraid of everything!  Goblins, armies --"

"Fear of armies is perfectly sensible," Godric interrupted.

"-- carnivorous plants, heights..." continued Rowena.  Godric turned bright red at the mention of his long-standing fear of heights, but said nothing.  "Is there anything you're not afraid of?"

Godric scratched his head and frowned.

"Never mind," she said.  "Put that down," she snapped.

Godric obediently placed Peeves on her desk.  "I'm not afraid of ...rocks," he said sullenly.

"Congratulations," she told him.  "Now go away."

"And I'm not afraid of you, either," he continued boldly.

"What a pity," said Rowena.  "Petrificus totalus," she added, enunciating the spell carefully for his benefit.  Godric fell backwards onto the cold stone floor.  "Righteous anger makes people do foolish things," she said conversationally to Peeves, who looked as though he might bolt at any minute.  "Why don't you give me your notes," she asked, "and I'll let you go before I let him go."

"I can't," said the goblin, backing away from her.

"I won't do anything to them," said Rowena, "I just want to read them."

"No, you don't understand," said Peeves, grabbing his scroll as though it might run away.  "I can't let you -- I'm under orders --" He backed up even more and, with a frightened squeak, toppled right off the desk onto the chair.

"I'll take that," she said, forcing his hand open.  A tormented wail cut through the quiet classroom, and she looked back at the goblin, who was screaming as though a thousand red-hot pokers were burning him up.  Appalled, she Stupefied the goblin, but he continued to whimper in pain, even when he was unconscious.

He must be under a spell, she thought, otherwise he'd do something useful like try to take it back from me.  If I had a servant like this, I wouldn't make disobedience so painful.  Well, I'll just wipe his memory afterwards.  I hope he forgets.  She was still troubled, but she quickly scanned through Peeves' notes anyway.  After changing several words so that they would give Lord Salazar a slightly more favorable impression, she rolled up the scroll, put it in the goblin's hand (at which point he stopped squealing) and Obliviated him.  Then she leaned him against the wall just outside her classroom and woke him up.  Leaving the disoriented goblin, she returned to the classroom, waited for a few moments by the door to make sure Peeves had left, then performed the counter curse to the spell on Godric.  He sat up, looking quite grumpy.

"I suppose you're going to wipe my memory as well?"

"Nonsense.  You haven't got enough memory to wipe.  You'd forget everything."

"What was in that scroll?" he demanded.

"None of your business."

"You changed things in it -- it certainly is my business," said Godric stubbornly.

"I don't really see the logic in your argument.  Get out of here, Godric, or I'll turn you into dogmeat."

"I didn't know you had a dog," he said thoughtfully.  "What sort of dog is it?  What's its name?"

She glared at him.  Godric, she realized, had the attention span of a two-year-old when it came to most things.

"Oh.  That wasn't the point, was it?" he asked.

"His name's Rex.  He's a hunting dog and he's not mine," said Rowena for some absurd reason.

Godric looked as though he were starting to question Rowena's sanity.  "I'll just be going now," he said, edging towards the door.  When he reached it he hurried out, having forgotten completely about goblins and scrolls.

Rowena glared after him.  Dogmeat.  I should have turned them both into dogmeat.

* * *

"Look, Mother," said Rowena soon afterwards, walking to dinner with her mother, "I think maybe you should... er, be on your way. After all, won't they be missing your guidance at home?"

"Nonsense, dear, no one ever misses me," Lady Aeaeae told her daughter, dismissing her concerns with a wave of the hand.  "Oh, this castle is so draughty.  Shoddy construction, that's the only explanation.  Either that or he's drilled little holes in all the stone to spy on everyone."

"I doubt it," said Rowena, thinking of Peeves.  "Anyway, as I was saying --"

"Would you look at that?  He still has those little thin arrow-shooting windows!  Ha!  Just like a Muggle castle!  How silly."

"Mother," Rowena said, "as I was saying --"

"Does anyone in this castle even know how to shoot a bow?"

"No, Mother, but I'm sure Basil --"

"Oh, and how is poor Helga holding up under the strain?"

"Admirably," said Rowena, though she didn't tell her mother which particular strain she was talking about.

"It's an awful thing to happen, isn't it?  She really does deserve better than that, but the poor girl's always been so honorable.  It's a fault I'm glad to say you never did acquire, dear," she told Rowena, who wondered how that could possibly be considered a compliment.

I would very much like to prove her wrong, she said to herself.  Why can't I?  There must be something horribly wrong with me.  "I suppose I haven't," she said.  "Anyway, she seems quite happy with Basil.  I don't see why she shouldn't be.  It's her choice, after all.  As I was saying before we --"

"It may be her choice, dear, but I don't think you should let her do such dangerous things."

Her mother, Rowena reflected, evidently had no idea what the word 'choice' meant.  She sighed -- this conversation was going nowhere -- and as a last-ditch attempt to get back on topic, said, "Well, before I was so rudely interrupted --"

"I was the one who interrupted you, dear, and it's not very nice to call your own mother 'rude,'" said Lady Aeaeae.  "Besides, I'm a guest at the castle.  I deserve to be treated with some courtesy."

No you don't, her daughter thought.  "Well," said Rowena, "that's what I'm getting at --"

"Oh, here we are," said her mother as they came to the doors of the Great Hall.  "I must go and talk to Lord Salazar -- he doesn't agree with me on some things yet."

"I can't think why not," said Rowena to herself as she watched her mother walk away.  She felt someone jab her in the shoulder, and turned to see Jasper.  "Don't do that," said Rowena.

"Did you tell her about the class?" he hissed.

"No," said Rowena.

"Good.  There's just no way it will fit evenly into the school day," Jasper said.

"There isn't?  Why not?"

"Time distortions in the castle.  The architecture makes it a slightly different time of day everywhere, with differences of up to ten minutes.  There's no way the new class would work."

"Is that why I'm late to lunch all the time?" she asked, suddenly understanding.  "And I thought it was poor planning on my part.  How should we drive her away?"

"I've taken care of that," said Jasper.  "I hope you don't mind -- I couldn't ask anyone for permission and now I can't really undo it."

"That's all right," said Rowena.  "As long as she leaves this castle alive, I will be quite content."  At this, Jasper looked worried, but she ignored it.  "By the way, what is your father's horrid little goblin up to?  Godric caught him in his common room, went completely mad, and barged into my classroom as though I'd done something wrong."

"Peeves, you mean?" asked Jasper.  "There's nothing wrong with Peeves," he said defensively.

"There is plenty wrong with Peeves," said Rowena.

"Peeves is so useful," said Jasper.  "He's very good at stealing things, and he can get into any room of the castle without a password."

"You know," said Rowena conversationally, "you're all mad, aren't you?  There's something in the water here.  I assumed before that I was the only sane one in the castle, but now I'm beginning to question even that."

Jasper pondered this for a moment.  "They say that if you question your sanity, you're sane," he said.  "But if you've heard that, you're assured that you're sane.  That means you're no longer questioning your sanity, which opens up the possibility of madness.  So you have to question your sanity again.  Which leads to the inevitable assurance of sanity.  That makes it possible --"

"Sit down before you hurt yourself," ordered Rowena.  "And uncross your eyes."

He nodded, and went to sit down.  She sat at the table between Helga and Basil, preferring to silently wonder what Jasper had meant when he said 'I've taken care of that,' rather than take part in the discussion.  It seemed to be about Quintapeds again, only this time it was their eating habits.

"They're fighting again," muttered Helga.  "How do I make them stop?"

"Feed them to your plants," suggested Rowena.  "That's permanent, mind you."

Helga stuck her tongue out.

Rowena overheard Lord Salazar speaking to her mother.  "Well, Lady Aeaeae, have you been enjoying your visit to the school so far?"

"I have not," said Lady Aeaeae.  Rowena turned in astonishment to watch -- she had to see this.  Her mother was speaking with an even more astonished expression on her face.  "In fact," she continued, speaking unwillingly, "it is embarrassing how much nicer this castle is than mine.  Furthermore, Rowena refuses to cooperate with me on any plans I might have, and you, sir, are an arrogant fool."  She stopped speaking, merely staring in amazement.  Then a cruel smile crossed her face.  "How much did you bribe the workers to keep silent about the design of your castle?"

"I didn't bribe them," said Lord Salazar.  "I wiped all their memories completely and sent them into the forest.  They were probably eaten by Rodents of Unusual Size."  There was an uneasy silence.  Then Salazar stood up and leveled an angry glare at the rest of the table.  "All right!" he said, looking livid.  "Who put the Veritaserum in the soup?"

"I told you I'd taken care of it," said Jasper matter-of-factly.  No one else had heard him -- everyone, including the students, had started looking around, asking 'Did you have the soup?'  This was further confused by the fact that there were three different kinds of soup and Lord Salazar hadn't indicated which one the potion was in.  But Rowena decided right then that it didn't matter if Jasper was mad, or hated werewolves, or, in fact, if he was willing to sell his soul for a bottle of Butterbeer and a cheap Veela.

She grinned at him.  "You put Veritaserum in the soup?  You are evil."

He blushed.  "Actually, it's only in their soup," he said.  "And I had to," he added modestly.  "The extra class didn't fit into the timetables.  I had no other choice!"

Basil, overhearing this, stepped forward.  "I should congratulate you," he said earnestly, reaching out to shake Jasper's hand.  "Even if you are a smug, biased git, who's wrong about everything," he added, just to make sure he wasn't being too agreeable.

Jasper blinked in shock, then looked both ways to make sure no one was watching before punching Basil in the face.  Basil's expression was more of surprise than of pain, and he soon recovered enough to retaliate.

Meanwhile, Salazar was taking full advantage of this situation.  "What passwords do you need to get into the Council War Room?" he was asking Lady Aeaeae, who had stuck her fingers into her ears and began to chant 'I can't hear you!  I can't hear you!' before he finished the question.

In short, the Great Hall was in total chaos.  Godric stood up, conscientiously but hopelessly trying to keep everything from self-destructing.

"What are you doing?" he shouted at Jasper and Basil.  "Stop!"  He pulled them away from each other, holding each by the front of the robes.  "How old are you two, anyway?  Four?  Most of the students are better behaved than you!" he snapped.  "Do you think it'll make you right if you strangle him?  Because I know well enough that I am frequently wrong, and I can strangle both of you."  Basil cringed; Jasper merely folded his arms and looked haughty -- a very odd sight indeed on someone hanging by the neck of his robes.  Annoyed, he dumped the two of them on the floor.

"That's right," cackled Lady Aeaeae.  "Send him to bed without dinner!"  She had taken her fingers out of her ears in response to Lord Salazar poking her in the arm with a dull knife.

"And you two!" said Godric, turning on the two Council members.  "You're supposed to be concerned with matters of government!  And for God's sake, put that down!"  He grabbed the knife Lord Salazar was now nervously fiddling with and drove it halfway into the wooden table, where it stuck.  "You've got more control than kings in this world, from what I've seen, and what do you do?  You bicker like children, make life miserable for the rest of us, and fight over petty differences like the spoiled brats you are!  You can't be arsed to enforce any of the laws that actually keep people safe, and the ones that don't matter are the ones people always end up getting sent to Drear for disobeying.  And then you -- you -- er..."  He suddenly looked around at the others, halting his extemporaneous speech on The Decline of Western Civilization.  Everyone was staring at him.  He gulped.  "I -- I'm sorry," he said nervously.  "I'm very sorry.  I didn't mean any of it."  Then he turned and rushed out of the Great Hall.

Lady Aeaeae tried to tug the fork out of the table, but it was stuck.  "That was decidedly odd," said Rowena, after she had put Silencing Charms on her mother and Lord Salazar.  Both of them were too busy gaping to notice.

"Very," agreed Helga.  "I wonder what's wrong with him.  He's usually so quiet."

"He hasn't got the intelligence of a dead snail, that's what's wrong with him," said Rowena.

"I think you're being quite harsh," said Helga.  "He's obviously got at least the intelligence of a dead snail, if not a live one.  After all, you're still worried about him and that Animagus thing, aren't you?  And he did have a point."

"If he hasn't got the intelligence of a dead snail yet, trying to become an Animagus will do the trick for certain.  I'm not worried at all."

"Well, then, I hope you know what you're doing," said Helga.

"I always know what I'm doing," Rowena insisted.

Helga paused; Rowena supposed it was because what she had said was nearly irrefutable.  "I hope you both know what you're doing," she insisted. "Do me a favor.  If Runty's as confused as ever and you can tell he'll try to do the spell anyway, give him some help."

"He won't ever get to the spell," said Rowena.  "He'll hem and haw and be afraid of the spell, and then he'll give up."

"No he won't," said Helga. "Godric never gives up.  He's a bit mad -- you know that, I know that, and probably he knows it as well."

"If you doubt your own sanity, you're sane," said Rowena.

"What?"

"Never mind.  I'll see what I can do for him if he gets lost, but I can't guarantee it.  If, one day, we've got a white rabbit instead of a Transfiguration teacher, I will not be held responsible."

After the disaster at dinner, Lady Aeaeae had prepared to leave by the very next morning, taking her husband with her.  Before she left, however, she held a whispered conversation with Rowena.  Lord Salazar regarded them from across the room, looking patient but nonetheless rather annoyed.  Jasper stood behind him anxiously, peering over his father's shoulder.

"Do you recall what we talked about?"  Lady Aeaeae had asked Rowena.

What, do you mean the arrow-slits or Lord Salazar's many faults? wondered Rowena, but she nodded.  "Godric and Fudge?"

"Yes, them.  Now listen, dear, and I'll tell you what to --" she said.

Rowena held up a hand.  "Look," she said, "if this is going to involve me having to do anything other than avoid either of them, I don't want to hear about it."

"Rowena," her mother sighed, "you're being very difficult.  If you're going to keep behaving in such a shameful manner, I shall refuse to tell you any more."  She then turned to Lord Salazar.  "We will be leaving now.  We know when we're not wanted," she said rather nastily to him.

"Perhaps you don't," he replied.  "If you had, you would never have come."

She wrinkled her nose.  "Come, Gualterus," she said sharply, and, like a trained dog, Rowena's father followed her, muttering muzzily to himself.

Rowena shook her head as Lord Salazar withdrew from the room, glaring at Jasper as he left.  "The next Council meeting will be fun, won't it?" she asked.

"Almost as much fun as being repeatedly ripped apart by vultures," agreed Jasper cheerfully.  "I can hardly wait.  Do you think they'll be this awful at the meeting?" he asked.

"Mother won't.  She's been pretending to be nice for as long as I've known her.  It'll take more than a little Veritaserum to knock that down permanently  Although it was wonderful to watch."

Jasper sighed.  "I wish it were like that for my father.  He's never going to rest until he's got control of that Council.  He'd been saving that trick up for a very desperate situation, but now that it's been used your mother may have to watch what she eats and drinks from now on, or else she'll find herself unexpectedly telling the truth."

"How frightening.  No poisons?" asked Rowena.

"Poisons are for inconveniences, not enemies," said Jasper.  "Especially not enemies in such a high position that they'd be likely targets of poisoning."

"My mother would never make that distinction," Rowena said. "She'd poison anyone she didn't like if she could.  Fortunately, she has to get all her poisons from other people; she's dreadful with potions."

"Oh, come now," said Jasper, "anyone's better than that werewolf."

"Now really," said Rowena, "there's no need to insult him simply because he broke your nose last night.  Besides, it's all better now!"  She smiled condescendingly.  This was not precisely true; Healer Wooton had fixed his nose, but Jasper still had two black eyes to show for his trouble.

"It's not my fault," he muttered.  "He's a werewolf.  They don't get hurt as easily."

"Serves you right for getting into a fight with him, then, doesn't it?" asked Rowena.  "I suddenly realize how your father came to be such an expert in healing potions," she added.

Jasper looked indignant, but Rowena had more important things to do than argue, so she turned and walked away.

* * *

Godric was having a very bad day.  He'd been ten minutes late to his first class -- for some reason he was always late -- and then he'd nearly been eaten by a large and innocuous-looking flower of Helga's.  And now Lord Slytherin's pet goblin was standing on his desk and pestering him.  Godric dared not complain to Lord Salazar.  After his outburst at dinner he felt that it would probably be prudent to pretend that he didn't exist for several days, and, as such, he had been staying away from the dungeons all day so as not to run into Lord Salazar.

"...tracking mud into the castle, and otherwise blatantly disregarding rules!" Peeves finished, finally concluding with his long list.  Godric glared.  He wondered why the goblin hadn't cared to interview Helga's mother about the various crimes he'd committed while being tutored.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked.

"You are taking this far too lightly, human," hissed the goblin.

Godric detected great contempt in the last word, which he considered rather misplaced; the goblin was, after all, a servant.  He shrugged.  "Oh, no, it's just that I had a mud-tracking expedition planned this afternoon and I wouldn't miss it for the world."

The goblin stared, not seeming to grasp the concept of humor.

"Everyone needs a hobby," added Godric.  Confusing the enemy was a strategy he had taken to heart long ago.  "Now, are you going to leave?" he asked, glaring.

"Very well," Peeves muttered.  He got off of the desk, using some open drawers as steps, and walked quickly out of the room.

Godric stared moodily for a moment at a small bottle of green ink, musing on rules and goblins.  His thoughts were interrupted when someone knocked at the door, and he accidentally knocked the ink bottle off of the desk.  Godric, muttering to himself, knelt down to retrieve the broken pieces.  "Come in," he told whoever it was at the door.

Rowena stepped in, an unpleasant expression on her face.  As always, she brandished her wand, as though perhaps someone might try to hurt her if she didn't have it with her.  "You can't get into my classroom anymore," she said, voice bordering on sing-song-y.

Godric knew this, having tried unsuccessfully to sneak in earlier that morning to paint the walls bright orange, but he forced himself to look confused.  "Why not?"

"Because I got Jasper to put up wards.  So don't even try."

"Any chance he could do the same for me?" asked Godric.  He wished she'd told him something more about the wards; if he knew what they blocked he would know what he could get away with.

"No," said Rowena.

"So you just came to gloat?"

"Of course not," she said.  "I understand that you'd rather not get involved with the Wizards' Council in any way?"

"What have I done now?" asked Godric, startled.  This had something to do with his unfortunate outburst at dinner, he decided.  Why did I say those things?  Now I'm going to be sacked, and it could have been prevented if I had just kept my temper.  She's right.  I am an idiot.

"Nothing yet," she said, "except you do far too well with transfigurations for your own good."

"Oh," he said, relieved.  He went back to picking up the pieces of the ink bottle.  Well, a lucky idiot, then.  Lord Salazar will probably come around later; no doubt he's very busy with classes or something.  Should I prepare a defense?  No, no, best to apologize profusely and blame something else.  Or perhaps I was possessed -- yes, it was a demon, that's it... no, wait, I don't think most wizards believe in demons.  But there must be some equivalent --

"Godric!" shouted Rowena.  Godric jumped, which caused him to drop the pieces again.

"What?" he asked.

"What is that?"

"Amazingly enough, it's an ink bottle," said Godric.  Looking down at the green puddle on the floor, he muttered, "And quite a lot of ink."

"Why haven't you fixed it?" Rowena demanded.

Godric looked at her.  "What do you mean?"

"Why haven't you fixed it?" she repeated.

Godric blinked.  "Should I have?"

"It's a waste of perfectly good glass not to," she said peevishly, rolling her eyes.

He frowned to himself.  He knew he was missing something in this exchange, though what it was eluded him at the moment.  "Fine," he said, turning.  "I'll go and get some glue."

Rowena stared.  "You can't honestly say you don't know that spell, can you?"

Godric looked back at her.  "There's a spell?" he asked.  "That would make things simpler, wouldn't it?"

She sighed and shook her head.  Jabbing her wand at the shattered glass, Rowena muttered "Reparo!" and the glass coalesced into a bottle again.  With another spell, the ink was gone from the floor and back in the bottle.  Then she looked up at him inquisitively.

"Thanks," he said, and slowly knelt to retrieve the bottle.  "Now what's this about the Council?"

"But what about the --"

"What about the what?"

"Don't you want to know that spell?" she asked.

"It's not important," Godric said quickly.  "The Council," he said simply, sitting on the floor so as to be nearly eye-level with Rowena.

"I think my mother's going to prepare Fudge for when they get rid of the Glendowers."  She looked at him expectantly.  When he said nothing, she asked, "Well?"

"Well what?" asked Godric.  "I thought you hated and wanted to kill me.  Since when am I part of your little political news ring?"

"It involves you.  I thought you ought to know," she said.  "You don't care?"

"I don't," he said.  "As I said before, I'd rather not get involved with the Council."

"Well," she said, "that's going to be a bit difficult.  You see," she explained, "they're going to want Fudge to prove he can do what he says he can."

"Oh," said Godric, sounding uncomfortable.

"Yes," she said.  "And they're going to make it a fairly challenging piece of transfiguration," she added.

"Oh," he repeated.  "What do they do to him if he can't do it?" he asked, sounding worried.

"We won't find out," said Rowena.  "I suspect my mother and her money will feature prominently in his mysterious success, though no public mention of it will be made."

Godric nodded.  "But why should I care?  For that matter, why do you care?"

She glared.  "Because I don't want her gaining any more power.  It's bad enough now; she thinks she can make me do whatever she wants -- she thinks she can make you do whatever she wants!  Doesn't that bother you?  Even a little bit?"

He shrugged.  "I've been treated worse," he said simply.  "You can't control life, Rowena.  It doesn't work like that."

She muttered something that sounded like "Well, it had better start working like that," but did not elaborate.  "At any rate," she continued, now speaking to Godric, "we're going to have to scare Fudge."

"Are you?" he said.  "Who exactly does 'we' refer to, again?  You, Helena, and your dog?"

"Ah, Godric," she said, smiling cruelly, "you're not as stupid as you look.  Which would, admittedly, be a challenge for anyone.  'We' refers to me and you."

"No," said Godric flatly.  She raised an eyebrow.  "No, Rowena, I am not going to go off to frighten someone.  Do you know how long I've been doing it?  Do you know what it's like to walk into a room and expect everyone in it to fall silent and stare at you and wonder if you're going to kill anybody?"  He stood up again, suddenly, and she instinctively stepped back.  "No, of course you don't.  I hope you never do."

Shaking her head, Rowena reminded herself that this was Godric, this was Runty, the boy she'd asked Helga to throw off of a roof when they were younger.  He was hardly dangerous.  Taking a deep breath, she started again.  "Oh, you'd be surprised.  Anyway, when did I ever say anything about you frightening him?  He ordered you around for a long while, didn't he?  Besides, you're the least frightening person I know."

"So why --"

"You know him.  You've worked with him.  You know what makes him cringe, what he wants, and how much he'll do for it."

"I thought you knew I didn't want to get involved?"

"You're involved," she said.  "Get used to it."

"What if I don't want to?"

She smiled her not-nice smile again.  "Tell me, Godric, would you really like to find out?  Oh, and either learn Reparo soon or don't break things.  It's a simple Latin-derived first-person-singular present-indicative incantation.  I mean, really."  She shook her head disgustedly, and left.

And just when I thought she'd got the hang of not hating me, too, thought Godric.  He shrugged, supposing it was only fair, and went back to his desk to try and get something done.

* * *

After the departure of Lady Aeaeae, time seemed to pass much more quickly.  Soon the students were studying for their final exams.  Helena hummed to herself as she chose random books out of which she read random passages aloud to random people.

"Ridgebacked dragons," she informed Julian and Devlin the day before their first exams, "have a spectacular mating ritual in which they circle each other --"

"We don't care!  Nobody cares!" shouted Julian, who was at his wit's end, he still had not mastered the art of turning pomegranates into apples, and Professor Gryffindor had assured them that this would be on the test.

"Calm down!" said Devlin.  "Besides, what are you worried about?  You're top of the class in Charms."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I want to be bottom of the class in Transfiguration," said Julian miserably.

"Perhaps he'll forget the exam is tomorrow," said Helena cheerfully.

Julian glared at her.  "Come on, he's not that stupid."

"We could do a Memory Charm on him," said Helena.  "It'd be easy."

"Oh really?" asked Julian.  "We haven't done those yet.  I haven't done those yet, and your lunatic mother who hates me has given me several piles of extra credit work that I'm never going to finish and I'm going to go mad or possibly die, either of which would be very bad!"

Helena and Devlin exchanged worried glances at this uncharacteristically incoherent exclamation.  "Have you been eating enough?" asked Devlin.

"He looks pale," observed Helena.  "Perhaps he needs rest."

"He always looks pale," Devlin said.  "He needs meat.  He needs more blood in him."

"What is he, a vampire?  It's obvious he needs to sleep," protested Helena.

"Look at that!" said Devlin, poking Julian in the arm.  "Skin and bones.  He needs food."

"Don't poke me," said Julian grumpily.  "I'm just fine, and what I need is for both of you to leave me alone."

"See?  He's becoming antisocial.  Obviously his mind needs a rest from all this work," Helena said.

"He just needs more to eat.  It's hunting instincts, you know, for survival in the wild," said Devlin.

"You're forgetting he's not a smelly little beast like you," said Helena.  "He's never been in the wild."

"That's getting personal," Devlin observed.

"Go away!" shouted Julian.  They both jumped.

"Fine," said Helena.  "Nobody likes a complainer."  She turned and left, nose in the air.

"Are you positive you don't want me to bring back a bowl of stew?  Some bread?" asked Devlin.  Julian glared at him.  "All right," said Devlin.  "Fail Transfiguration!  Have fun, but don't blame me!"

Julian swore under his breath, jumped up from the table he was at, and called after Devlin that perhaps he would like something to eat after all.

* * *

And suddenly the exams were upon them; those tests which are dreaded before their coming yet strangely untroubling when they do arrive.  The End was here, and none of them could do anything about it anymore; so, went the general consensus, it was best to pretend that one had repented and get on with it.

Transfiguration was not too difficult.  Julian's apple was strangely pomegranate-skinned, while Devlin's was just a tiny bit redder than it needed to be.  Helena's own pomegranate had exploded, covering the room with seeds and pulp, for reasons unknown to all, but when the others sniggered she had turned on them and threatened to try and turn them into apples.  Professor Gryffindor had then informed her that they would not be studying human-vegetable transformations until much later, but that she was quite welcome to try, although he would rather she did it outside of his class so he wouldn't need to assign detentions.  There was no mention of the incident for a long while after that.

Charms was noticeably more difficult, for there was a large written portion on Lady Ravenclaw's test; she evidently felt that anyone who was not mastering the art of reading did not deserve to do well at anything else.  There was, however, also a practical test, wherein one had to use a levitating charm on a large chunk of lead.  Helena managed to do much better in this area, as did Julian.  Devlin, evidently nervous, thought he must've have made the lead a great deal heavier, but once it was retrieved and Lady Ravenclaw had repaired the floor, he succeeded in making the lead float.

Professor Hufflepuff had a selection of simulacra which the students had to disarm and immobilize in the least amount of time, which was made harder by the imitation curses and the startling nature of the simulacra.  Not to be outdone by her husband, Mistress Hufflepuff's final test was to successfully transplant a vegetable lamb without using a pot.  Devlin had to chase his lamb (which had wandered away in search of greener pastures) and drag it back to the re-planting site without letting it step on its roots.  Julian's escaped altogether, but everyone kept taunting him by passing him the plate of lamb that night at supper.

Their Arithmancy test was much less exciting.  Devlin felt that, on the whole, he preferred the Arithmancy to the vegetable lambs, but he still wished he had several more fingers to count on, as they would have been very useful with all of these Multiplication Magics they'd been studying.

The Literacy test was highly confusing in its own right: they were given three stories to read and told to scribble down what they felt was the main point of each of them.  There was one story about a man who pulled out the arm of a monster and then had to go into a swamp and kill its mother; Devlin decided that meant that "if you're going to pull someone's arm out, you had better be certain that their mother doesn't find out, because she'll kill you."

Then there was another story about a fellow who had decided that making wings out of wax and feathers would be an ideal way to get out of jail.  The only problem was that the sun melted the wax on the wings and they fell apart. Devlin wrote that "if he was thick enough to think that wings should be held together by wax, he deserved to be in jail anyway."

The last story was the most complicated; it was about two brothers who had been raised by a wolf and had decided to build a city.  One of them, whose name was Romulus, drew a line in the dirt and told the other, whose name was Remus, that this was where the wall of the future city would be.  Then Remus, for no particular reason, crossed the line, and Romulus killed him.  Devlin wondered who exactly was writing these stories, and whether Lady Ravenclaw and Mistress Hufflepuff knew about it, but he dutifully wrote that "building cities is a dangerous business, especially if you have a homicidal maniac for a brother.  Also, people who have been raised by wolves probably don't have good manners so you shouldn't trust them, even if you have also been raised by the same wolves."

He surveyed his work with pleasure, noting that he had written at least two lines of writing for each story (counting scratched-out misspellings), and decided he was quite pleased with himself.  The others were evidently trying to write the next Great Epic, and Devlin frowned, wondering if he should elaborate.  He checked his writing and decided that no, indeed, it was entirely perfect, and anyone who said otherwise was merely jealous.  All they had left now was Potions, which would not, of course, be much of a challenge for an intelligent person such as himself.  He sat back in his chair, brimming with smugness, and considered the world at large.

Then Potions came, and it was, Devlin admitted, slightly harder than he had been counting on.  He supposed he should have studied more, because he really had no idea what to put into a Nocturnal Nostrum.  He vaguely remembered something about tongue of dog, but that might have been for wart remover.  Still, he stirred a spoonful of powdered dog's tongue into the mix.  Already he had good deal of dragon's bile and some hen's teeth, which, if nothing else, would certainly add to the texture.  He felt that dog's tongue would, at the very least, give the potion some extra zing.

As it turned out, it gave the potion a bit more zing than it needed, because while Devlin was adding duck's tears, it exploded.  After the smoke had cleared a bit, Lord Slytherin cautiously stepped over to Devlin's cauldron (which had miraculously survived) and peered at the smoking remains of his potion.  "Would you mind telling me exactly what was in that?" he asked.

Devlin very much minded, because he was now quite certain that either dog's tongue or hen's teeth had been quite the wrong ingredient, but Lord Slytherin had asked, and saying 'no' probably meant that he would fail the class.  "Er," he stated, looking around at his classmates through the hazy air.  "Well, um, there was some dragon's bile," he said, "and duck's tears," he said, "and... some dog's tongue as well," he added hesitantly.

"And hen's teeth," said Lord Slytherin, "if I'm not mistaken."

Devlin nodded, then looked at his shoes.

"Well," said Lord Slytherin, "I suppose we all know now why hens with teeth are so rare these days.  You might have done well if you hadn't put those hen's teeth in, but thank you for demonstrating their properties for us all," he added.

Devlin brightened.  "Does that mean I'm getting high marks?"

"No," said Lord Slytherin cheerily, scribbling something down on a parchment and fanning some smoke away from his face.

Devlin scowled.

* * *

"I failed," said Julian, his head in his hands.  They were sitting by the fire in Professor Gryffindor's common room, Julian being the Panicky Student, Devlin playing the role of Supportive Friend, and Helena having assumed the part of the General Nuisance.

"You did not fail," said Devlin.  "Look at it this way; at least your pomegranate didn't explode," he added.

Helena glared at him.  "Oh, who managed to nearly destroy the Potions classroom in a vain attempt to make a sleeping potion?" she asked.

"Hmmph," said Devlin.  "What are you here for, anyway?  Doesn't your mother let you stay in her tower anymore?"

"For your information, I came to beat Julian at chess," she said primly.

"Oh, that's just what he needs," said Devlin, rolling his eyes.  Julian glared at him.  "I -- I mean, not that she would," he added.

"Do you even know how to play chess?" asked Julian.

Devlin shook his head.  Julian and Helena exchanged horrified looks.

"We must teach him," said Helena, conjuring the board with a vastly against-the-rules spell.

"Yes, yes, very important," said Julian, scrambling to put the pieces on the board.  "Now, I always forget -- do the knights go here?"

"No, no, the pointy-heads -- yes, that's right."

"Pointy-heads?  Those are bishops."

"Same thing."

"Helena!  That's a horrible thing to say."

"What?  They're pointy!"

Professor Gryffindor entered and hurried up the stairs, muttering to himself about pomegranates and apples.  Julian froze, counting the footsteps under his breath until he was certain that the professor was safely out of earshot.

Then he took a deep breath.  "Good," he said.  "Now that that's out of the way....  Helena, you take the white pieces."

"I don't want the white pieces," she whined.

Julian sighed; this was going to be a long game.

And here they were, lost in the forest again, although this time the only member of the original party was Rowena.  She was very pleased with herself, and glad they'd been lost the first time, for it had provided inspiration for this time around.  They would, alas, have to spend the night in Gryffindor's Hollow once they got there, for it would be so dark they couldn't possibly go back until morning.

"Mum?  It's getting dark," said Helena.  "I don't like these woods."

"Don't worry, we'll be out of them soon," said Rowena.  "Perhaps your Arithmancy teacher can help, seeing as he's been kind enough to get us lost in the first place," she said, giving Jasper a carefully adjusted glare.  She'd altered his calculations slightly when he'd been staring in astonishment at Devlin's many siblings.  The purpose of their journey had been to take the students back home, but Rowena had decided to hijack the trip for her own devices.

She had managed to get Jasper involved in an argument about group Auto-Apportation so that he would give it a try and, with some help from Rowena, get the wrong coordinates, landing a considerable distance away from their target destination.  Rowena had convinced Godric (who was now looking nervously around at the trees) to suggest Gryffindor's Hollow, and, of course, they'd landed in the woods.

"I don't think we're in the right place," said Godric hesitantly.

"Of course we're not in the right place," snapped Jasper.  "We're lost!"

"I'm hungry," whined Helena.  "Mum, when are we going to have dinner?"

"I don't know," said Rowena through clenched teeth.  "Helena, go and bother Professor Gryffindor.  Oh, look, I think there are less trees up ahead.  Can you see anything, Godric?"

"There are less trees up ahead," said Godric uncomfortably.  "I don't like this, though... it's too dark."

"Yes, I imagine we shall have to spend the night in the village," said Rowena.  "I certainly don't trust this Auto-Apportation spell for groups -- we might land farther off-grounds than is safe -- and I'd rather not fly at night if I can help it."

At this, Godric looked even less happy, but stayed silent.  Soon they came to the place where the trees stopped altogether, and found themselves standing in quite the wrong village.  No one was outside.  Rowena blinked; she'd been wrong.  She hadn't been wrong very often before, and she didn't like the feeling at all.  "Where are we?" she asked, expecting this to be a useless question.

"It's a Muggle village," said Godric, who was now looking positively terrified.  "The one I came from.  As I recall, the residents are less than hospitable when it comes to... well, me."

"Yes, well, do you have to ask why?" asked Rowena.

"A real Muggle village?" asked Helena.  "Mum, can we go and look at the Muggles?  I've never seen a Muggle before!"

"Don't be silly, Helena, you just saw some at Devlin's, and all of the servants at... at home are Muggles," said Rowena.  She'd almost said "At your father's castle," but for some reason she didn't want to mention him to her daughter.

"But you never let me speak to them except to ask them for things," Helena whined.

"Godric, should we just take our chances in the forest or is it safe here?" Rowena asked, ignoring Helena in her determination to blame anything that went wrong on Godric.

Godric blinked.  "What do you mean, is it safe here?  What do you think they have?"

"Don't Muggles like sharp things?" asked Jasper.

"What, you think a little village like this has an army of its own?" asked Godric incredulously.  "The worst they could do is stone us," he said, though he grimaced as he said it.  "And since we've all got wands... no, I think it's safe.  I suppose we could spend the night."  He looked distinctly unhappy about it, though.  "I hope my brother's not dead."

Godric stopped at one of the hovels and knocked carefully on the wooden door.

"Godric, what –"

"This is where I used to live," he explained, pushing the door open and ushering them in.  Then he ducked in himself.

Rowena looked around.  Everywhere was dark and dingy; the floor was just dirt.  She felt unpleasantly cramped just from looking at the place.  Even so, she felt that this was not right, that she was trespassing on someone else's land; a feeling she never got even when barging right into Godric's classroom and refusing to leave.  Probably because it's so dirty, she thought.

"Geoffrey?" a woman's voice asked, and Rowena suddenly realized they were not alone in the room.  The owner of the voice, dressed in brown so close to the color of everything else that it could have been deliberate camouflage, turned around and dropped a plate on the floor.  "GEOFFREY!" she called, panicked.  Then she grabbed the plate she'd dropped and flung it at Godric, who ducked.

"I'm so sorry," began Godric, "I --"

"Godric?  You got away!  Where have you been all this time?"  A man stood in the doorway, dressed in similar fashion, or lack thereof.  Rowena noticed that he looked very like Godric; his hair was lighter, but his nose was the same shape.  "And what are they feeding you?" he asked.

"Do you know these people?" the Muggle woman demanded of him.

The man who smiled tentatively.  Rowena thought the expression was exactly like Godric's just before he said something that he'd rather he didn't have to tell anyone about.  "Winifred, this is my little brother Godric."

"Little?" demanded Winifred.  "That... that thing is going to leave this house at once!  And who are these... people?" she asked, looking distastefully at Rowena and Jasper.  Helena was hiding behind Rowena.

"I'm sorry," said Godric, cringing.  He looked as though he was trying to make himself look smaller, but it didn't seem to be working very well.  "I'll just... erm... sorry, I'll go."  He looked helplessly at the doorway, which Rowena was standing in.  "I'll go," he repeated nervously, glaring at Rowena.

"No, you most certainly will not," said Rowena crossly.  "Muggle!" she shouted at Geoffrey.  "Come here, you."

"Rowena, his name is Geoffrey," said Godric through clenched teeth.

"Yes, but who are you?" asked Geoffrey, looking at her.  "Godric, who's she, and why's she ordering everyone around?"

"It's her hobby," said Godric wearily.  "This is... this is Rowena."

"If I may make a suggestion?" asked Jasper, who had been silent until now.

"You may not," said Rowena.  "After all, you're the one who got us into this mess."  Privately, she was mostly cranky that they had gone the wrong way.

"Mum, I'm hungry," whined Helena.  At the sound of her voice, Winifred looked at Rowena with something like jealousy.

"You're the... the wizard, aren't you?" the Muggle woman asked Godric distastefully.

"In the loosest sense of the word," said Rowena.  "He's not very good at it.  Then again, neither is this one," she added, nodding at Jasper, "and he's had loads of opportunities to learn it."

"I'm not bad!" said Jasper.  "At least I can repair broken glass," he added snidely.

Godric looked grumpily down at him and muttered something none of them could hear, but he had the common decency to look embarrassed.

"I'm hungry," repeated Helena.

Winifred stared at Helena for a moment, frowning.  Then she looked at a pot that was in the fire.  "Geoffrey... d'you think we can spare some stew?  What's your name, girl?"

Helena looked at Rowena, who nodded.  "I'm Helena," she said quietly.  "Are you a Muggle?  I've heard about them.  You haven't got red hair like Devlin's family.  How do you manage without magic?  Do you really only have one god?  Isn't it safer to have at least two around in case something happens to one of them?  And how can you have stories about it if it can't argue with other gods, or does it just argue with mortals instead?  Does it have children?  What does it eat?  Where did it --"

"That's enough, Helena," said Rowena quickly, though her daughter's string of questions had made the Muggle woman grin a bit.  "It's been... interesting meeting Godric's... family," she said, "but we've got to find somewhere to stay the night.  That's more important at the moment than food."

"But I'm hungry!" shouted Helena, stamping her feet.

"Do they look like they've got food enough to feed themselves?" asked Rowena.  "Helena, you're being a brat.  Now come along; we don't exactly have a lot of time, it's getting dark."

"You can stay here," said Winifred quickly.  "I'll see what we can do about food.  The butcher owes Geoffrey some favors.  Not that it'd hurt if you came along to be convincing," she said, shooting a dirty look at Godric.

"I'll see what I can do," said Godric.  "I'm very sorry about the --"

Rowena kicked him in the shin.  "Don't simper," she hissed.  "I cannot believe you sometimes.  Now go along with your brother and try to look menacing," she snapped.

"Can I go too?" asked Helena.

"You most certainly may not," Rowena said.

Helena pouted.

* * *

"Where are they?"

Helga looked up from her scroll.  "What?"

"Where are they?" Basil repeated.

"Who are you -- oh.  Don't worry about it," she said.  "Rowena was plotting.  She probably took them for a side trip."

"Plotting?"

"It's a bad habit of hers," she said.  "I already warned Lord Slytherin that he would have more to worry about if they came back in time than if they didn't show up for a while."

"Oh.  Look, you should come inside -- you'll strain your eyes, you know.  It's getting dark."

"They're my eyes.  I have every right to strain them."

"What are you working on, anyway?" he asked.  "That looks suspiciously like part of the plans for the Willows."

She grinned at him.  "That's exactly what it is."

"But -- you finished those.  They're there."  Basil gestured vaguely at the surrounding circle of trees.

"Yes, but -- oh, I don't know," she said.  "I mean, that Muggle army got through them just by going across the lake, didn't they?  And there were so many little extra features I meant to put into them that I never got around to."

He was now very amused.  "You do remember when you got this project, don't you, Helga?"

"Hmm?"

"Because I do.  I remember you said something along the lines of 'Is he mad?  How am I supposed to do what he's asking for?'"

"I asked if he'd lost his mind," corrected Helga.

He shrugged.  "Same thing.  You do remember the original order was for shrubs, don't you?"

"I know," she said, nodding, "but I really think that shrubs lack that certain... that certain..."

"...giant monster tree-ness?" offered Basil.

"Yes, that's it exactly!" said Helga.  "Giant monster tree-ness.  It was really what this project needed."

"Oh, I quite agree," said Basil, laughing.  "But what are you doing to them now?"

"Improving them," said Helga.

"Can't you do that later?" he asked.

She cocked her head.  "Why do you want me to come inside so badly?" she asked, an amused grin on her face.  "I realize the students are all gone now, but it's not as though we haven't got all of tonight..."

"No, it's not," he said, returning her grin.  "But that's not what I was talking about.  Business must come before pleasure," he said airily.

She gave him a skeptical look.  "So you're going to drag me away from my terribly important giant monster tree work to do something dull?" she asked.

"No, no, no," he said.  "Not dull.  Never dull.  What I was thinking was that now Slytherin's son is safely out of the way, I think it's the best time to go and poke about in his study."

Helga blinked.  "You want to sneak around in somebody else's room like a student, and you're asking me to come with you because... you're afraid of the dark?"

"Of course not," he said.  "I'd just feel silly being caught alone."

"So you'd rather be caught with me?"

He nodded.  "Well, yes.  That's the general idea."

"Should I be honored?"

Mock-solemnly, he announced, "I would much rather be caught sneaking around in someone else's study with you than with anyone else."

"Well, I should hope so," she said.  Then, feeling very silly herself, Helga asked, "Are we going to look at the miniature castle?"

"Of course," he said.  "In fact, I think that's where he's controlling the castle wards from," he said.  "It's a very secure model -- the defenses can't be breached except from the inside, unlike the traditional lock-and-door temporary wards, meant to be opened from outside."

She stared at him.  "Admit it.  You just want to play with all the little furniture."

"There's little furniture?" he asked indignantly.  "I wasn't told about that.  Anyway, are you coming with me?"

She nodded.  "I think I've married a lunatic," she said, after a moment.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Basil informed her.

* * *

John, the butcher, peered out into the dying light.  "And what do you want?" he demanded of Geoffrey, who was usually John's idea of a good neighbor -- well, in that he stayed out of the way and generally tried not to notice when things went missing.  He peered a bit further, and saw a little girl who looked like she'd be more at home in some big city or a fairy story than here, in real life.

"You been stealing?  Because I could swear she's not yours.  In fact, yours is dead.  What was her name again?"

Geoffrey glared.  It was evident that John had said the wrong thing.  He didn't much care; it wasn't as though Geoffrey could do anything to him for saying it anyway.  Any argument would doubtless be resolved in John's favor, as none of his family had been known to dabble in magic.

The little girl looked back into the shadows.  When had it become so dark outside?  "I don't think I like him," she observed solemnly, to no one in particular.

"No, I never did either," said another voice -- from the shadows.  Or were they shadows?  John stared as he realized what had been making it so dark: the light was being blocked by something that was roughly the shape of a man, but huge.  It took him a few moments to make out the features, and a few more to recognize them.  It only took him one moment to realize that he was in quite a lot of trouble.

"G-Godric?  Is that you?  Where'd you run off to, anyway?" he asked.  He'd always had a very bad memory as a boy -- John desperately hoped that he hadn't outgrown it.

"The deepest pits of Hell," intoned the apparition, "therein to learn of things which must not be spoken of to mere mortals."

"Really?" piped the little girl.  "Can I go?"

"Ask your mother," it snapped.

"The -- the deepest pits of Hell, eh?" said John.  He was well and truly doomed.  He should never have picked on Godric -- but it'd been so tempting.  After all, the boy had always been getting into trouble on his own, so what was wrong with helping him out a bit?  But, he decided, there had always been something unnatural about the boy.  Unnatural and mean-spirited.  The time John and all his brothers had been turned into toads came to mind.  And then there had been that sudden growth spurt just before he'd disappeared....  Well, he'd better try to act unfazed.  Otherwise, he'd be more doomed.  "What's the weather like there?"

"Very pleasant, actually," said Godric.  "It never rains.  And you don't have to worry about it getting dark."

"Ooh, now I really want to go!"

"Helena, if you aren't quiet, I might just assign some extra work for you over the summer," Godric told the girl.

"Extra work?" whispered John to Geoffrey, who was beginning to look comparatively friendly.

"She's a demon.  Enslaved until autumn," Geoffrey informed him.  "Keeps trying to get him to say the spell to release her."

"Ah."  John nodded slowly.  "What was it you came for, again?"

* * *

"Look!  The tapestries in the Great Hall are all there!"  Basil poked at the tiny wall hangings with the tip of his wand.

"And there's us!"  Helga pointed at the Arithmancy tower skylight, where two figures were just visible leaning over a little table, upon which sat another miniature castle.

"I wonder what happens if you move anything," said Basil, squinting through the other windows.

"I don't know.  We really should be careful," said Helga.  "We don't want him to notice anyone's been here..."

"Oh, he doesn't notice anything unless it's got a square root.  We're perfectly sa -- ah... er, oops?"  Basil had accidentally pulled away a little bit of the "stone" on one part of the tower.  He blinked at the pebble in his hand.

"Well, I think he'd -- Basil, look!"  Helga stared out the window as a large rock floated past it.

"What?"  He squinted out the window.  Experimentally, he began moving the hand up and down.  The rock mimicked his movements.

"Excuse me," said a voice from the stairway; startled, Basil dropped the little piece of miniature castle stone he was holding, and something heavy clattered against the side of the wall.

He turned around, only to see Lord Slytherin standing on the spiral stairs.  "I was wondering," said Slytherin, "if you two were going to be having dinner tonight."

"Yes, of course," said Helga, grabbing her speechless husband's arm and dragging him towards the stairs.  "We were looking for something."

"A book," said Basil.

Salazar smiled.  "Of course.  I hope you found it?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Ah ...no," said Helga.  "I think Rowena must have it," she lied.  "It has a brown cover," she added vaguely.  "If you see it."

"Then I trust you will not be returning here again?" he asked, in the same tone.

Basil's face seemed to betray reluctance.  Jabbing him hard in the ribs, Helga said, "No, I don't think so."

"Very good," he said.  He turned and began to descend the stairs.

Once Salazar was out of earshot, Helga gave Basil something of a Look.

"What?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "Nothing," she sighed.

* * *

"I'm a demon," announced Helena proudly when they returned.

"Do you really think she should be exposed to such dishonesty?"  Jasper stared at Rowena, obviously expecting an answer.

"I don't see why not.  It's in her blood," Rowena said, glaring at him.  "Besides, the last time I checked, you weren't her mother.  How are you a demon, Helena?" she asked, turning her attention to her daughter.

"I don't know," said Helena.  "He said it," she added, pointing at Geoffrey.  "Where's Hell?"

"Underground," said Rowena.  "It's near Hades, but warmer.  You brought food?  Excellent -- I'm impressed, Godric."

"It wasn't anything, really," said Godric, shrugging.

"Of course not," Rowena cheerfully agreed.  "If it had been, you wouldn't have been able to do it.  Now get out from underfoot -- unless you can Transfigure this into something better."

* * *

"I was wondering," began Lord Slytherin as they sat down to dinner, "what binds you and Lady Rowena and... ah..."

"Godric," prompted Helga.

Lord Slytherin frowned.  "Does he not have a title?"

"I think the students call him 'Professor Gryffindor,'" offered Basil.

Helga laughed.  "He always looks absolutely shocked when they do it, too.  To be honest, my lord, I don't think he's quite comfortable with being anything but Godric.  We grew up together.  Mum tutored Rowena and Godric in magic."

"I see," said Slytherin.  "Well, why was your mother tutoring Lady Rowena again?  I assume that it wasn't simply out of the goodness of her heart."

"And what's your motive for teaching here?" Basil asked pointedly.

"I meant no offense," said Lord Slytherin.  "Perhaps I should be more careful with my questions."

"Perhaps you shouldn't insult my family," said Helga quietly, although she knew perfectly well that her mother had always been the first to know about anything dangerous.  News of impending plague, battles, and skirmishes -- not to mention the odd political death -- had always reached Helga's mother quickly, often before the events themselves had even happened.  It had to be Lady Aeaeae's doing.

"I wasn't insulting," said Lord Slytherin.  "Merely commenting.  I am not in the practice of speaking to fools, and only fools credit kindness as the single greatest motive of any person, no matter how charitable.  But I suppose it's not important.  I can venture several guesses as to why the Council Chief's daughter would hardly lack for teachers.  But may I ask why she was tutoring your friend Godric?  After all, from what I understand, his family is anything but important."

Helga opened her mouth before she realized that she didn't know.  "She... well... I suppose... he needed it," she decided.  Had Lady Aeaeae been involved?  It wouldn't have made much sense, really, but Lady Aeaeae was already in control of everything else....

Lord Slytherin nodded.  "And he still needs it, does he not?"

"Very few people can claim to be any good at Transfiguration," said Helga.  "And only one person can claim to be the best Transfigurator in the world."

"And your friend Godric does?"

"Perhaps he doesn't," said Helga.  "But Rowena thinks he is.  Even if she'd never say so aloud."

"And are you schooled in the art of Divination?" Lord Salazar asked with a trace of amusement.

Basil, whom she had seen gritting his teeth throughout the conversation, opened his mouth to speak.  Helga shot him a warning glance.  "No," she said, "but I know Rowena, and I know how she thinks."

"And how does she think?"

She considered her answer.  "Very quickly," she said simply.  "And if you'll excuse me, Lord Slytherin, I believe this conversation is over."  She stood, and started out of the room, bowing her head briefly at him.  Basil followed her, watching Lord Slytherin uncertainly.

"You know," said Basil, "before he seemed so nice..."

"I think that's his job," Helga grumbled.  "They're all the same, aren't they?  Councilors, I mean.  I'm glad I'm not one of them."

Basil nodded agreement.  "Although I don't see why he's interested in Godric; it's not as though he's done anything wrong.  Seems decent enough to me.  Well, there was that thing at the feast."

Helga nodded.  "And Rowena, of course; he's obviously after something from her... what I want to know is what he wants from us..."

He blinked.  "What?"

"Don't you think he'd have thrown us out already if we weren't important?" Helga asked.  "What with you picking fights with his son.  I don't trust him," she continued.  "Maybe Lady Aeaeae's dishonest, but at least she's as much as said that she has no use for either of us."

Basil appeared to be considering this.  "Yet," he added softly.

"Yet," she agreed.  "Hmph."

After an uncomfortable night's sleep outdoors -- for Godric, at least, although there'd been just enough room for everyone else inside -- Rowena's little group had finally started on their way early the next morning.  They attracted many stares from the Muggle villagers, particularly Godric, who cringed every time somebody recognized him -- although this was mostly because he had been awoken by a small but palpably hostile group intent on discovering whether he would leave of his own accord, and if so, when.  He had been reassuring them on this count when Rowena came out of the house, muzzy and confused, and he noticed that after that, she hadn't let him out of her sight or put away her wand until they left the village.

Helena, meanwhile, was delighted to have met real live Muggles for real, but was perfectly happy to leave having had the experience.  She had managed to bully her Transfiguration teacher into carrying her on one shoulder, to Jasper's whispered disapproval a disinterested shrug from Rowena.  "It's probably all he's good for," she snapped at one point.

After several hours' traipsing through the forest, coming out at the wrong spot, and starting off again, they managed to get to Gryffindor's Hollow.  It was common for Muggle villages to have small wizarding satellite communities, but due to the hostility of many Muggles, complex charms were often put on any paths between the two so that only the most determined travelers could get from one to the other.  So, upon reaching the village, the most anyone wanted to do was to sit and rest for a few moments, with the notable exception of Helena, upon whom the others had to keep a close eye.

The village had not changed notably over the year, with the exception of the Transfigurator's shop.  The picture-sign had been taken down, and a small written sign had now taken its place.  It read:

Thaddeus Fudge:

Transfigurator

(retired)

By Appointment Only

"As if an appointment would do anyone any good," observed Rowena, shaking her head.  "Come on, we're going to the inn."

Godric sighed.  "Oh, I don't want to go there again," he said.  He'd been getting more and more tired of non-school people recognizing him, and shuddered to think what the patrons of the inn might say; not to mention the fact that Fudge himself might be there.  He didn't know what he'd say.

"Too bad," snapped Rowena.  "Come, Godric.  We're going to find Fudge."

"And what about me?" Jasper demanded.  "You're just going to leave me here while you meet Fudge?"

"Of course," said Rowena.  "You're going to stay here and watch Helena," said Rowena.

"What?"  Jasper seemed insulted by the idea of babysitting while others made plans; Godric would gladly have traded places with him, but he knew it wouldn't happen.

Rowena had no response for him except for an irritated "Godric!" and a beckoning wave of the hand.  Godric, reluctant but dutiful, followed.

When he'd ducked in the door of the inn, a silence descended over the previously loud room, and everyone stared.

"Godric!" exclaimed the proprietor after several seconds of looking him up and down.  "You're looking well.  I almost didn't recognize you!"

"I must have one of those faces," muttered Godric under his breath.

Rowena bit her lip, though she couldn't help but smirk.  "What was that?" someone else asked.

"Er, sorry?" Godric asked, unaccustomed to being listened to by anyone over the age of fourteen.  "I said it's been a long time since I came here," he said, nodding.

The patrons looked at each other, whispering things to each other that Godric, despite himself, strained to hear.  He caught phrases like "so much of himself" and "completely ungrateful," but decided not to comment.  Who knew?  Maybe he was ungrateful.  "And who's your lady friend?" George the innkeeper asked.

Rowena rolled her eyes theatrically, as though she had rehearsed her answer, and when she opened her mouth, Godric realized -- trying not to laugh -- that she had been doing so all her life.  "Though I could hardly be considered a friend of his, I am Lady Rowena Ravenclaw, daughter of the Chief of the Wizards' Council, descendant of the wise and noble --"

"Weren't you in here a while back yowlin' about some vampire or another?" George asked.

Rowena blinked.  "I don't yowl," she said, after a moment's consideration.

"Let's hope not," said George.  "Anyway, d'you want a room?"

"Rooms.  Plural.  Three," she said stiffly.

"We've got three rooms," said George, "but I don't know how plural they are.  Sounds dangerous, if you ask me.  You got somebody else with you?"

She nodded.  "Of course.  And could one of you tell me where Thaddeus Fudge might be found?"

"He's usually at home.  By appointment only," supplied George.  "Oh, and he'll be happy to see you," he shouted up at Godric, who could hear perfectly well.  "Says he misses you.  Can't say why myself, but there you go."

Rowena, looking slightly irritated, gave a sharp nod at the door and said, "Well, we'll be going."  She left the inn, Godric trailing after her.

Outside, they found Jasper and Helena playing an expanded version of naughts and crosses in the dust, both of them looking disgusted.  "Perhaps we should lock them up in one of the rooms," Godric hissed, so that only Rowena could hear.

She shook her head imperceptibly.  "They'd hate that.  Which do you think would survive?"

Godric watched as Jasper noted their presence and nodded.  While he was thus distracted, however, Helena had replaced his circle with her own X.  "Helena, probably," he said.

She nodded again, a hint of pride showing in her expression.  "Yes, probably," she agreed.  Jasper pointed something in the forest out to Helena, who turned for a moment to frown into the gloom while Jasper took an extra two turns.  "Though I think she still needs to learn what she can and cannot get away with," Rowena added.

"They're cheating, you know," Godric said, pointing out the obvious.  "Aren't you going to say anything about it?"

Rowena stared at him for a moment before replying.  "They're being creative in applying the rules," she said.  "It's a valuable skill.  Besides, it makes the game more interesting," she added.  Turning towards the two, she announced in a louder voice, "We'll just be going to visit Master Fudge.  Helena, be good, and remember who writes your Arithmancy marks."

At this, Helena stared glumly at the marks in the dust, but waved at her mother nonetheless.

"Creative in applying the rules?" Godric asked, as they wandered over to Fudge's door.

"Sometimes it's best not to be too creative, lest other, more powerful persons become inspired by the example," said Rowena.  "With that in mind, you first," she said, pointing at Fudge's door expectantly.

Godric made a face.  And things had been going so well, too: Rowena had even been civil -- no, almost friendly -- to him, for once.  "Rowena, do we really need to --"

"Yes, we really need to.  In fact, if we don't, we really won't get a chance to, or even be permitted to, because my dear mother will find some way to ensure that we don't."

"Which will result in...?"

"Her filling the vacancy in the Council with none other than our own dear Thaddeus Fudge himself.  Who won't be pleased to have you outside of his control, since his position in the Council will have been earned by reputation alone.  And if he bullied you without a seat in the Council, imagine what he can do with one."

"What about Lord Salazar?" Godric asked.  True, there'd been that outburst... he hadn't really spoken to Lord Salazar afterwards, but then he hadn't really spoken to Lord Salazar before it either.  And he hadn't been thrown out yet, which, considering his luck in almost everything before the school, Godric was prone to interpret as a good sign.

Rowena blinked.  "What about him?  He's got supporters, all right, but there's a reason Mum's the Chief of the Council and he's not.  Not yet, at least," she said.

"Oh," said Godric, digesting all of this.  He wasn't accustomed to thinking like this; he much preferred Transfiguration, where, if he wasn't completely free of danger, he at least knew what would happen if he overestimated his skill.  Whereas, in this area, all he knew was that he knew absolutely nothing, and that Rowena, while considerably more knowledgeable than him, was neither trustworthy nor omniscient.

"You didn't get that at all, did you?" she asked irritably after a moment.

"Sort of, but... not really, no," Godric admitted.

"Lucky you," she grumbled.  "You knock.  It'll be louder," she added, pointing at the door.

Deciding that there was no way of avoiding it, Godric pounded on the door.

It opened slowly, and a wrinkled face topped with grey hair peered out at them.  "I'm not... Godric?"  Blinking, the man looked up at him.

Rowena stepped forward.  "Yes, I think we can safely assume that you are not Godric.  Are you, by any chance, Thaddeus Fudge?"

The man drew himself up to his full height, which, even if it had topped Rowena's, could hardly have intimidated her with Godric standing there.  "I don't know who you are," he snapped at Rowena, "but I am indeed Thaddeus Fudge, and I have no desire to be intimidated by an illiterate such as yourself.  Or can't you read the sign?"  He looked up at Godric, possibly to give him some order, but, before he could open his mouth, he was pushed back into his house by an unseen force.

Rowena had drawn her wand, and was staring lividly at something, presumably Fudge.  She marched in, and Godric hurriedly followed her, determined to keep Rowena out of trouble.

"You -- you despicable -- you scummy, maggoty little commoner -- how dare you speak to me like that, you miserable little liar of a man," she hissed, circling around Fudge like a vulture.  Fudge himself, it seemed, had only just found his footing after being knocked to the floor by a spell.  He looked around wildly, then darted behind Godric so that Rowena couldn't get to him.

"Don't just stand there, boy!  Get rid of the madwoman!" he shouted at Godric.

Godric regarded him placidly for a moment, and then discovered within himself an inner streak of cruelty he'd never realized he had, though he would later decide that his meeting with John the bully had brought it to life.  He stepped aside, remarking, "Horrible low ceilings you have around here," then continued speaking.  "I don't believe you've been introduced to my new employer, Master Fudge.  This is Lady Rowena Ravenclaw, daughter of the current Chief of the Wizard's Council," he explained sing-songily, rolling his eyes.  "Didn't you attend a feast at her husband's castle once?  You took me along to carry baggage, too," he added helpfully.  "I remember it very well, because I had to sit in the corner with the dogs while everyone else ate.  I did tell you I knew her."

Fudge stared at Rowena, open-mouthed.  Then he seemed to shrink back into the shadows.  "Ah.  Er.  Ahem.  So sorry, milady, you must excuse -- it's just that the sign -- I didn't -- quite a lot of familial resemblance, once you -- I mean, er, yes, of course I remember you, it's just been so long since -- er -- um -- how is Lord Ravenclaw doing these days?" he inquired hopefully.

"Not well," said Rowena.  "He's been very dead."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear --"

"Don't bother to be," Rowena said nastily.  "At any rate, you can forget my mother's orders."

It took him a moment to answer this.  "What?" he asked, looking inexplicably relieved.

"You can forget her orders," repeated Rowena.  "She'd have owled you, but owls, as you know, can be intercepted.  I cannot, particularly not with Godric here," she said, nodding at Godric.  "He's very useful for getting rid of nuisances," she added.

Fudge looked terrified at this remark, and edged away from Godric slightly.  He shot a pleading look up at Godric -- But I'm not a nuisance, am I?

Feeling slightly uneasy at this -- after all, it wasn't as though Fudge had ever hurt him -- not with any physical force, at least -- Godric inwardly cringed.

"And another thing," said Rowena, and both men looked at her with surprise.  "I couldn't help but wonder if you knew about the school."

Godric opened his mouth to ask her what she thought she was doing, but she gave him a fierce glare, and continued.

"As it happens, an institution such as a school needs rather a lot of money before it becomes stable.  It occurs to me that you have rather a lot of money.  Mine, I must admit, is all tied up at the moment in other projects.  But the school's really a very good cause, as Godric here can tell you.  He teaches Transfiguration," she added, with a small nod, "and he's really quite good at it.  Almost as good as you were back in your prime -- but now I suppose that's over -- a pity, we all agree.  At any rate, any -- strictly voluntary -- contributions would be very much appreciated."

Fudge looked from Rowena to Godric, then back to Rowena.  "Ah.  Yes.  A noble cause.  Er.  Whom shall I owl?"

"That would be Godric," said Rowena quickly.  "He keeps track of these things.  He's very good at that, too."

Godric tried not to look confused; what was she blackmailing Fudge for if she wasn't taking the money?  Well, of course she was taking the money, he realized.  She'd just bully him for it once it arrived, and he, being himself, would willingly give it to her, all but thanking her for not hurting him.  He was so busy being disgusted with himself that he hardly noticed the weak smile and nod Fudge gave him.

"Of course," said Fudge quickly.  "In fact, er, perhaps, you'd like a small contribution now?"

"That would be lovely," said Rowena, with a thin smile.  "Wouldn't it?"  She looked expectantly up at Godric.

"What?  Oh, yes," said Godric quickly, watching Fudge back out of the room and into another.  He'd been trying to work out how much money Fudge had made, and how much Fudge would still have.  He'd guessed that Fudge would still have a sizeable amount of the gold left, considering how miserly he'd always been, and how small this horrible house was -- Godric barely had enough room to breathe, much less stand up properly.  His back was starting to hurt, and he remembered how glad he'd been to live at the castle, with its high ceilings and space.

Fudge had hurried back from his other room by now, and held out a small, jingling bag to Rowena, who snatched it.  She nodded sharply at Fudge and then she turned to Godric.  "I think we've taken up enough of Master Fudge's valuable time, don't you?"

Godric nodded quickly, and sacrificed politeness for speed in leaving the house.

When they'd emerged, he looked up at the sky in relief.  "Dear God, that place was terrible," he said.

"I think there's some sort of spell on it," said Rowena.  "Mum might've put it there to make him more amenable to whatever her requests were.  I don't think he's bright enough to have managed it himself.  Imagine," she continued, "calling me illiterate.  The nerve..."

He waited until her muttering had calmed down a bit before asking, very hesitantly, "What do you think she did ask of him?"

"That," said Rowena, "is a very good question.  I intend to find out."  She glanced at Helena and Jasper, then turned back to him, her determined expression melting into a thoughtful one.  "I don't remember you being at the feast with Fudge," she said.

"I, er."  He hadn't been prepared for a question like that.  He had gone wondering if Rowena was there, hoping she would see him and maybe talk to him, but they hadn't exactly been friends.  "I don't think you recognized me," he said.  "You looked... upset.  Or ill or something, I don't know.  I mean, I considered saying something, but I was supposed to keep more or less out of sight, and why would you want to even talk to --"

"I was pregnant, actually," said Rowena.  "So you were mostly right.  It was early, though, so I suppose I might've just looked, er... uncharacteristically shapely."  She went a bit pink.

"Oh," said Godric.  "That explains a lot, then.  I just thought you looked glum, and you probably didn't need any more irritation, and I know you don't like me.  I thought it might've been nice to have someone to talk to, is all."

Rowena looked as though she might cry -- it was the way she had looked back then, too -- and Godric thought he must have said something horribly insensitive by accident.  But she only swallowed and said "It would have been.  But it was a long time ago."  She sighed, and tried to sound cheerful.  "At any rate, we've temporarily stopped my mum and Fudge.  But you know Fudge better than I do -- do let me know if you've any idea what we've stopped them from doing."

And she said no more, except to call Helena and Jasper over so that they could make preparations to leave as early as possible tomorrow morning.

* * *

Their party arrived back at the castle very early in the morning, and when they walked into the Great Hall, Lord Slytherin and the Hufflepuffs were still having breakfast.  Godric sensed some sort of tension, which took no great expertise, as Lord Slytherin was bravely eating at the middle of the table, while the Hufflepuffs were slightly off to the side, peering at him with caution and morning crankiness.

He opened his mouth to say something about it to Rowena, but then Jasper started rattling about how horrible their trip had been, and how they'd been lost, and how unpleasant the inn was, and how the universe had conspired against them for various unjust reasons.

Rowena merely rolled her eyes, shook her head, and dragged Helena up to the breakfast table.  Godric trudged warily after, sitting opposite Helga and Basil, and frowning at the silent Lord Slytherin.

"Helena, don't play with your food.  How old are you now?" Rowena snapped.  Helena looked up briefly, shrugged, and went back to erecting a small hut with her food.  Her mother made no effort to stop her, but instead nudged Helga.  "What's happened?"

Helga frowned.  "What do you mean, what's happened?" she asked crankily.

Godric nodded surreptitiously at Lord Slytherin, who was deep in conversation with Jasper now.  "With him.  He didn't say anything about throwing me out, did he?" he whispered.

Basil shook his head.  "Not you.  If he's not making us leave, why would he make you leave?"

"What do you mean?" Rowena asked.

Sighing, Helga said, "Look, he's using you for something, Rowena, and I don't like it.  But we're not going along with it and I think the best thing to do is just refuse to provide information."

Rowena, surprisingly, shrugged.  "Well, I don't see that he has much choice -- I suppose if you two leave, I will, but I'd rather not.  We've got to have a patron, and I can't afford to be it."

"He's using you, though," said Helga.  "That doesn't bother you at all?"

She shook her head.

"Not even a little bit?"

"No," said Rowena.

"We don't even know what it's for," put in Basil, a bit loudly; Helga hissed at him to be quiet.

"Of course we do," Rowena said.  "He wants to be Chief of the Council."

"Well, yes," said Helga, "but specifics would be nice."

"Wait," said Godric.  "I think you sort of lost me around the part where you were being used."

"We are," said Helga.  "Including you.  All of us.  I mean, he's got his trees from me, so he'd better treat me well, but you, Godric, he was asking about you too."

"Interrogating, more like," said Basil.

Godric frowned.  "But he's not making me leave?"

Helga sighed, and shook her head.  "Never mind, Runty."

"But he's not?"

"No, he's not," said Helga, rolling her eyes.  "But that's not the point.  You should leave.  What if he wants you for some weird political thing that you don't want to do?"

"Well, like what?" Godric asked.  "I mean, he's paying to feed me -- which nobody's ever wanted to do, and I don't blame them -- I get somewhere to sleep, and I get access to books!  Lots of them.  I'm not going to complain.  He could make me carry boxes all day and I'd still be really pleased.  Books and candles," he added.  "Do you know what it's like not to have candles?"

"You say that now but look," said Basil, "when I was in the Hunters' Guild they used to send inconveniently useless or curious or mad hunters on special missions, which invariably involved being ambushed by vampires or werewolves and bitten.  It was just to ensure that there would always be something for the rest of them to hunt.  What if it's something like that?" he asked.  "Or, or!  He does potions, right, but he's got no magic --"

"He hasn't got no magic," snapped Rowena.  "His sister was a Squib, but he's got magic.  He just hasn't got much --"

"So he's got not much magic," Basil continued, "and you have loads!"  He gestured expansively.  "And what if he could take a potion that could give him loads of magic, only what he has to do is take you apart to see how magic works?"

"That wouldn't work," said Rowena, rolling her eyes.

"So let me get this straight," said Godric.  "My hypothetical choice is between slow miserable starvation, in a place where probably everyone is terrified of me and there are no books.  Or!  Being warm, and provided with the sort of luxuries most scholars can only dream of, and having friends, and also, possibly, being murdered?"

"...Well, when you put it like that, the murder plan does sound pretty good," said Basil.  "I'd take murder, actually."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Godric.  "I'd take him for all I could!  And run away at the first whiff of imminent murder, of course --"

"Of course," Basil agreed, seeing the sense in this.

"-- but I'd be a lot better off.  Anyone with that nonsensical a plan can't have thought out his murdering very well."

Rowena snorted, despite the topic of conversation.  "He's got a point, you know.  Murder is surprisingly difficult to pull off.  I mean, so I've heard."

"As amusing as the tangent was," said Helga, "the point is, we don't know what you lot are in for, and I just don't think that's acceptable."

"Why not?" Rowena asked.  "It's how everything else works."

"No it's not," said Helga.  "I mean, he could want you as a hostage.  He could want me as a hostage -- and I owe it to my previous customers not to be so easily compromised."

"Well, you obviously already have been, if you thought the man was offering us a castle out of the goodness of his heart," Rowena said.  "This is how reality works.  Anyone who does something for you wants something out of it."

"Oh, you're one to talk about reality, Rowena," said Helga.  "Have you ever actually had to work?"

"Well, no, but --"

"And what do you want us for, dare I ask?" she added.  "What do you think I wanted to use you for?"

"Oh come on, without me no one would have heard of you," snapped Rowena, losing her temper.  "You're just some witch's bastard daughter who's good with plants, but you grew up with me, so you met my mum, and of course everyone wants their carnivorous plants done by the Chief's security herbologist."

Helga took a deep breath.  "Well.  I see you're getting to be just as bad as her, aren't you?"  Then she left.

"You come back here and repeat that!" shouted Rowena, but Helga didn't even acknowledge her words.

Basil looked at his wife.  He shook his head, then glared back at Rowena.  "Now look at what you've done."  Then he dashed after Helga.

As they stalked off, Godric frowned at his plate.  "I don't think that went very well at all."

"Shut up," she said bitterly.  "Fat lot of good you did."

He decided he'd better not remind her that he'd defended her.  "You don't think she'll actually leave, do you?" he asked worriedly.  If she did, he'd be all alone in the castle among people he didn't know very well, except for Rowena, who was usually an enemy.

She glared.  "Of course she won't.  She'd never leave here.  She's my best friend, after all.  Just a bit ill-tempered at times.  She'll come to her senses.  Helena, what are you staring at?" she snapped suddenly.  "Finish what's on your plate!  There are starving Muggle children, you know."

"Why don't we send them some food?" Helena grumbled.

"Because they're... they're too far away," Rowena snapped in frustration.  "It'd be impractical.  I don't know.  Just do what I say."

Godric wondered if she'd actually heard any of the things she'd just said.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" she demanded.

"Nothing!" he said.  "I'm not looking at you like anything."

She simply glared, apparently content to disbelieve him.

* * *

Her classes were going well, but Rowena felt like the castle was full of enemies.  There was Godric, of course, who presented very little threat, although she suspected that he was perhaps a bit more intelligent than she'd been giving him credit for.  But now she couldn't be certain of Helga, who had not left, but was apparently too busy to apologize.  Basil, of course, didn't matter much to her -- they'd never really got along much, anyway -- but he seemed more hostile than usual lately.  She thought that she'd be able to take him in a duel, but then, she rarely met people whom she considered capable of besting her.

She'd withdrawn into the company of Lord Salazar and Jasper, who were nice enough, she supposed, but Jasper was almost childish in his self-assurance -- unlike herself, he had very little reason to suppose himself particularly clever, although he had designed the castle -- and Lord Salazar gave the impression of waiting patiently.  What he was waiting for, she couldn't tell, but she had a feeling he wasn't about explain himself further.

One rather drizzly day, long after she'd tired of discussing magical theory with Jasper, Rowena decided that she'd had enough of social interaction for the day -- she sometimes wondered if maybe she wasn't very good at it -- and had gone in search of something she could read without being asked to think.

Wandering to a room she'd set aside as a library, though at the moment all it contained was her small private collection of books, Rowena swung open the heavy door, glad of the privacy it would offer.  But, to her dismay, there were people there.  Namely, Helga, Basil, and Godric.  They looked up -- Godric giving a small, acknowledging nod, curse him -- and Rowena turned and walked away quickly, letting the door slam shut.

Resisting the urge to run, she stalked back to the Blue Common Room, stomping up the stairs to her bedroom at the top of the tower.

There she found Helena, sitting in the middle of her bed, finishing off Rowena's cache of sweets; the one that no one was supposed to know about.  "Oh," said Helena, sounding surprised.  She hid the jar behind her, and smiled quaveringly at Rowena.  "Hullo, Mum."

"Helena, get out of here!" she snapped.

Knowing her mother too well to argue, Helena rolled off the bed quickly and ran out of the room.  Rowena knew she was hiding just beyond it, but she didn't care.  She looked again at the empty and abandoned jar, which had been filled with enchanted marzipan dragons that spat cinnamon.  It would've been nice to withdraw to some more comfortable spot and finish them off herself, but Helena had ruined that guilty pleasure for her.  Grumbling, she waved her wand at a spot on the floor, and watched as the spiral staircase slid out.

Ascending the staircase and unlocking the trapdoor, she stepped out into the rain.  This was the very top of the tower, and as she looked down at the rest of the castle she could see the whole of the school grounds.  She didn't care how wet and miserable it was anymore.  She had every right to be wet and miserable along with the rest of the world, and at least the rain made everything smell nice.

* * *

Helena listened from outside the door, concerned.  Mum had her mad fits; it was true, but that only meant that Helena had to keep her from doing anything stupid.  When she stopped hearing cursing and muttering and stomping from the room, she pushed open the door, slowly, and peered in.

There was no one there, but the stairway to the trapdoor was extended.  Helena knew where that led, as she remembered her mother showing it to her after her first day at the school.  You can see everything from here, she'd said.  If anyone attacked, you and I would be the first people to know.  It hadn't turned out to be true, Helena reflected, but, of course, her mum had had no way of knowing that.  After that, she'd said, You have to promise me, Helena, never to come out here alone.  All right?

And Helena, with no intention of keeping this promise, had nodded and said, Of course, Mum.

Good girl, her mother had said, patting her on the back.  I don't want you to fall off.

Biting her lip, Helena went back into her mother's bedroom.  She'd been behaving more and more unpredictably since her argument with Aunt Helga, and Helena had always worried for her health.  That was one reason she'd eaten the marzipan dragons -- Mum had always said that too much sugar was bad for little girls, but, if it was, then it must be just as bad for grown-ups, Helena reasoned.  Of course, Mum always said to other people that she didn't like sweets, but she thought she could tell when Mum was lying and when she wasn't.

But there were more important things than sweets at stake, Helena decided.  Picking her way up the staircase, she tried to push open the trapdoor.  It didn't open.

Saying a few rude words she'd learned from her mother, she pushed against the trapdoor with more force.  It still wouldn't open, and by now she was getting worried.  Light flashed across the room from the slit windows, and she jumped when she heard the thunder.

She had to find somebody to open the door.

* * *

Re-locking the trapdoor with her wand, Rowena walked to the edge and peered down through the battlements at the very long drop.  Even Rowena, who had never been afraid of heights, had to shiver at the thought of experiencing it.  She backed away quickly and looked up at the sky.

There was a blinding flash of light, and a crash of thunder soon followed it.  "Brilliant," she muttered, looking defiantly up at the black clouds.  When she had been little, her mother had insisted this meant that Zeus was upset with Rowena for not doing what her mother had said.  "Oh, shut up!" she shouted.  "You lot aren't even real, are you?  Go ahead -- show me you're there!  I dare you.  I'm not afraid of a lot of stories!"

The next flash of lightning brought her to her senses a bit.  Shouting at the gods was either useless or an exercise in stupidity, and she didn't want to be accused of doing something that was either one.  Sitting on the floor next to a battlement, she recalled the way she'd acted in the library.  They were in my territory, with my books, she thought.

But then another voice countered, Yes, but I'd given it to the school.  I knew students would be using those books and getting their grubby little hands all over them.  If they can use it, why can't the teachers?

She really had no reason to be angry.  It wasn't as though they'd done anything wrong.  Well, they might have done it to upset her -- perhaps they were plotting against her -- who knew?  They could have been talking about her behind her back, spreading poisonous lies -- anything!

That didn't mean she had a right to deny them reading material, though.  Besides, they might have been talking innocently about anything.  Why would they care what she was doing?  None of them gave a damn about her, anyway.  Now thoroughly soaked and feeling very silly, she sighed and considered going back downstairs.  She decided that she had better find some dry clothes before dinner, so as not to humiliate herself.

Wham!  The trapdoor flew open of its own accord, and, as Rowena jumped back to watch, an arm emerged and grabbed the edge of the door.  Then Godric squeezed through the opening.  Getting to his feet, he closed the door again.  "Exactly what do you think you're doing?" he hissed, looming over her.  He seemed to have perfected the art of looming, and so Rowena found herself stepping back to the edge of the tower.

"I -- I came up here to think," she said, as lightning crackled above them.

"Do you know how dangerous this is?" he demanded.  He looked away for a moment, then shuddered; Rowena noticed how careful he was to stay as close to the center and as far from the edge as possible.

"It's not all that bad," she said weakly.

"Oh no, because standing on the top of a tower in the middle of a thunderstorm's not dangerous at all!" he shouted.

She shrank back, cringing.  She knew it was Godric, only Godric, but he was shouting at her and there was thunder and she was cold.  She shivered, and backed away some more.

He dropped to his knees.  "Rowena, are you all right?" he asked, sounding more worried than angry.

She shook her head, silently.  Had she been in a better mood, she might have snapped, That's a bloody stupid question, but right now she didn't even want to speak.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.  "I didn't mean to frighten you like that."  He reached out to touch her arm, but she drew away.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, glaring at him.

"Rowena, come on," he pleaded.  "Helena was in hysterics, she thought you were going to jump."

She blinked.  "Why in Hades would I want to do that?" she asked.

He shrugged.  "It's been known to happen sometimes.  Jasper says his aunt --"

"Well," she said, "I wouldn't do it.  I'm not stupid, after all."

"Rowena, it's the middle of a thunderstorm, you're on a tower, and you were screaming at the sky earlier.  We all heard you.  What exactly were you going to do next?"

She glared at him again.  "Certainly not jump," she muttered.  "For your information, I was just getting ready to come back down when you barged in."

Godric pulled the trapdoor open again.  "Ladies first, then," he said grumpily, moving out of her way.  He was still on his hands and knees.

Rowena made her way through the trapdoor and down the stairs again, then shut the door behind her and locked it with a charm.  Serves him right, frightening me like that, she thought viciously, knowing that lighting usually struck the tallest thing in the area.  She hoped it got him.  Wringing out a corner of her dress, she continued, dripping, down the stairs.  She stared at Helga and Basil, who were waiting there, Helena clutching Helga's hand.

At the sight of her mother, Helena sprang away from Helga and stood apart from her, eyes downcast.  Helga, meanwhile, simply stared at Rowena.  Basil crossed his arms.

"She was crying," he said, not kindly.  Helena made no move to acknowledge his words, but she did sniffle a bit.

"Well?" asked Helga.

Suddenly, Helena looked up.  "I'm sorry Mummy, I didn't mean to make you angry," she said very quickly.  Then she bit her lip.

Rowena rushed forward and took Helena in her arms.  "It's all right," she said, hugging her, and probably making her very wet in the process.  "It's all right.  I would never do that," she said.  "I wouldn't.  I'd never do that to you, not if I could help it.  And it wasn't your fault, either.  You think I'd do that just because you ate all my marzipan?" she asked, with a small, half-hearted smile.

She felt Helena shake her head, but all she heard her say was, "I was worried."

"Shh," whispered Rowena.  "It's all right now."

There was a huge crash from behind them, and Rowena looked over her shoulder to see what it was.  Godric jumped down from an opening, as rain drizzled down onto the remains of the trapdoor.  "For God's sake, Rowena, don't leave me up there!" he shouted.  "You know I don't like heights!"  He was pale, shivering, and drenched, which was probably why he was not nearly as imposing as he'd been.

"Come on, Runty, and let her change," she heard Helga say, and Godric, dripping, walked past her.  "Rowena?" Helga asked.

Rowena looked back at her.

"If you scare us like that again," said Helga levelly, "I guarantee you that one of us -- possibly me, since Godric hasn't the heart -- will strangle you with their bare hands.  So don't do it."

Rowena nodded, irritable but, well, a bit guilty.  Helena was still clutching at her as the others filed out of the room.  "Don't worry, it's all right," she told Helena.  "Only you need to let go of me."

Helena released her, and sat on the floor, wiping at her eyes.

"Come and help me pick something to wear to dinner tonight," said Rowena.  "And after that we can go and get more sweets from the kitchens, all right?"

Helena nodded silently.  Then she spoke hesitantly.  "But I don't want any more sweets."

"One generally doesn't, after an ordeal," said Rowena.  "But my supply has mysteriously run out, it seems, and it must be refreshed."

This prompted a guilty grin from Helena.  "All right.  And... er... sorry."

"It's all right," Rowena assured her.  "Sometimes I can do stupid things.  It's good not to have too much pride in oneself."

Fortunately, Rowena had busied herself with digging through a trunk, for had she been looking at Helena, she would have noticed her very skeptical look.

Devlin was just getting to his feet after having the wind knocked out of him by the Transport Key when someone behind him called his name and made him stumble again.

He got up and dusted himself off, then turned, already knowing who it was.  "Julian, you prat.  What's going on?" he asked.  He was so glad to be back at the castle for his second year.  Summer had been awful.

"I had the worst time back home," said Julian, rolling his eyes.  "We went to see Cassius where he's being fostered and he kept giving me this look.  Wish I'd done better in Transfiguration, then I might have turned him into a slug."

"Ooh, I know what you mean," said Devlin, grimacing.  "Nobody back home would talk to me, 'cept my little brothers and Gwen and Alice."

"You almost have to pity them," said Julian.  "Poor ignorant Muggles."

Devlin wrinkled his nose.  "No, you don't.  Well, maybe you might.  I certainly don't.  I have to live with them."

"Perhaps," he said.  "Oh no, there's Helena."  Julian grimaced.  "Watch your valuables," he said.

But Helena had merely wandered over quietly, looking downcast.  "Hullo," she said.

Julian and Devlin exchanged a Look.  She's going to pull a snake out from behind her back, thought Devlin.  Or make something explode behind us.  Or something.  "Er.  Hallo," he said, smiling widely.

She glared.  "Don't mock me.  I'm not stupid."

They exchanged another look.  "We never said you were," said Julian.

"I -- I don't want you to hate me," Helena said haltingly.

"We don't hate you," Julian said quickly.

"We just don't like you," Devlin added truthfully.  He watched her expression go from grave to shocked to angry.

"Devlin, you idiot!  Run!" shouted Julian, grabbing his arm.

As he generally knew good advice when he heard it, Devlin ran.

* * *

Helga watched as a shrieking Helena chased the two boys around the front of the castle.  "Ah, students," she said.  "I wonder what the new batch will be like."

"From what I understand," said Basil, "this year's group is a lot bigger than last year's.  I think Lord Slytherin managed to persuade some more of the magical nobles to send their children.  Even the Nigellus heir is attending, from what I've heard," he added.

"Is that a good thing?" asked Helga.

"Well, we won't know until we see them in class," Basil shrugged.  "Do you think he's planning on holding them hostage until they make him Chief?"

"Who, Slytherin?" Helga asked.  "Don't be ridiculous; he'll just play on parental concern.  If you trust someone with your children, it means you're not fooling around.  At least, I would think so.  It's probably a good foot in the door."

"Well, that's reassuring," said Basil.  He yawned; he was still feeling a bit woozy from the full moon three days ago.

"Are you all right?" Helga asked, worry in her eyes.

He laughed.  "Yes, you'd better call the Healers -- I'm yawning."

"Well, you know what I mean," she said.  "I can't help worrying.  Anyway, we'd better go and let them know we're here, otherwise Helena's likely to kill those two, and then Godric would never forgive me."

"Why not?" Basil asked.

She shrugged.  "Apparently Devlin's got some talent with Transfiguration.  Now, if only I could get someone who was that good with Herbology," she sighed.  "Then I'd be happy."

Basil nodded.  "I know the feeling," he said.

* * *

But Devlin and Julian had already headed into the castle, entertaining hopes of dodging the now-shrieking Helena by ducking into a room.  Running full-speed down the halls, neither of them saw the figure in front of them until it was too late.

With an "Oof!" Julian fell to the ground.  He looked up, and saw a boy who appeared to be several years older than himself.  He also looked angry.  "I'm sorry, I wasn't --"

He was cut off when the boy grabbed him by the front of his robes, picked him up, and pushed him against the wall with his left hand whilst brandishing his wand with his right.  "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I'm Julian de Malfoie," Julian said.  He wasn't the most important student, certainly -- that was Filch -- but everyone knew who he was.

The other boy snorted.  "You probably made up your surname on the way here.  Why did you run into me?"

"Er.  It was sort of an accident," managed Julian.

"Don't be smart with me!"

"It's hard not to be.  Let him go!" he heard Devlin say from somewhere behind the older boy.  Two hands grabbed at the boy's neck and pulled frantically at it.  Taking the opportunity, Julian managed to struggle free, but now the boy had a hold of Devlin.

"I know you," Helena said suddenly, looking them up and down.

"Of course you know me," Julian said.

"No, not you," she said, rolling her eyes.  "Him.  He's a Nigellus.  Alioth Nigellus."

The boy -- Alioth, Julian supposed, and if he'd been made fun of for Julian, 'Alioth' was even worse -- released Devlin and turned toward Helena.  "That's right," he said, a small and discomforting smile playing across his features.  "Alioth Nigellus. Are you the Aeaeae girl?"

Helena regarded him seriously.  "My surname is Ravenclaw," she said stiffly.

"So it is, but Aeaeae's a better name.  Are you really descended from Circe of Aeaeae?"

"I wouldn't know," she said, shrugging.  "I wasn't there.  What does it matter?"

"She was a great historical figure!"

"I hate history," Helena said.  "Besides," she added, "she had that weird... pig thing going on, and she's dead, so why should I care about her?  Also, I think someone forgot to tell you that people are supposed to bathe once a year.  I know they say it's bad for you, but --"

Alioth's face turned purple, and he sent a hex at her, but she ducked out of the way just in time.

Julian rushed forward.  "You can't hit a girl!" he shouted, jumping in between them.

Devlin grabbed his arm.  "Yes, he can," he said, pulling him out of the way.  "And we can leave."

"No, he can't!" Julian protested.

"Yes, he can," Devlin said firmly.

"No, he can't!"

"Yes, he --"

"Yes, he can!" Helena insisted, sending a few blue sparks out of her wand.  "It means I can hit him back!"

"She's right, you know," Devlin hissed.

Julian frowned at Helena, who was now charging at Alioth Nigellus, wand raised.  "Yes, he can.  Though he shouldn't.  And we won't.  But I'm out of breath.  And they're distracted.  So we should rest."  He sank to the floor, leaning against the wall.

"Right.  Good idea," said Devlin, joining him.

"Expelliarmus!" shouted Alioth, sending a jet of light at Helena, who ducked.

"We never learned that one," said Devlin, frowning.  "I wonder what it does."

"It's a disarm-y something," Julian said, remembering bits and pieces of Latin.  "I tried it once on a suit of armor, but it only works on people.  Expelliarmus!" he said, waving his wand at Alioth, and concentrating on trying to disarm him.

The curse caught Alioth by surprise: it hit him in the side, and his wand flew out of his grasp and into Julian's hand.

"All right, that's something we ought to be learning," said Devlin, who looked thoroughly impressed.  "Maybe if we whine at Professor Hufflepuff enough then he'll teach it to us."

"Maybe," started Julian, but Helena interrupted him.

"What did you do that for?" she demanded.

He blinked.  "I wanted to see how the spell worked."

"Now it's not even a fair duel!" she complained.

"Well, no," he admitted.  "But he's irritating."

"Watch it, you little --" started Alioth.

Helena jabbed him in the ribs with her wand.  "We're armed, and you're not.  I'd shut up if I were you."

"This school is run by savages," complained Alioth.

"Very savage ones, you'll find.  If you're lucky, we won't start wondering whether your bone marrow tastes good," said Devlin with a malicious grin.  "What should we do with him?" he asked, looking at Julian.

"We could escort him to his first class," said Helena, butting in again.  She poked him in the ribs again.  "What's your first class?"

He looked around at them, suspiciously.  "Transfiguration.  Why?  ...look, just give me back my wand and I won't wipe the floor with you little snots."

The other three ignored his insults, instead exchanging a gleeful look.  "Transfiguration, hmm?" Devlin asked.  "Has anyone told you about the demon professor?"

"No," said Alioth, frowning.  "I don't believe you.  You're just trying to frighten me."  Though from the way he looked, it was working.

"Oh no," Julian said, shaking his head earnestly.  "He's not lying at all.  Fearsome, the demon professor is.  He ate two of the students last year."

"Three," said Helena.  "You forgot Winifred."

"Ah, yes," Julian nodded, solemnly.  "Poor Winifred.  May her soul rest in peace."

"You're not... serious," Alioth said.  "Right?"

Devlin smiled nastily.  "Only one way to find out.  Transfiguration's this way."

* * *

As he rushed down the stairs, Godric hoped that this wasn't going to become a habit.  Why, of all days, did he have to be late to his class on the first day of school?  He'd always had generally rotten luck, but he wished the universe had thought to give him some explanation for its unusual cruelty.  Perhaps, he thought, turning and rushing down the corridor, he was some sort of repository for all of the world's unused bad luck.  It was almost too bad he couldn't collect it and sell it; people could slip it into their enemies' dinner and watch as they got food all down their fronts.  It would be entertainment and revenge all in one neat little package.

Unfortunately, this didn't change the fact that he was late.  He came to a halt as he saw four small figures up ahead.  "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" he asked of them.  He'd known Devlin immediately because of his red hair, but it was only now that he saw Helena and Julian were with him -- though he'd guessed the blond boy had been Julian simply because the two boys were near-inseparable.

But that didn't explain the obviously terrified older boy they were holding at wandpoint.

"Oh, hullo, Professor," said Devlin, waving cheerfully.  "This is Alioth Nigellus," he said, pointing at the frightened boy.

Alioth Nigellus opened his mouth to say something, choked, and backed into Julian, who elbowed him.  "Watch where you're going!" snapped Julian.

Godric narrowed his eyes.  "Exactly what have you been telling him?"

The three exchanged a dark look.  "Nothing," said Helena promptly.  "Right?"

Devlin and Julian nodded in tandem.

"Alioth?" Godric asked lightly.

The boy stared.  "I thought you were lying," he whispered -- presumably to the others.  "I hoped you were.  But you aren't.  ...give me back my wand!  I know a spell that --"

Godric raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to finish his sentence.  The boy gulped.  Then Godric turned to Devlin, Julian, and Helena.  "This is that demon professor nonsense again, isn't it?" he asked.  "It's bad enough when nobody knows better, but you three certainly do.  And you've taken this poor boy's wand, too.  I will not tolerate bullying in this school, is that clear?  And I'm very disappointed in the three of you," he snapped.  Did I just say that? he wondered.  I'm turning into Helga's mum or something.  How terrifying.  And I shouldn't be saying it anyway, what with what I did to poor Master Fudge.  Even if he deserved it.

"But he --" began Devlin.

"I don't care what he said or did," snapped Godric.  "You're not going to do it again, and if I find out you told anybody else that lie, you're going to get worse punishments than you are already.  All right?  Good," he said, giving them no time to protest.  "Devlin, give him back his wand."

Shivering, Devlin held out the wand to Alioth, who snatched it back, then glared at them.  "Ha!  I always knew you were lying," he said shakily.  "I was just playing along."

Devlin looked as though he wanted to say something rude, but knew better than to do it while his Transfiguration professor was standing there.

"Now get to Herbology, all of you," Godric ordered.  The three all but turned and ran, although he heard Helena ask, "But don't we have Charms first this year?"  Shaking his head and cursing his terrible memory, Godric turned to look at Alioth Nigellus.  "What's your first class?"

Alioth looked up at him again; he was probably fighting the urge to stare, Godric thought.  "Er.  Transfiguration.  I don't know where that is, but I'm probably late and they were saying the professor who taught it was horrible -- though he couldn't have been as horrible as they --"

"Don't worry," said Godric.  "I can assure you that the professor who teaches it is not only incredibly late, but will not be angry at you.  Although I suppose he might be horrible.  I wouldn't know.  I rather hope not, however, if only for my own sake.  Come with me; I'll show you to the Transfiguration classroom.  I happen to be on my way there myself."

* * *

Basil watched his second and last class of the day leave.  Some were promising, he admitted: Lord Slytherin's prize, the Nigellus heir, was surprisingly good with his curses, though his defense seemed to be based mainly on the hope that no one would dare attack him.

Basil grinned lopsidedly at this.  Back before he'd been bitten, he'd been a duelist and a hunter of Dark creatures.  It was this second that gave him both his quick reflexes and his current affliction, but he'd also put his skills to use in the dueling ring, and had been quite good -- though, of course, he had to stop afterwards: because they were so difficult to kill, people seemed to think that werewolves had an unfair advantage in the dueling ring.

At any rate, as a duelist, a good half of his opponents had been bored, rich, and good at everything but real strategy.  This, to Basil, was being ready for anything, while having a good idea of what the other fellow was going to try and do to you.  Alas, none of that lot had had much else on their minds except for beating him and then bragging about it later.

All of which it was now his job to prevent.  It would be difficult with the Nigellus boy, who seemed earnest but lazy.  Basil thought he could do it, though, perhaps through moderate humiliation and hard work.  What it really depended on, of course, was the boy's willingness to learn, something that he couldn't judge in a single class.

Imagining his vicarious return to the dueling ring, he yawned and stood.  He thought he'd better go and talk to Helga: she'd still been worried about him, and it wouldn't do to have her thinking that he'd fallen asleep in his classroom, and might, horror of horrors, miss lunch.  He shook his head.

Basil walked through the hallways lazily, humming to himself.  He frowned, however, when he heard a crashing noise from up ahead, and quickened his pace somewhat.  When he got to the source of the noise, however, he knew that he needn't have worried.

Godric stood glaring at a classroom doorway, rattling the doorknob.  As Basil watched, he pulled out his wand and shot what seemed to be a generic Unlocking Charm at it.

Basil cleared his throat, and stepped forward.  "Isn't that the Charms classroom?" he asked curiously.

Godric looked at him.  "What?  Oh, that?  Er... well... actually, yes, it is.  It won't let me in," he added, though Basil thought this was rather obvious.  He studied the door, and the magic on it.  He had to admit to himself that as much as he hated being a werewolf, the curse had its occasional benefits.  Before, when he'd blindly put wards around things, he'd never been able to tell whether they had leaks or not, but now he could find the weaknesses in every ward and spell.

Even had the wards on the classroom not been blue-green, it was obvious that they'd been put up by the Arithmancer.  His wards were like giant nets: methodical, even, and fairly sturdy to the common, blind wardbreaker.  Neatly knotted into the middle of the net of magic protecting the doorway was a scrap of weak red magic.  The shade almost matched Godric's aura, but not quite.  Just behind this net was a large bar about ten feet off the ground.  If Godric had ducked, he might've been able to get past it, but then the net would have stopped him anyway.

"Hmm," said Basil, frowning.  "Your best bet would be to blast through the wall to the side," he said.  "You'd never make it through those wards.  They're specific to you."

Godric looked worried.  "But isn't that dangerous?"

"Probably, yes," Basil agreed.  "But you're trying to break into Her Highness' classroom."

At this, Godric half-grinned.  "Yes, well, I'd hoped I wouldn't have to be too literal.  Besides, if I took out one of her walls, she'd almost certainly kill me.  And I don't know any spells that would work."

"I could take down the wall," offered Basil.  "Then she'd go after me."

"No," said Godric.  "She'd assume it was me anyway."

"I thought she prided herself on her logic?"

"Yes, well, she also prides herself on her flying fireballs," Godric pointed out.  "I think she prides herself on those more than she does on the logic."

"Oh, don't worry about those," said Basil.  "They're not real."

Godric blinked.  "Really?  They're not real?  They look really real to me.  They feel real, too, but I have good reflexes, so I've always been able to duck."

"They're just illusions," said Basil, shaking his head.  "Well, mostly.  I think about every tenth one is real.  It takes a lot out of you, throwing real fireballs around at people who you don't want dead."

"That's not very reassuring," said Godric.  "Anyway, it would really help more if you could take the wards down.  Can you do that?"

Basil considered the problem for a moment.  "Well..." he started, "Helga will probably kill me but... all right," he said, shrugging.  "Our dear and beloved Lady Ravenclaw is getting on my nerves almost as much as she's getting on yours.  She acts like she's better with spells than anyone, but I'd like to see her duel.  I mean, I could beat her easily.  Of course, Helga would kill me worse then," he admitted, "and it wouldn't really be worth it, so I don't think I'll bother.  Why do people put up with her, anyway?" he asked.

It was a few moments before Godric answered.  "...you know, I'm not entirely certain myself.  But I think she's been through a lot."

"That's what Helga says," said Basil, rolling his eyes.  "You people are all mad.  But if you want the wards down..."  He sighed and began to work on taking the Arithmancer's wards down.

* * *

"Father!"

Lord Salazar turned to see his apparently overwrought son enter the room.  Occasionally, he wished that Jasper would simply settle down and become ...wrought.  Or whatever was a bit less than overwrought and not yet underwrought.  It didn't matter much that it wasn't a real word: if he could convince himself that it ought to be, he'd done his job.  "Yes?" he asked patiently, sweeping a couple of bat spleens into a jar.

"That lunatic has taken down my wards!" said Jasper.

"Jasper," sighed Salazar, "there are an inordinate number of lunatics living in this castle.  Which one are you talking about this time?"

"You know.  The lycanthrope," Jasper said.  "The literal lunatic.  He's taken down my wards!"

Salazar frowned.  He didn't think Hufflepuff would do such a thing, but if he had then actions would need to be taken.  Preferably by Salazar himself.  "The ones around the castle?" he asked.

"No, of course not," snapped Jasper.  "Even he's not that mad.  The ones on the Charms classroom."

"To keep the Transfigurator out?" Salazar asked; he'd worried when he saw how Ophelia Aeaeae's daughter and the Transfigurator had argued, and about his son's spats with Hufflepuff, but in the end all these things had their uses.  Although silently he wondered at Jasper's interest in the Aeaeae girl.  Salazar had once been engaged to Ophelia Aeaeae, and he considered himself very lucky to have come to his senses and eloped with Ceridwen before the marriage could take place.

"Yes, those wards," said Jasper, who seemed determined to take this as a personal affront.  "Obviously they were put there for a reason, but of course he takes them down; I expect it's only out of spite --"

"Jasper," said Salazar, "will you please calm down?"

"But they --"

"What would you like me to do about it?  Have him executed?  Poison him?  Send him a stern reprimand?  What?"

He'd begun to regret having coddled the boy so much, but considering what had happened to Ceridwen, Salazar felt it was owed.  At any rate, Jasper seemed much happier now.

Jasper grimaced.  "No, I suppose not.  I'll go and repair them myself.  And this time I suppose I'll have to make them stronger."

"That would be a good idea," said Salazar.  "Why don't you go and do so?  I have a class to prepare for."

Jasper rolled his eyes.  "Yes, Father."  He left.

It was only then that Salazar allowed himself a small smile.  Such a large concentration of both talent and rivalry inevitably led up to something happening.  All it had required was a bit of nudging the Hufflepuffs away from the Aeaeae girl, and a generally healthy practice of seeming to Look The Other Way while really keeping a close eye on things.  It was very amusing -- not to mention useful -- the way these half-children thought they could keep secrets.  And now the arms race had begun.

If it didn't destroy the castle, Salazar reflected, it would almost surely make the school -- and therefore Salazar -- a force to be reckoned with.  Now all he had to do was provoke Ophelia into showing her madness to the Council.  Which shouldn't be too difficult at all, considering how close it was to the surface.

Rowena was becoming increasingly distressed.  Not only was Helga not speaking to her -- well, not very much, though there was the occasional "Good morning" -- but she wasn't making any progress with the Voluma Animaguum.  She had almost forgot about it, what with all of the other madness going on around her, and returning to it was difficult.

Also, Godric seemed to have found a way around Jasper's wards.  The third day in a row that she'd opened her drawer to find that all her quills had been turned into white mice, she had gone to shriek at Jasper, who had explained that he'd been working on fixing the problem, and that it was all Basil's fault.  This had, hopefully, bought her a few days' peace from Godric's interferences, though she couldn't say they were entirely undeserved.  She had, after all, been practicing her Tripping Curses on an oblivious Godric -- being certain, of course, to berate him for his clumsiness whenever she was successful.

That still left the problem of being very, very lonely, though.  No matter how much she tried to convince herself that she could live only on teaching, reading, and rage, it didn't seem to be working nearly as well as it should have, and so she had taken to wandering the halls of the school when she couldn't concentrate any more.

It was on one of these excursions that she met Lord Salazar, who was just leaving his classroom.  "Ah," he said, "I'd been meaning to talk to you.  Would you mind coming in for a few minutes?"

Having nothing better to do, Rowena mentally shrugged, and shook her head.  "My next class isn't for a while."

Lord Salazar nodded, and motioned her in.  Then he said, "Peeves, see that there are no eavesdroppers."

With some shock, Rowena watched as the goblin emerged from the shadows.  She hadn't seen him at all, and it was beginning to bother her.  Had she ever been followed by Peeves?  She hoped not.  But that was silly; only Godric was afraid of Peeves, and Godric was an idiot.

When Peeves had gone, Lord Salazar closed the door.  "Please, sit down," he said, not unkindly.  She sat on one of the student's desks.  "Tell me," he asked, "do you ever owl your mother?"

Rowena wrinkled her nose.  "We don't exactly get on," she said.

"So I had gathered," Lord Salazar said.  She couldn't quite tell if he found this amusing or not.  "But do you ever owl her?"

"Occasionally," said Rowena, frowning.  "Mostly it's to tell her I don't want to get married..."  She hesitated. Lately, she'd been owling her mother to tell her she'd had nothing to do with Thaddeus Fudge's sudden reluctance to do... whatever Mother had asked him to do.  But she knew that neither Mother nor Lord Salazar would have wanted her to interfere with that; Mother because she had Fudge in her pocket, and Lord Salazar because he had a real Transfigurator in his castle , and probably wanted her to keep thinking Fudge was useful.  She'd done it mostly to keep Godric out of trouble, although it hadn't been a terribly wise service to perform for one's rival.  He seemed not to have noticed at all, though.

"Mostly?" Lord Salazar asked her, interrupting her thoughts.

"Well, she's convinced that I went and reprimanded Fudge for something," she said, trying to look innocent.

"And did you?" he asked.  She wished she could glare.  He was definitely amused.

"Possibly," said Rowena.  He would probably be more upset if she lied, she decided.

"How specific of you," said Lord Salazar.  "But it doesn't matter.  Is she in the habit of believing you?"

Rowena stared at him as though he had walnuts for eyes.

"Apparently not," he concluded.  "At any rate, I was wondering if it would be possible for you to tell her I wasn't gathering an army."

It took several seconds for this to sink in.  "What?" she asked.  "You're gathering an army?  You can't do that!  Well, you can, but you really shouldn't, because --"

Here was that damned amusement again.  "Lady Ravenclaw, I suggest that you calm down.  May I ask who it was that said I was gathering an army?"

"But -- you just said --"

"I asked you to tell her that I wasn't," said Lord Salazar.  "In fact, if you could deny rumors that I was, that might be better.  Yes... yes, I think it would add a certain veracity to the statement."

"But I've never heard those rumors!" said Rowena.  "There were rumors?"

"No," said Lord Salazar.  "Well, not that I know of.  It's very possible there were rumors that Peeves and his team haven't picked up."

"Peeves and his team?" Rowena asked.

"My late wife managed to capture a small tribe during the last goblin rebellion, before she was killed," said Lord Salazar.  A flash of pain passed over his face, but it was gone quickly, as he continued.  "Peeves was the least important goblin in the tribe.  The runt of the litter, I suppose you could say.  As this gave him a strong motivation to gain a protector by learning the language, he's become my intermediary.  I think you'll agree when I say that it's very important for a man in my position to be well-informed."

Rowena nodded.  "But why do you want Mu-- my mother to think you're raising an army?  And are you raising one?"

Lord Salazar smiled thinly.  "Does it matter?  Your help is most appreciated, by the way," he said.

She sighed.  "You're welcome," she said irritably, not meaning it at all.

* * *

Devlin, Julian, and Helena, meanwhile, were serving their detentions in the Transfiguration classroom.  They'd been given the unpleasant task of cleaning out several large tanks of frogs, which they were going to be learning how to turn into fish during some class or another.  Julian and Helena had delegated the task of frog handler to Devlin, who was not at all suited to his job, and it was becoming increasingly evident that not one of the three knew what they were doing.

"Just dump them into that tank there!" Helena snapped at Devlin.

He looked doubtfully at the other tank.  "But what if he wants specific frogs in specific tanks?"

"How specific can a frog get?" Julian demanded; he was in very low spirits tonight, and holding the heavy tank did not, evidently, help him in this matter.

Devlin shrugged.  "Maybe they're trained frogs?"

"Just put them into the tank," Helena said again.  "You, get more water," she told Julian.

"From where?"

"It doesn't matter!" said Helena.  "They're bloody frogs!  They can't afford to get too picky with their water, can they?"

"Actually --" Devlin began.

"Don't complicate things, please?" said Julian.  "This is getting heavier by the minute."

"Won't he be angry if he comes back and finds his frogs dead?" Devlin asked.  One of the frogs slipped out of his grasp, and he had to chase it halfway across the classroom before he caught it again.  "I mean, it's not really a good idea to let them die..."

Helena shrugged.  "He's got more frogs than he does students, I think," she said.  "He's probably counting on us killing a few."

"Good thing it's not the other way around," Julian muttered, struggling to maintain his grasp on the tank.  It was slipping dangerously.

The door opened a crack and Professor Gryffindor poked his head in.  "Is everything going all right?"

Julian, who had spilled some of the water in the tank, stepped forward to hide the puddle, and Devlin nodded from his spot on the floor.  "Everything's fine, Professor," said Helena, smiling hopefully.

"And Helena, what are you doing?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm directing them," she said promptly.

"Well, you can stop giving orders and start working," he said.  "Remember, this is not supposed to be fun."  With that, he left.

"As if we couldn't tell," grumbled Julian.

"What are you waiting for?  Go and get water!" ordered Helena.

"And I don't see why we have to listen to you," he continued.  "It's not as though you know what we're supposed to be doing."

Helena sighed.  "Go and get lake water or something.  There are frogs near the lake, aren't there?  Anyway, if we kill any of these, then we can replace them with those."

Grumbling, Julian lugged the tank to the door, placed it down gently, then peered into the hallway.  Then, evidently seeing no one, he Levitated the tank out with him.

Devlin began moving the frogs from the second tank into the third one.  "You ought to be doing something, too," he grumbled.

Helena looked back.  "What, me?  Of course I'm doing something," she said, going over to Professor Gryffindor's huge desk.  "Here, want to see your marks?" she asked, climbing up onto the desk with the assistance of a few well-placed drawers.

"Don't do that!" said Devlin, horrified.

"Why not?" she asked.  "It's not as though he'll know."

"But it's really horribly rude," he said.  "And how do you know he won't find out?"

"It's not as though I'm stealing anything," said Helena sensibly.  "I'm just -- ooh, what's this?"  She shuffled through the parchments atop the desk.  "Here's a letter from Thaddeus Fudge, who has worse handwriting than Alaric Goyle," she said.

"How do you know what his handwriting looks like?" Devlin asked.

"Because his last essay is right here," she told him.  "What?  He did better than I did?"  She growled.  "If that's not biased grading, I don't know what is."

"Isn't that the essay you made up the morning it was due?" Devlin asked.

"Oh, shut up," she snapped.  "It's not as though you do anything different with Potions."

Devlin glared.  "Well, I'm not going to have any part in this," he said.  He Levitated the now-empty second tank, and it followed him jerkily towards the door.  "Maybe you want another detention, but there's no telling how many warts --"

"That's with toads," said Helena knowledgeably.  "These are just frogs.  Don't you want to know why Thaddeus Fudge is writing to Professor Gryffindor?"

"I do not," said Devlin.  "I don't even know who Thaddeus Fudge is."

"For your information, he's the most famous Transfigurator in the world," said Helena.  "Everyone knows that.  He was at Mum's first wedding anniversary, only I don't remember because I wasn't born.  Anyway, Mum and Professor Gryffindor went to visit him -- Fudge, I mean, not my father, because he's dead, and that would be weird -- over the summer, only I had to stay outside and play naughts and crosses with Master Slytherin, who cheats more than I do."

Devlin blinked.  From this jumbled account, he had gleaned perhaps more information than he'd really wanted to about his Charms professor, but, even so, he was interested.  It had something to do with Transfiguration, which he seemed to be decent at.  As Devlin wasn't the sort of boy for whom things came easily, he had decided that if he was going to be good at something, he might as well like it, or at least be interested.  He let the levitating tank touch the ground with a bit more force than he'd wanted, but it stayed in one piece.  Wandering over to the desk, he looked up at Helena.  "Go on.  What's the letter about?"

Helena took a deep breath, and began to read the letter.

"Godric -- that's his first name, obviously.  Here's to hoping you can read, and you weren't just making that up -- why does he think Professor Gryffindor can't read?  Can't be a professor if you can't read -- because I don't like wasting effort.  It was nasty of you to bring up the banquet while Aeaeae's daughter was there -- d'you think he's talking about Mum's anniversary?"  Helena frowned.  "I don't see why he can't just call her by her name."

"Never mind that," said Devlin.  "Read the letter."  He didn't really like this Fudge character very much.

"All right, all right," said Helena.  "Has the wealth gone to your head much?  I suppose you weren't lying when you said you knew her, though how much benefit it's had is questionable.  Not very pleasant, is she?  -- Well, he's not very pleasant, either. -- Although perhaps it's a small price to pay for the more material benefits."

She frowned, then went on.  "Anyway, she's certainly got you on her side.  What's she done to keep you from getting away?  It makes you look rather pathetic, to be very honest.  (And I do try to be honest.)  I'll bet she's not paying you as much as she should, though.  There's really no reason for you to stay.

"Anyway, the point of the letter is that I'd be willing to take you back in. -- Take him back in where? -- I'd raise your percentage, too, somewhat -- he explains what percentages are, 'cos he thinks we -- er, Professor Gryffindor -- wouldn't know...  Enclosed is a small sample of what I'd be willing to pay per object -- extra for difficult objects, and less for simple things, of course.

"Please.  Reconsider.  It would be to your benefit.

"And if you don't, at least keep that madwoman away from my house!"  At this, Helena refolded the letter and put it back where it'd been.  "Well," she sniffed, "I can't say I care much for the kind of person who calls my mother a madwoman."  Her expression was doubtful, however, as though she wondered if it were true.  "I told you it was an interesting letter.  Now, where's the money he sent?"  She began to dig through the parchment on the desk.

Devlin was about to respond, but the door opened again, and in walked Julian and Professor Gryffindor, who did not look pleased when he saw Helena sitting on his desk.  Devlin, rather more prudently, had been hovering midway between the desk and the tank, in case of just such an event.  The professor sighed.  "Funnily enough, I don't remember having asked you to organize my parchment for me," he said.  "Now, either my memory is failing me worse than it ever has before, or you are misusing your detention."

Helena went pale, and jumped off the desk almost immediately.  "I'm sorry, I just..."  She fell silent, evidently unable to come up with a believable excuse.  In a very small voice, she said, "I think Thaddeus Fudge is a prat, though."

Professor Gryffindor sighed again.  "If I was supposed to be giving you my opinion on anything not strictly academic, I would tell you that he is far worse than that, but that he continues to be a person, so that's his own choice.  However, I am not, so I won't, and you will never hear me say any such thing."  He put his hand over his heart at this, assuming a saintly expression.  "Help Devlin move the tank.  And yes, you can use magic if you like.  If I knew the spell for repairing broken glass, I'd probably let you go ahead and break all of the tanks, but I haven't quite managed it yet."  He walked over to his desk, pocketed the letter, and rummaged around in one of the drawers for a few moments.

Emerging with a musty, old-looking book, he stopped for a moment before leaving the room.  "And you can all stop acting like I'm going to start throwing things at you.  I know none of you are horrible, monstrous evil children.  I've met horrible monstrous evil children.  I've been one myself.  But you're not.  So stop cringing, get the detention over with, and don't do it again."

With that, he left, shaking his head at something.

* * *

Honestly, the work would get done faster if I just left it there without even trying to do it myself, thought Godric, shaking his head.  Yesterday, the wards on Rowena's classroom had been reinstated, and he didn't have the nerve to ask Basil to take them down again because the full moon was tonight.  Meanwhile, he'd been searching for a way to block Rowena's Tripping Charms; she might not have realized that he knew what they were, and he wanted to keep it that way.  Unfortunately, the only suggestions seemed to be something along the lines of "Watch your back or be ready to jump quickly."

Busying himself with being generally irritated at how the day had gone, he did not watch his back, and consequently met with a familiar lurching sensation.  The logical conclusion to this was finding himself on the stone floor, having dropped his copy of the Voluma Animaguum.  He reached out to grab it, but Rowena had planted her foot firmly atop the book.  Now very irritated, he swiped the book back, not caring if she ended up falling too.

"Godric!  That hurt!" said Rowena from the floor.

"Yes!  Yes, I've no doubt it did," said Godric, beginning to get up.  To hell with all of her hexes and curses, he was angry.  "Falling badly generally does."

"Well, you didn't have to do that to me," she growled.

"You didn't have to curse me, either," Godric retorted.

She opened her mouth, then closed it.  "But it was entertaining," she pointed out.

"Maybe," he said.  He was still having a bad day, and if the opportunity to snarl at Rowena presented itself, he would take it.  "Fudge sent me some money.  I suppose you want it?" he demanded irritably.

She blinked, standing.  "Oh, gods, I keep forgetting to give you that money Fudge gave me from before.  No, I don't want it.  What do I need it for?"

It was his turn to look confused.  "What?  You're joking.  What do I need to do to keep it, kill somebody?" he asked bitterly.

She glowered at him.  "I may seem heartless and cruel," she said.  "I have no illusions about how weak-minded people may see me.  But I do try not to kill people."

"Nice of you to make the effort," he said darkly.

"Yes, well, don't make me try too hard," she replied.  She sighed, then shook her head.  "What am I saying?  This is idiocy.  Just... enough with the white mice, all right?"  She looked more fed up than angry.

He shrugged.  "It's not like I can do anything about it now," he said.  "You've got your wards back up."  Although several ways of doing it through the wards had occurred to him...

"Well, actually --" she started.

"Actually what?"

"Nothing," she said quickly.  "I don't want to encourage you," she said.  After a brief pause, she said, "You don't know the Summoning Charm, do you?"  Curiosity, it appeared, had made her ask.

He shook his head.  "But I could Levitate the drawer out," he pointed out.

"Gravitas Charm.  It prevents Levitation," she said promptly.

"Finite Incantatem and then the Levitation," countered Godric.

"Well, I'd put up a spell deflector ward over the Gravitas Charm, of course," Rowena said.

"Well," he said, getting into the rhythm of argument, "in that case I'd Transfigure the desk into a hungry animal and lure it out with food.  Transfiguration gets around most wards."

Rowena's response was smug.  "Then I'd take cuttings of Helga's Venomous Tentacula and plant them above my door to steal the food."

"...That's just silly," said Godric, though he was trying not to laugh.  "But, I suppose if you did that I'd just do a long distance Transfiguration, and turn the quills into mice without all the other complications."

"You can't do that!" Rowena insisted.  "You need to see the object of Transfi--"

"That's what everything I've read say," said Godric.  "But if you've seen it -- or them -- about a hundred times before and know the basic properties, it's quite possible.  It does takes a lot more time, though, and it's much more satisfying to actually see the finished product."

Rowena blinked.  "Well... I could... put some sort of... cheese... thing... fine, you win," she said.  "I suppose I'll just have to get to my classroom very early every day and hex you," she grumbled.  "But I'm still better than you are."

"At what?" he asked.

She shrugged.  "I don't know.  Just in general."  She waved her hand dismissively.

"Ah," said Godric.  He made no attempt to protest her decision.  "You know, I will stop with the mice if you stop tripping me," he said.  "I think I might've sprained my wrist once, but I shot a few odd sparks of magic at it and I think it helped."

"You shouldn't do that," she said.  "You're lucky it didn't burn your hand right off."

He shrugged.  "It was my left hand, anyway.  What do I need it for?"

Rowena contemplated this for a few moments.  "You're right.  It would give you character.  You could be Godric, the Amazing One-Handed Transfigurator."

He almost laughed.  "As if they didn't have enough to stare at."

Was that a look of sympathy?  He ought to injure himself stupidly more often if it would make Rowena stop picking on him.  Besides, it was nice to be not-hated, if only temporarily.  "Come on back to my office," she said.  "If you promise to leave the rest of the room alone, I'll give you that money Fudge gave me.  It ought to be yours, anyway."

Finding very little reason to protest an unexpected gift of money, Godric nodded, and followed her.

"Lady Ravenclaw," Salazar said at the next staff meeting, "I am... somewhat concerned about your reasoning for taking in some of these students.  It seems that no less than twelve of our new students this year are of Muggle parentage, and seven of these have parents who may cause trouble for the castle, should they choose to do so."  He spoke levelly and neutrally, but Rowena couldn't help her irritation.  They were bright children; they deserved an education in magic that Muggles were neither willing nor able to provide.

Gritting her teeth, she took a deep breath, and instead, said, "While I can see your concern, especially after the incident with Lord de Malfoie last year, I can assure you that I have asked every single parent beforehand and confirmed that none of our children are simply coming without parental approval."  She sighed.  "Doesn't that mean they're safe?"

"People are fickle, especially Muggles," said Salazar.  "I am not willing to take that risk with the students' lives, or ours.  Might I also remind you that this is my castle?"

She winced.  "Well, yes, Lord Slytherin, however --"

"And I think we ought to let the others talk, as well," said Salazar patronizingly.  Rowena grimaced.  He'd just spoken twice, but as soon as she began to defend herself, she'd been asked to give someone else a voice.

"I quite agree with Rowena," said Helga.  "Any child with magical skill ought to be able to come here."

Salazar grinned, though Rowena saw nothing funny in this.  "Every child with magical skill?"

"Well, perhaps every child in Britain," muttered Helga.

"That is still quite a few children," said Salazar, "and there is no guarantee that they will put their new knowledge to good use."

"It's their choice to do whatever they wish with their knowledge," snapped Rowena.  "They can't put it to good use at all if they haven't got it to begin with!"

"Indeed," said Salazar, "but one may still make certain... educated guesses, if you'll pardon the pun."

Rowena felt she was losing ground, quickly.  She used her wand to reach over and jab Godric sharply in the ribs.  "Godric!  What do you think?" she asked, managing to make it sound more like a command than a question.

"Well..."  Godric was looking doubtful.  "I still think Lord Slytherin's right."

She frowned at him.

"After all," he said, "it's not as though any of us wants to deal with more armies.  Particularly not me.  Anyway, I don't think that... that Muggleborn wizards are much better off knowing they have magic," he said.  "After all, it never did me any good."

Rowena nearly said, Well, that's because you're an idiot, but he wasn't really an idiot.  He wasn't incapable of learning, he'd just never bothered to learn anything.  Which made him an even worse idiot.  Instead, she demanded, "What do you mean?"

"Well..." he started.  He appeared to be having trouble putting his thoughts into words.  How typical.  "Never mind.  It's nothing."

She sighed.  "Look, it may be your castle," she said to Salazar, "but you can't run the school without good teachers, and Helga and I are good teachers.  As is Basil, of course," she added quickly.  Neither Basil nor Jasper was here; Basil because it was the day after the full moon, and Jasper because he had a class.  "Now, if you want me to take responsibility for anything unpleasant those students might bring upon us, I'll be glad to take it."

"Anything at all?" Salazar asked.  "Detentions?  Invasions?  Pranks, accidents, duels --"

"Anything," said Rowena quickly, knowing she was going to pay for this over and over.  She didn't want to take back what she'd said in front of everyone, though -- she had her pride.

"Very well, then," said Salazar pleasantly.  "I hereby transfer all responsibility for the Muggleborn students over to you, Lady Ravenclaw.  Though I shall certainly continue to teach them Potions.  And if the others wish to continue teaching them, they may."

"All of the Muggleborn students?" Helga asked in disbelief.  "As well as the purebloods she's got in her common room already?"

"I said I would take them," said Rowena stubbornly.

"You can't take them all," said Helga.  "Your tower will... will explode!  Or something."

"It depends upon how combustible they are," said Salazar.  "Perhaps we should get rid of the less promising students?  Or the more combustible ones."

"No!" said Helga and Rowena at once.

"We can't just send them home!" shouted Helga.

"What will their parents think?" Rowena asked.

"What will they think?"

"They'll hate us!  They'll send armies!"

"They'll think they've been rejected, that's what they'll think!"

"You wouldn't like that very much, Lord Slytherin, would you?" Rowena asked quietly

"And they'll be right!" Helga said.  "But will we have had good reason?  No!"

"Perhaps," said Salazar after waiting for them to calm down, "you would like to take some of them in, Mistress Hufflepuff?"

"I certainly would," she snapped, "and moreover --"

Rowena shushed her -- otherwise she might keep ranting forever.

"It appears," said Salazar, "that a total redistribution of the student body is in order.  It's a pity Jasper isn't here; he'd enjoy the challenge.  But what we need right now," he said, "is a system of organization.  Agreed?"

Rowena nodded, having to agree, though she didn't trust Salazar.  Helga and Godric nodded as well.

"In which case, I think representing both views is only fair," Salazar continued.  "Therefore, I designate responsibility to Lady Ravenclaw and Master Gryffindor."

She caught a look of pure terror from Godric, though whether he was terrified at the prospect of working with her or at whatever Salazar intended to do, she couldn't tell.  Helga had opened her mouth to say something, but Rowena said "Very well" and nodded before she had a chance.

"And if that's settled, I think this meeting had best be over, as it's getting late and some of us have classes later on," said Salazar.

Well, that was fast, she thought, wondering how the meeting had managed to spin so utterly out of her control.  And now she had to devise some sort of system -- with Godric, who would doubtless prove to be nothing more than a dead weight against progress.  She swept out of the room, not bothering to say anything to the others.

* * *

Godric, meanwhile, was petrified.  He'd been about to leave, and ask Rowena what they should do, when Lord Slytherin motioned for him to stay in the room.

When Rowena and Helga were gone, Godric finally spoke.  "If this is about the dinner, I'm very sorry, I didn't mean any of it and it really wasn't very -- very -- I mean, I shouldn't have said it in front of her.  Or you.  Even if I did believe it.  Which I don't.  Not that I'm in the habit of --"

Lord Slytherin motioned for him to be silent.  "Actually, I thought about what you said.  And I shall certainly take it into consideration when I am Chief of the Wizards' Council."

Godric had nothing to say to this.  Well, he did, but he was caught between mindless relief and astonishment at anyone who would be so confident of his ascension to Chiefdom to use "when" and not "if."

"The current problems are, for the most part, a product of poor leadership," Lord Slytherin continued.  "I am, of course, attempting to remedy the situation, and at the moment, I must say I pose a considerable threat to Lady Aeaeae's position.  However, what is needed at the moment is something that will tip the scales slightly.  Not overwhelmingly -- sudden changes frighten people, especially those in power.  And while these gradual changes are occurring, stability elsewhere is absolutely necessary, especially in regards to things I am perceived to be in charge of.  Do you understand?"

Godric nodded, though he didn't know if he did, exactly.  He was trying to work out how this had anything to do with him.

"Good.  Now, as you can see, neither of us would like any more armies or other malcontents attacking this castle.  Nor would I like to see Lady Ravenclaw attempting to wrest any more control, as doubtless the situation would suffer somewhat..."

He thought this was a bit unfair to Rowena, but had to admit it was probably true, especially where he was concerned.  "Yes, it probably would," he said.

"And so you can see why I'm asking you to keep an eye on her while she does this," said Lord Slytherin.  "I think she lacks Ophelia's cruelty, but she is her mother's daughter, and I must admit, trusting her entirely when she has gone so openly against my orders so recently is quite outside the realm of possibility.  And I would rather this project not be sabotaged."

He wanted to say that Rowena wasn't her mother, wasn't plotting against Lord Slytherin, and, at the very least, wasn't trying to be unreasonable -- but then he considered what Rowena would doubtless have said about him.  He would have liked to ask what was in this for him, and why he had to dodge her curses, or perhaps just to say something about the goblin Peeves -- but he considered himself to be fortunate, having escaped Lord Slytherin's wrath in the matter of the Veritaserum Dinner, and pushing the scarce luck he had didn't seem like a good idea.  So all he did was nod and say, "Yes, sir.  I'll try to keep her out of trouble for you."

* * *

The unfortunate thing about having to work with Godric -- besides, of course, the obvious -- was that Rowena knew she was going to have to do all of the work.  There was, however, an advantage in this -- it meant that the work was going to get done right, because even if Godric tried to have a say in it, she'd be able to shut him up.

So when they finally met to discuss the prospect of some sort of student separation method, she was not prepared for Godric to say, "All right, I've got sort of an idea that that might actually work, for once in my life."

"You have an idea?" she asked, surprised.  "It must get very lonely, poor thing."

He glared.  "Multiple ideas, but they're all connected."

"Bound in chains so they won't run away in despair," agreed Rowena.

"I was thinking --"

"Did it--"

"No!" he snapped, rolling his eyes.  "It didn't hurt.  You always ask that.  Anyway, I was thinking that if we could somehow make something capable of gathering thoughts together, each of us could put some requirements for students together, tell the thing, and have it sort the students into groups like that.  It would deal nicely with students who didn't seem to offer much, although Helga's going to kill me when she finds out."

"Godric, that's impossible," she said flatly.  "Now, what I was thinking was that we could test the students.  The highest-scoring purebloods could go to Lord Slytherin, of course, since he'd rather take them in -- Muggleborns being too dangerous," she said, rolling her eyes.  "And you could take the lower-scorers, and Helga and I can divide up the Muggleborns similarly."

"I still like my method better," he said.

"Yes, but it's impossible," she reminded him.  "Nobody's ever been able to do something like that.  You'd need an insane amount of magical power, and the spells would just be unnecessarily complex.  I mean, unless it was a Horcrux, and your blank expression tells me that your naive little mind's never heard of those, poor thing.  Anyway, I think that --"

"You're afraid you won't be able to work out how to do the spells, is that it?" he asked, seeming amused.

"I'm not afraid," she snapped.  "I'm just -- well, it seems like such a silly thing..."

"You don't think you can do it."

"I don't want to waste my time on it!" she snapped.

"Perhaps you're right," he said dismissively.  "Perhaps you can't do it.  I've done a bit of preliminary research, however, and I'm willing to pursue it until I --"

"What about the Voluma Animaguum, then?" she asked.  "We're getting to be a rather lopsided school, aren't we?  The Transfigurator doing impossible things with spells, the Enchanter becoming the first Animagus... next thing we know, Jasper will announce that he's going to become a duelist and Helga will start making potions!"

"You will not be the first," he said, more seriously.  "I'll be the first.  You will be the second."

"Oh, you'll get to be first in everyone else's eyes," said Rowena, shrugging.  "Bad form, topping the Great and Powerful Transfigurator at his own game.  But you'll always know that I let you win."

He sighed.  "You won't need to let me win.  Arguing about it is pointless -- the proof will come when it comes.  Now, back to the thought-comparer.  I read about a thought-collection device in my researches of something else, and it made me wonder if we could adapt it to our purposes."

"A thought-collection device?" Rowena asked, frowning.

"Yes.  There's no proof it actually exists, though," said Godric.  "It's all rumors so far.  Apparently people are suspicious it might be used for the purposes of mind-control, which was what I was researching at the time."

"Mind-control?" Rowena demanded.  "You were looking into methods of mind-control?"

"Well, it's just another kind of Transfiguration, isn't it?" he asked.  "You can change something's outward shape or color -- simple.  You can change something into something else entirely -- middling.  You can change handwriting, language, scent, weather -- it starts to get rather more complex.  And if you can change someone's mind -- well, that's the ultimate in difficulty."

She stared.  He was actually serious.  That's impossible.  He can't do that!  It's wrong and it's completely impossible and --  The thought was abruptly cut off with an image of a small, sputtering fire, grungy army-tents encircling it, and goblins wandering from tent to tent, jabbering in their own language.  She shook her head to rid herself of the image, and then looked up at Godric.  "You!" was all she managed.

"Erm, yes," he said.  "Sorry about that. You've got to know what the thoughts you're trying to change actually are," he said, "and it's next to impossible to control what they turn into."

"How did you know what I was thinking?  Have you got a spell for that, too?"

"Somebody else is developing one, I think," said Godric.  "But I just used common sense, really.  You don't believe in God or ghosts, and you certainly don't believe in anything I come up with," he said.  "Naturally, it's all impossible.  That was it, wasn't it?"  He looked very smug, especially for Godric.  "And now that I've proved that I know what I'm talking about, can we move on?"

"As long as you promise never to mention any of what you just said to Lord Salazar, or my mother, or anyone remotely connected with the Wizards' Council," she said.  "Politicians are in the business of changing minds.  And they aren't nice about it like you think you are.  And that's another thing," she snapped.  "Don't you ever, ever do that to me again.  Ever.  It's worse than Imperius."

He shrugged, as the term 'Imperius' was evidently something he was unfamiliar with.  "I won't use it again unless it's necessary," he said.

"Never, Godric.  Never.  People can convince themselves that a lot of horrible things are necessary," she added.  "Even people like you."

"All right, never," he said, rolling his eyes.  "Now, moving on, if we could get access to one of these thought-collection things, we could alter it -- give it permanent access to our thoughts on student requirements, and then close that off so it couldn't be accessed or changed by the students.  Then have it inspect the students' thoughts -- what they think of as their own best strengths -- and put them in the closest-matching group."

"Yes, but what if what they think and what they are don't match?" she asked.

"It's better than nothing," he said.  "At least we'll know what they want to be."

"Well, it might work," she said reluctantly.  "If we can get our hands on one of these thought things, and change it enough to make it work for our purposes."

"You work on getting the device," said Godric.  "You've got connections and things.  I'll show you where I read about it.  I'll work on changing it -- it's about all I'm good at -- and if necessary, I suppose we could try building one from scratch."

"All right," she said, still having trouble believing she was taking orders from Godric.  Well, they weren't actually orders.  Godric didn't give orders -- he just asked nicely.  It went against everything her mother had taught her.  Then again, considering what her mother was like, that should have been a very good thing indeed.

"Oh, and another thing," said Godric.

"What?" she snapped.

"Er."  He wrung his big stupid hands, looking ashamed.  "Lord Slytherin thought you might try and sabotage this project," he said.  "That's the only reason he's got me working on this.  He told me himself."

"I suppose it would have been too much for you to correct his assumptions?" she asked, glaring at him.

"I -- I just thought you ought to know, that's all," he said, cringing.  "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she said bitterly.  "I can't say I blame him all that much, really."

"But you won't, will you?" he asked.  "I mean, with your idea, you couldn't have, but with mine, you could say 'Let in all of the students that will really piss off Lord Slytherin' and no one would know."

"Well, then, you should've thought of that before you gave me that option," she said.

He nodded.  "I had."  He sounded almost disappointed.

"It appears that you are not Lord Salazar's most trustworthy assistant," she observed, somewhat amused.  Godric was going against authority!  Repeating secrets!  What a daring thing he'd done.  Of course, for Godric, it was, which made it all the more pathetic.

"Lord Slytherin isn't the most trusting man, considering what he's told me.  And what he hasn't."  He looked uncomfortable.  "He probably wanted me to tell you that.  But I do trust you.  I mean, about this."

Rowena shrugged.  It was flattering, but he was stupid to trust her.  "Well, thank you for telling me, I suppose.  I won't compromise you, much as I'd like to.  And look at it this way -- maybe he's doing things behind our backs, but at least he knows how to work around people who don't trust him.  Mum just has them killed."

Godric winced.  "And that makes them trust her?"

Rowena nodded.  "You'd be surprised how trusting they are after mysterious deaths.  They'll agree to anything."

After she and Godric had worked a sort of research-and-experimentation timetable out, Rowena realized that her position was an odd one -- she was now on better terms with her (admittedly, very forgiving) archrival than she was with either her patron or her best friend.  It was not really the best position to be in, she conceded -- and it had not been the first time she'd conceded that day, either, which was something of an irritation for Rowena.  Trying to convince Rowena she was wrong was about as useful as trying to put a fire out with a cauldron full of boiling oil.

But maybe, just maybe, this one time, she'd overlooked several important details in planning, and perhaps not told everyone things when she should've.  For example, she might've mentioned to Helga that they'd have to be political pawns, she supposed, as Helga hadn't been raised to that sort of thing.  And, well, Helga had supported her argument with Lord Salazar.  And it seemed like they were always fighting these days.  That wasn't right at all.  She missed Helga.

As she walked outside to the greenhouses, Rowena could almost pretend that this last reason did not contribute at all to her decision.

She rapped on the door lightly, and Helga poked her head out, her curiosity obvious.  "What is it?"

"I..."  Rowena frowned, considering what wording would put her in best stead.  "I wanted to apologize."

"You wanted to apologize?"  Helga raised an eyebrow.

She glared.  "I intend to apologize," she snapped.

"By all means, apologize, then," said Helga, starting to close the door.

It was several seconds before Rowena realized that something was wrong.  "Wait!"

"What?"  Helga blinked; it was clear she was enjoying this.

"I wasn't finished!"

"Very well."  She waited, an impossibly superior sort of smirk on her face.  Rowena simply glared at her.  "I suppose you could work up to it," she added helpfully.

Rowena blinked.  "What?"

"Well, you could thank me first," Helga said.  "For helping you not lose your disagreement with Lord Slytherin.  And then maybe you might be able to manage it," she said.

She glared again.  "I suppose I shouldn't have assumed some of the things that I did," she said grumpily.

After waiting a few seconds, Helga decided that this was probably all she was going to get.  "Well then," she said.

"Well then what?" Rowena snapped.

"Are you going to stand out there all day looking cross or are you going to come in and tell me what you wanted to tell me?"

"What makes you think I wanted to tell you anything?"  Rowena frowned; sometimes she hated when other people were right.

"Because why else would you have gone through all that trouble to... attempt apology?" Helga asked, laughing.  "Mind you, it needs loads of work.  If I didn't know you so well I'd have thought you didn't mean it."

Rowena frowned.  "What?  Why?"

"Because you obviously didn't want me to think you did."  Helga grabbed her arm and pulled her into the greenhouse.  "Now come on, sit down, it's chilly outside.  What were you going to say?"

A bit uncomfortable, Rowena sat at one of the students' desks.  "Ah.  Well.  Godric's got this idea, see," she started.

"Yes, people other than you have them, you know," said Helga, gesturing at her with a trowel.

Glaring again -- though backing up a bit, as she didn't want to be whapped in the face with a trowel -- Rowena cleared her throat.  "Anyway, he says he's got this idea for a... a thing that reads minds.  Rather than, you know, a nice simple test."

"Hmm.  That sounds interesting," said Helga.  She turned and began repotting some sort of purplish flowers.  "Got to be careful with that, though.  Some people have really nasty minds."

"Anyway," said Rowena, "the idea is that we tell the thing what we want our students to be like, and it picks out the ones we get to keep and weeds out the ones we don't."

Helga raised an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder.  "What keeps us from taking all of them?"

"Nothing.  But I've promised Godric not to do that, of course," she said.  She tapped her fingers against the desk nervously.

"What?"  Helga put the trowel down and stared.

"I told him I wouldn't," she said, frowning.  "I mean, it's -- he trusted me enough to -- to do this, and to tell me about Lord Salazar -- not that I didn't expect it..."

"What about Lord Slytherin?" Helga snapped.

"He thought -- Lord Salazar did, I mean -- he thought I'd sabotage the... the sorting thing.  To get all of the students he didn't like into the school."  She was looking down at the desk now, not really wanting to think about what sort of morals she was supposed to have, and how they might compare with what few she did have.

"And you told Godric you wouldn't."  Helga said this flatly, as if she had difficulty believing it.

"Well, yes."  Rowena shrugged.

"But you still will, right?"

"No!  I said I wouldn't, didn't I?"  It was the least she could do.  He'd trusted her; she owed it to him to be trustworthy.

"Well, I never gave my word," muttered Helga, turning again and jabbing the trowel into the soil.  The purple flower made a sort of yowping noise, and Helga jabbed her wand at it and muttered a spell.

"Oh, really, you won't, will you?" Rowena asked, getting up and looking over Helga's shoulder.  "You're going to get all three of us in trouble with Lord Salazar -- and Basil, too, probably, but he's not my problem -- and then where will we have the school?"

"I don't care.  We shouldn't just... get rid of students like that."

"But we can't afford to do this," said Rowena, feeling tired.  "It's too risky.  Without his protection we're at the mercy of my mum, who's not exactly child-friendly, either.  I mean, look how I turned out!"

"How did you turn out?" Helga asked, as if she'd been waiting for someone to ask that question all along.

"I don't even know anymore," she said.  "Look, Helga, just... don't do this, all right?"

"I'll do what I like," said Helga.  "You can tell Lord Slytherin it had nothing to do with you."

"I can do no such thing," said Rowena.  "You're not going to do this.  I don't want to have to leave, but I don't want you to have to leave, even if I stay on.  Please, Helga, don't do anything stupid."

"If I want to be stupid I can be stupid on my own time, Rowena," she said, turning.  "At least I won't be useless."

Rowena, while she'd never claimed to be useful, could neither see this as a compliment nor find an adequate comeback for it.  "Well.  Goodnight, then," she said, walking to the door.  "I hope you change your mind before you --" Rowena searched for something to say "-- before you do anything," she said vaguely.  She closed the door then, resisting the urge to slam it and stomp away.  She couldn't stomp outdoors, anyway, she'd get her boots all muddy.

It was only after she'd got inside that she realized how horrid her own advice was.  It was useless to correct herself now -- she'd just have to pretend it'd made sense in the first place.

And now she really missed Helga.  Damn it.

* * *

"So," Rowena said, tapping her fingers on the table -- tiredly, Godric thought, but what did he know?

"We've got to develop the thought-collecting thing," he said.

"Either that or steal it," she sighed.

"...yes, but that would be cheating," said Godric.

"True, it would be more interesting to build it from scratch," said Rowena.  "But we'd better not keep Lord Salazar waiting around for too long."

"Yes, but the problem," he sighed, "is you."

"...what?"  She glared.  "Why is everything my fault?"

"I didn't say that," he said quickly.  "I just said --"

"You did!" she snapped.

"No, look, just listen to me, Rowena.  If we steal the thing, we're going to need Lord Slytherin's help," he said.

"...my gods, you've actually been thinking about this on your own," she said, astonished.  "And you think he won't trust the plan once he hears about it?"

He nodded.  "Because you're --"

"But Godric, he's going to have to hear about it eventually anyway," she said.  "I mean, he's not going to be too keen on letting your Sorting Whatsit have a look 'round his head, he's going to be too busy with his mad plots for world domination and all."

"...well, I don't know that he's got mad plots for world domination," said Godric slowly, "except he's a politician so he's got them by default, obviously, but... well, do you think he'd lend us some, I dunno, people to -- to, er..."  He muddled around for the right word.

"What, thieves and spies?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I was looking for the polite word..."

"Seeing as you'll never be a member of polite society, it's best just to use the real name for the occupation," said Rowena.  "But if you're ever in a fix and you need to be nice, always use big words for small sins, and never mention the larger ones.  Or, in the presence of persons who are either truly ignorant or who would not be fooled for a moment, you can call them 'researchers,'" she added helpfully.  "All the Council members have them -- I rather think that's what Lord Slytherin uses that goblin Peeves for," she said.

"Oh.  All right.  ...wait, why are you talking to me?" he asked suddenly, realizing that she was, in fact, babbling.  "I mean, not that I'm upset, it's just that I know you just don't like me."

She shrugged, looking defeated.  "Who else am I going to talk to?  Helga's angry at me for telling you I wouldn't sabotage the Sortingkajigger, and she's the only friend I've got here.  I mean, you trust me, gods know why.  Nobody trusts me.  Even Jasper doesn't trust me."

Even though she was evil, Godric could see that her ego needed a good propping up.  "There's, er... there's Helena," he pointed out.

"Helena is twelve, Godric."  She sighed.  "She already worries about me more than she should.  I want her to grow up without making her think she has to... to protect me from myself.  Or whatever she thinks she's got to do.  Gods, I don't even know what my daughter thinks."

He considered this; she seemed rather distressed about the whole thing, and while he didn't know much about what'd happened to Rowena since they'd parted ways as children, he did know a few things about Helena.  "Rowena, when you were twelve, did you want either your mum or Helga's to know what you were thinking?"

She grinned, an odd sight for Godric.  "...well, not particularly, no, but most of it was evil and involved getting you into as much trouble as possible."  The grin disappeared.  "But the Thingywhozit.  Who did you say had the thought collection device?"

"I suppose I'd better tell you before you come up with any other outlandish synonyms for 'vaguely defined object,'" said Godric.  "One of Stigandir Bjornson's researchers found it, apparently -- er, would that be 'spies and thieves' researchers or actual researchers?" he asked.

"Actual researchers," she said.  "Bjornson's big on actual research, actually -- the family keeps trying to push through some stupid exploratory voyage across the western sea, but Lord Salazar and his faction shoot it down every time it comes up," she said.  "They've sided with my mum out of desperation, I think, everyone says they're mad.  The Muggles've been there before, though, so I don't see why it's such a big deal."

"...so getting spies at them will be tricky?" Godric asked, worriedly.

"Not particularly."  Rowena grinned.  "Bjornson has two sons, Hrafen and Ari.  Hrafen's quite clever, I like him, actually, but we'd better avoid him for now, as he'll know what we're up to.  Ari's not stupid, he's just... imperceptive and superficial.  Funny but oblivious," she said.  "He'd like you, I think, but you wouldn't like him."

"So what should we do, then?" Godric asked.

"I'll see if we can't have a general sort of Council feast," said Rowena.  "Ostensibly to get people to send their children and nieces and things here.  It'll balance out the poorer Muggle-born students, I don't think Salazar will mind --"

"Even if we invite his enemies?" he asked.

"It's best to keep an eye on people you don't agree with, in that line of work," Rowena said.  "Really, it's half the point of feasts.  The other being to get terribly drunk and sing rude songs, but that's more for the Muggles, as they have servants who do that sort of thing."  She grimaced to herself but offered no further explanation.  "And then, at the feast, I'll see if I can't weasel myself an invite to see their lovely home."

She seemed entirely too eager to get away from the castle, and Godric wondered, if only for a moment, whether she mightn't betray Lord Slytherin and the school.  But that was silly, he knew Rowena better than that.  "...er, Rowena?  Are you all right?"

Her pleasant attitude suddenly shifted.  "I'm fine," she snapped, glaring up at him.  "What, do you still think I'm trying to get myself killed?"

"No, no, I'm just --"

"Or maybe you think I'm a traitor too," she said.

"I don't!" he assured her, sounding a bit more guilty than he'd wanted to.

"Did it ever occur to you that if you were a little more pleasant I'd have no reason to... to do whatever it is you all think I'm doing?" she asked, standing to glare up at him from a slightly shorter distance.

He grimaced.  "I really didn't think you were going to do whatever," he said weakly.  "I don't know what whatever is, but I don't think you'd do it.  I just think you're being rude and nobody likes that," he said, honestly.  "That's all."

She muttered something -- he only caught the words "...accusing me of... I'm rude, am I?"  Clearing her throat, she said, "Well, never mind that.  I'll take care of the feast, you take care of the Transfiguration.  And don't mess up, or Lord Salazar will blame it all on me."

"I won't mess it up!" he said indignantly, but she'd already stalked out of the room by then.

* * *

Several months later, they were preparing for a very large and practically unfeasible feast.  Lady Rowena had very flatteringly enlisted Jasper's help with the whole thing, but what purpose it would serve was beyond him -- perhaps as a sort of showing-of-the-weapons as envisioned by his father?  Jasper frowned.  It would have made perfect sense as such if the thing had, in fact, been his father's idea.  Which he hadn't noticed it being, actually.  Perhaps he needed to pay a bit more attention to these things?

"JASPER!  Will you pay attention?"  And there she was getting annoyed with him again; unfortunate, that.  It wasn't particularly dignified.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, the model of politeness.

"I said, he might have to be Petrified first, I don't really think he's going to take this without a fight."

Jasper worried, having not caught the name for which the word 'he' was being substituted.  "Ah.  Well, I'm sure we can handle it," he said confidently.

"I will handle it," said Lady Rowena.  "You will do what I tell you to."

Yes, except for that bit she really was an interesting sort of woman.  "Er.  Who were we talking about again?"

"Godric, of course," she said.  "He's the most intimidating-looking of us, even if he isn't actually all that, well, intimidating.  We've got to be certain he doesn't do anything to ruin everything, as he's never been to one of these things before..."

"Oh, right.  Muggleborn commoner, yes."  He nodded.  "...do you think it was unpleasant?"

"...what, being a Muggleborn commoner?" she asked, frowning.  "Oh yes, I imagine so, but he can't have noticed, really.  One usually doesn't..."  She trailed off.  "But anyway, yes, we must make him look terribly dense."

There was a clearing of throat from somewhere above them.  "I think I already look terribly dense, thank you," said Gryffindor, who never failed to frighten Jasper into taking just a few steps back.

"Yes, but it's not enough," said Lady Rowena.  "I mean, you don't even look as though you've made an effort to look dense," she said, stepping forward.  "Look, your cloak is all wrong, it's the one you always wear, the edges are frayed."

"It's nearly new," he said.

"For you, maybe," she said.  "Anyway, it's not garish."

Gryffindor frowned.

"Jasper, shouldn't it be brighter?" Lady Rowena asked, elbowing him.

"...well, he'd look frightfully... nouveau-riche," said Jasper, cocking his head and squinting up at Gryffindor.  "That is the desired effect, isn't it?"

"I don't want to look frightful," insisted Gryffindor, "I don't want to look anything!"

"Nonsense, invisibility is impractical at feasts," said Lady Rowena sensibly.  "Come on, Godric, follow us."

"I don't see why I even have to go, they'll all be gawping at me," he heard Gryffindor say, before silently following the other two.

* * *

Godric stared through the entrance to the Great Hall.  There were... there were people here.  People.  They were... normal people.  ...well, not all of them were normal, but they were all from outside of the school, which frightened Godric somewhat.  It'd been so long since he'd spoken to people like that.  None of them cared about magical theory, he suspected.  It would be dreadful talking to any of them.

"Well, come on, then," snapped Rowena.  "Are you going to just sit around staring, or are you going to be useful and socialize?"

"I don't think I'm very good at that," he said weakly.

"I don't think you're very good at anything," she said, rolling her eyes.  "But you might as well try."

He bit his lip.  "...well.  So long as they don't try to kill me or anything..."

"Don't be stupid, if they try to kill you, I'll take care of it," she said confidently.

 He decided he'd better not ask what that would entail, or why that last phrase couldn't have been "they won't try to kill you" instead, and, gulping, he stepped through the entrance.

As soon as they entered, Rowena shrieked with joy and ran off to greet a grandfatherly-looking man.  She left Godric standing alone in the middle of the room, and he had the impression of being circled by ravening beasts.  Well, really, it was socialites.  That was worse.

Helga waved, and walked over to him.  At the look on his face, she said, "Godric, you look like somebody's about to make you eat raw worms."

"Would cooked worms taste any better?" he asked doubtfully.

"I wouldn't know," she said.  "Come on, let's go annoy people with titles.  Did Rowena leave you here all alone?  She really ought to know better."

"Do you know any of these people?" said Godric, looking around bewilderedly.

"I've done plants for most of them," said Helga.  "Ooh, there's Katarin Vaurien!"  She pointed at an aloof-looking auburn-haired woman.

"Are you going to go say hello?"

"No, she's an evil bitch," said Helga cheerfully.  "Basil and I had to clear up a fungus monster issue for them years ago; we went through hell and they never properly thanked us.  I did promise to do my worst if they didn't pay me, though, so that's something."

Godric wasn't entirely sure what Helga's worst would be, and he decided he didn't want to find out.  He looked around the crowds of people for someone, anyone he recognized, and blinked.  "...Helga, isn't that your brother?"

"...oh god," said Helga.  "Where?  He'll be asking for money.  I thought the point of this party was fundraising?"

"No, it's -- er.  Other things," said Godric.  "Anyway, let's avoid Leo and --"

"HELGA!  How are you?"  Elmira Lockhart had (either very sneakily or perhaps completely obliviously) taken them both by surprise by coming up from behind.  Aside from her graying brown hair, she looked rather like an older version of her daughter.  Helga gave Godric a dirty look over her mother's shoulder as she was hugged.

"I'm fine, Mum," said Helga, smiling.  "Classes are going well, and, er, Basil's fine."

"Where is he?  I haven't seen him since last year!" said Mistress Lockhart.

"I'm wondering that myself," said Helga, looking briefly as though she were contemplating finding a heavy blunt object and allowing it to find Basil's head for her.  She quickly smiled again.  "I asked him to tell the students what to expect; some of them are Muggleborn peasants' children."

Mistress Lockhart nodded.  "I think I see Rowena over there, talking to someone who looks terribly important -- and where's Godric?"

"He's a bit hard to miss, Mum," said Helga, pointing at Godric.  Godric waved.

"...oh," said Mistress Lockhart, blinking up at him.  "You've grown a bit, I see."

"It might've been odd if I'd shrunk," said Godric, who always felt awkward around people who'd only known him before the curse.  Not that he ever didn't feel awkward.  But more awkward.

"...yes, I suppose it might," said Mistress Lockhart, who apparently realized that this was not a good topic of conversation.  "And you're teaching Transfiguration?  I remember you were quite good at that -- wasn't it your first bit of magic?"

Godric laughed.  "Yes, unfortunately.  It was self-defense, but nobody else saw it that way except Aurelius Eriskyne."

"I'll admit, I'm curious -- you were my only Muggleborn student, Godric, and I don't think I ever met your family -- what do the Muggle families of the students here think of it?  Do you have to kidnap them?"

Helga burst out laughing.  "Lord Slytherin would have a fit..."

"I would have a fit," said Godric.

"You already have fits," Helga pointed out.

"Well, maybe if you didn't send me outside to yell at the army, I wouldn't --"

"It made sense!" Helga said.  "And it worked!"

"Well, I think fits are perfectly justified in the case of armies," Godric said, refusing to back down on this issue.

"...so, no kidnapping, then," said Mistress Lockhart, who had always had an admirable ability to work out the basics of a situation from bizarre arguments pertaining to it.  (It was probably from working with children, Godric thought.  He often wished he was as good at that as she had been.)  "Do you talk to them or fool them into thinking it's something else?"

"Oh, Rowena handles that all, she does it really well," said Helga.  "I think because she lived among Muggles for a bit.  Not that that ended well, but she likes them a lot better than I think I would if that'd happened to me.  But I think, actually -- didn't Rowena invite Lord de Malfoie?" Helga asked.

Godric shrugged.  "I don't know, it's not like anybody asked me who to invite."

"There's a Muggle here?" asked Mistress Lockhart. "I thought it was mostly Council people.  Even Lady Aeaeae is here!"

Godric had always assumed that Rowena's mum and Helga's got on well; as they were both witches who were mothers, he had assumed they probably talked a lot about making potions and soup and bedtime stories, and how to ensure that they would always win arguments about doing chores or having to go to bed on time.  But that had been when he was nine.  He realized now that Mistress Lockhart had the same cheerful tone that Helga used when she was the exact opposite of pleased.  But he didn't have much time to wonder about it before Helga said, quite bluntly, "I know.  We aren't speaking."

"Ah.  Well, perhaps that's for the best," said Mistress Lockhart.  "She's... she can be very unpleasant."

And before either of them could ask what the other meant, a silvery-blond person had rushed up to Helga excitedly.  "There you are!  We asked to be put on this assignment specifically to see if you had any more plants with seeds that blow up -- I'm nearly out, you see."  It was a woman, Godric realized, not a man, although she dressed like one, and was skinny enough to be mistaken for one.  She had an accent, and wore what looked like a uniform; blue on top and white on the bottom, with a winged pig in the middle.  He had seen it before.

"I'll send Basil for them, if he ever shows up," said Helga, through clenched teeth.

"Want me to go get him for you?" asked the woman.  He realized now that she must be one of Lady Aeaeae's bodyguards, the Aurae Aurelii.  He'd known a girl who had been training for that with Aurelius Eriskyne.  "I can get Hatim to do one of his neat numbersy things," said the Aura.

"No, I'm sure he'll be along any minute now.  Oh!  Godric, this is Aurelia Alfhild Bergfalk.  Alfhild, this is Godric Gryffindor, our Transfiguration professor."

"Pleased to meet you!" she said, extending a hand to be shook.  "And call me Alfhild. The title sounds nice enough on its own, but we travel in packs, so everybody's Aurelia and Aurelius all the time.  I've got a real name."  She cocked her head.  "...You know, you don't look half-giant."

"I'm not," said Godric, blinking.

"Oh well.  Nice try, anyhow," she said, then turned back to Helga.  "Listen, if I could have those seeds ASAP that would be great, because --" and here she looked around quickly before continuing "-- Hatim and I want to find someplace to get married while we're in Britain."

"Why don't you just --" Helga started.

"Well, if we go with my family's rules, the Veela marriage ordeal takes a month and there's a small chance he'll get eaten, and if we go with his, Hatim's brother is trying to talk him out of it since I'm 'not of the Book.'"  Here she made a face.  "You know, the one who thinks he should inherit instead of Nada.  Arse.  Anyway, neither of us has time for any of that, really, not the way things have been going in Damascus lately.  We're doing wonderfully -- got this brilliant map that shows it all.  Arithmantic methods, he says.  Good solid barbarian meanness, says I."  Here she grinned.  "Anyway, Sheffield's got security pretty well covered and it'll be a lot of wards, so we probably won't be missed."

Godric had begun to wander off at this point, since he didn't want to stand around for a conversation he was clearly not part of, but at the name Sheffield, he turned around again.

"Who?" he asked.

"Aurelia Sheffield?  My boss?" said Bergfalk, frowning.  "Why?  You trying to avoid her?"

She had made it!  Maybe this party wouldn't be so awful after all.  "You know, I don't think I was.  D'you know where she is?"

"Last time I saw her she was out there somewhere," said Aurelia Bergfalk, waving vaguely towards the entrance to the Great Hall.

"Thanks," said Godric.  He wandered out of the Great Hall, and saw Basil coming down the corridor leading the students.  "Helga's angry with you."

"I told her I was going to be late.  And we had staircase issues," Basil said.

"Her brother's here," Godric said by way of explanation.

"Oh god, no wonder," said Basil, cringing.  "I'll see you at the feast, I hope."  And like a doomed general he led his army of students into the Great Hall.

Godric walked out of the Hall, past Lord Slytherin, who stood talking in hushed tones to some men he didn't recognize.  He heard voices in the Entrance Hall, and he paused to un-transfigure all of the garishification Rowena and Jasper had committed upon his person and his clothing.  Nervously, he tried to get his hair to do something other than be messy, but for all he knew he was making it worse, so he just gave up and walked into the Entrance Hall.

She was speaking to two men.  All three wore the same winged pig uniform, and as she spoke rapidly in Latin, she pointed to a parchment.

"Al-Aziz, I want you to go here first.  If anyone not on the list tries to come in, I want your wards to immobilize them, and I want you to tie them to me so I know immediately.  After you've set them up, inform me.  Bogdanovich, you're going to be watching the guests inside the Great Hall.  Keep a close eye on our known necromancers, and make sure ben Schlomo stays out of trouble, but don't kill anyone."

"What do you mean, Aurelia Sheffield?  I kill someone?  Me?  You insult!" said the brown-haired man.  "You insult very much, Aurelia, very much!"

"We all saw the bodies in Reykjavík, Bogdanovich," said the other, darker-skinned man.  "They were extremely dead.  Also in pieces.  I could not sleep for weeks."

"Yes, well, let's let bygones be bygones for now," she said, "and do as I tell you."

"Where have you sent my... where have you sent Alfhild?" asked the dark man, who Godric assumed must be al-Aziz.

"She's inside, wanted to talk to Hufflepuff.  Find her when you're done with the wards."  She sounded rather annoyed, and Godric felt bad for her.

But finally the two other Aurae left, and he could see her clearly as she studied the parchment.  She had cut her hair, and seemed to have learnt how to stand still for more than five seconds, but it was definitely her.

* * *

Rowena was having a good night so far.  She had talked to people!  It had not been about how untrustworthy she was!  She had found herself mainly in the company of Ari Stigandrison, and they busied themselves making fun of everybody else.  It was something Ari was uniquely suited for.  "Aethelmaer Glendower's looking very ill, don't you think?"

"He's getting kicked off the Council, I heard," said Rowena, smugly.

"Really?  Not old Aethie!  But who will stand up for the rights of the noble necromancers now?" asked Ari.

She snorted.  "Not me, that's for certain."

"Oh, that's right, you had that vampire thing happen," said Ari, shrugging it off more gracefully than she had.  "You have the worst luck with men, you know.  Speaking of which, who's that?" he asked, pointing at Lord de Malfoie, who was talking excitedly at Aurelius Bogdanovich.

"That," said Rowena, "is a married, extremely religious Muggle with two children.  I assume the lady is his wife or something similar."

"So he's not your type, then," said Ari.

"Or yours, for that matter," she said.  "But maybe we should rescue him from Bogdanovich."

"He did make quite a mess in Iceland," said Ari.  "Father's contacts in the Althing were severely unimpressed.  I think they were demanding severed limbs by way of payment.  I mean, ones that they didn't get out of the deal already."

She blanched.  "Would you excuse me?  De Malfoie's got an army, and I'd hate if he got killed.  I'll talk to you at dinner."

She walked over to the two of them.  "Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt -- Aurelius Bogdanovich?"

"Ah!  Lady Ravenclaw!  Such a pleasure it is to meet you again!  I shall kiss your hand," said Bogdanovich.

"Actually," said Rowena, removing her hand from his grasp quickly, "I was wondering if you could check on my mother for me?  I don't want her to get lost; it's such a big castle, you see, and you know, a lady is prone to being overwhelmed when her sense of direction is tested."

"Oh, yes, yes.  Anything for the lady!  I will find her and bring her here, in no more time than it takes for the thestral to climb into the sky!"  And with that, he left.

"He's quite mad," she told Lord de Malfoie once he was out of earshot.  "But you know how it is, one of those people we had to invite."

"Ooh, I know how that is," said Lady de Malfoie.  "Remember your cousins?" she demanded.  "Remember last Easter?"

"Let's not talk about last Easter, it gives me a headache," said Lord de Malfoie.

"He has the most dreadful cousins," she said, gleefully.

"This is Lady Ravenclaw, Aveline.  She's a witch.  I'm sure she's got far more interesting things than to talk about my stupid cousins."

"You know, I think I know what sort of cousins you mean," said Rowena.  "Did they stay for months and months and months, eating you out of house and home, and complain about everything?"

"Exactly!" said Lady de Malfoie.

"I'm going to go find Julian," said Lord de Malfoie, looking disgruntled.

"Oh dear.  I hope I haven't offended him," said Rowena.  "He isn't that sort of guest at all."

"Oh, he's always grumpy like that," she said.  "He's not a night person."

They had a long conversation about cousins who never left, and a polite argument about what to do with rude servants.  Rowena had always considered Muggles a bit barbaric for using humans instead of house-elves.  A house-elf you could punish corporeally and not worry, but humans could think, so the usual punishments would just justify whatever ill-feeling they held towards their masters.  (And she thought it seemed a little cruel, but she decided not to mention that.)

She left when Basil brought in the students, and Lord de Malfoie came back with Julian in tow.  And then she realized what had been bothering her all through the discussion of servants.  The room was distinctly missing its twelve-foot-six baffled Transfigurator.  Who was pretty much an essential, if she was going to pass the whole thing off as a fundraising and publicity stunt.

When she ran into Helga, she said "Where's Godric?"

"Gone to talk to Sheffield," said Helga, shrugging.  "Probably wants to talk theory or -- oh!  That reminds me!  Hatim and Alfhild are off planning their escape, since after the feast they're sneaking off to get married.  But for all official intents and purposes, Jasper's showing them wards or something."

"Is Jasper in on it, or is he going to turn up and loudly ask where they are while I'm making excuses for them?" Rowena asked.

"I don't know, I just heard this from Basil," said Helga.  "Who, incidentally, is lucky to be alive, so if you run into him and he's not forthcoming, threaten him with me."

"All right," said Rowena.

"And my brother's here," she added, glaring.  "He brought some girl called Mary with him, but I had the Aurae kick her out.  Who invited my brother?"

"I've no idea," said Rowena.  "You know I hate him."

"He's going to ask you for money," said Helga.

"I'll tell him I haven't got enough for me," she said.  "It's the gods' honest truth!  Anyway, I have to go find Godric and possibly hit him.  Although maybe I should be merciful, considering.  ...are you certain he wants to talk theory with Sheffield?"

Helga shrugged.  "Apparently he knows her."

"Huh.  Maybe he's thinking of someone else," said Rowena.  "You know how bad he is with names.  I suppose I'd better go save him."  She turned to look around for Aurae, but almost immediately ended up face to face with Helga's brother Leo.  He smiled winningly.  "Rowena!  How are you?"

There was no denying it.  He was still absolutely ridiculously good-looking, and it was just not fair.  Rowena had to reconsider her initial decision to simply tell him off.  He was far too pretty.

She decided to terrify him instead.

"Oh!  Leo!  I haven't seen you for so long!" she said.  "I'm so glad I ran into you!"  She hugged him.

He seemed encouraged.  "Yeah, me too.  Listen, I was wondering if you'd do a favor for an old friend."

"What a coincidence!  Because, you know, I was just wondering the same thing," she said.  She put an arm around his shoulder.  "How would you like to make a great deal of money, Leo?"

He looked pleasantly surprised.  "How?"

"Let me preface this, Leo, with a heartfelt statement," she said.  "I like you.  You're so independent!  And you don't give up!  I feel we're kindred spirits, really."

"Really?"

"Really," she said, putting her other hand over her heart.  "And I have chosen you for this little scheme of mine, Leo, because I feel you deserve it.  You deserve the recognition, and the praise --"

"And the money?"

"And the money," she said, glad he had his priorities in order.  "Doubtless you have a wonderful business plan.  And I'm willing to split it with you fifty-fifty."

"But I thought --"

"But it's, as I mentioned, a great deal of money, so you've nothing to worry about.  You'll want for nothing for the rest of your life," she said.

"What do I need to do?" he asked.  That baffled expression on his lovely face was simply glorious.  She grinned.

"Marry me," she said.  He looked shocked, and before he could get out another word, she continued.  "I know what you're thinking!  You're thinking, 'What on earth is she on about?'  You're thinking 'How will this be of any profit to anyone?'  Well, let me tell you.  My poor dear husband, may Hades care for his shade, saw fit to lock up all the money until I remarried.  Now, you'd think a charming lady such as myself would be able to find a husband relatively quickly, but alas!  They all seem to think that I murdered him!  Murdered!  In cold blood!  Me!  Can you imagine what such people must think of me?"

"Er," said Leo, who looked to be imagining very well.  She was impressed.  She usually had to do all the work for him.

"And so they have spread vicious rumors and lies!  Oh, these are horrible people, Leo.  I pray every day to Hermes that wonderful people like you may never know the sting of meeting those people.  It's dreadful!  They won't rest until they've ruined a lady's reputation beyond repair!  They may smile, and laugh, but their evil knows no bounds!  Why, that rumor about having an army of Inferi with him at the lead, I have no idea where that one came from.  Do you?"

"Well," said Leo, who looked as though he might want to get a word in edgewise.  Or maybe flee.  It was hard to tell, with Leo.

"No!  Of course not!" she continued, ignoring him.  "Because you know me better than that.  And why I should need a Horcrux, well, I just don't know.  I mean, if I was going to make a Horcrux, I would certainly kill someone less important than my own husband.  Wouldn't you think that's the most sensible route?"

"I suppose."  Leo was looking deeply uncomfortable by now.  She could almost see the connections forming in his tiny mind.  Wait a moment, he was thinking.  I'm not that important.  What if she kills me?  What if she kills me right now?

"I'm so glad you understand me, Leo," she said, winding the arm around his shoulder tighter.  "I feel like we're at the top of a cliff, Leo, you and I, at the top of a cliff, looking down at the magnificent vista of the future that lies before us!  And all we need is a little push before we can just fly."  She emphasized this with a hearty pat on the back.

"Er.  Well.  I'd be glad to help you out," said Leo, hesitantly.  "But."

"But?"  She affected disappointment.

"But I don't really think, er, Ethelinda would understand," said Leo.

"...Ethelinda?" Rowena asked blankly.

"Ethelinda!  My girl."

"Helga said your girl was called Mary."

"Ethelinda Mary," said Leo quickly.  "Sometimes she goes by her middle name.  Anyway--"

"Where is she, anyway?"

"She couldn't come," said Leo.  "Very sick.  Pox."

"Well, I'm sure if you explained to her --"

"She gets very jealous," said Leo.  "Poor dear.  Very jealous.  Listen, it was wonderful seeing you again, but I have to go, er.  Meet with someone."

"If you ever want to reconsider, I'll be here!" she shouted after him.  And he was gone.  Satisfied with a job well done, Rowena walked out into the corridor to laugh maniacally.

Spotting Lord Salazar talking to her father and someone she didn't recognize, she decided she'd better save it for later, and worry about business now.  She walked over to ask if he'd seen Godric.

Her father was speaking, she realized, in a whisper.  "...not my fault she --"  And as soon as he saw her, he fell silent.  Lord Salazar and the other man turned and looked at her, as if waiting for her to go away.

"I thought you were supposed to be going deaf," she said flatly, and without bothering to raise her voice.

Lord Salazar cleared his throat.  "What did you want?"

"I wanted to know if you'd seen Godric, but since I haven't been invited into your fabulous wrinkly-old-man treehouse with the 'no girls' sign, I suppose I can just go look for him myself."

"Rowena!" said her father.  "Don't be petulant."

"I'm not being petulant!  This is a natural reaction to being deemed untrustworthy by default!  You didn't even deign to have a normal conversation with me all through your last visit," she snapped at her father.  Then she turned to Lord Salazar.  "And you think I'm going to go haring off to sabotage the school I came up with because I'm, I don't know, mad, and I just can't resist doing nasty things.  And you," she snarled, turning to the third man, "who in Hades are you and what are you going to accuse me of?"

He raised an eyebrow.  "You sure you want to keep her around, Salazar?  She seems a bit mad.  And probably untrustworthy."  He smirked.

"Why do you think I keep you around, then?" Lord Salazar asked him mildly.  "Lady Ravenclaw, may I introduce you to Ximon Etxazarra?  He's on the Wizards' Council."

"I apologize for my semblance of madness, Lord Etxazarra," she said stiffly.  "But would somebody please explain what's going on here?"

"Dealing with a situation, same as we always do," said Etxazarra.  "And I'm not a lord."

"It concerns Gualterus," said Lord Salazar.  "I think she should know."  He looked significantly at Rowena's father.

He cringed.  "'Wena --"

"DAD!  Don't call me that!"

"-- it's about your mother."

"If she's trying to marry me off again without my knowledge, I'm going to be very upset," said Rowena, "but what does it have to do with anything?"

He sighed.  "I've been pretending the hearing potions don't work so she won't go elsewhere to talk to her lackeys, and I don't think you have much to worry about, 'Wena."

"I said --"

"I think," he continued, "she's planning on killing me off so she can keep Fudge under better control."

Rowena stopped obsessing over the first syllable of her name.  "...no," she said quietly.  "No, she can't."

"See," said Etxazarra, "this is what happens when you marry a murderous political climber, Gualt, you can't --"

"YOU SHUT UP," shouted Rowena, drawing her wand, and pointing it at his face.  "You shut up.  Just shut up, and don't smirk, and... and..."  In a sudden moment of overlucidity, she realized that she was threatening a member of the Wizards' Council, a crime for which she could be sent to Drear.  A crime which would do very little for her father.  With great effort, she withdrew her wand and let her hand drop.

"I told you, I didn't want to upset her," her father was saying.  She felt like he was in a different room, in a different country, talking about somebody else.

"She had to know sooner or later," said Lord Slytherin.

"She's very sensitive --"

"Oversensitive," said Etxazarra.

"No," said Rowena.  "I won't let her."  Drear was bloody well worth it.  She turned, clutching her wand like a dagger, and started stalking back towards the Great Hall.  Plan be damned.  Feast be damned.  Mum be damned.

"Lady Ravenclaw, where are you --"

"Rowena!  Don't --"

"Remigro!" snapped Etxazarra, and Rowena was jerked back in front of the three.  Etxazarra snatched her wand as she started to hex him.  "Are you mad, or stupid?" he demanded.

"Give it back," she snarled at him, and tried to take another step -- but she was stuck fast.  "Let me go!  I'll --"

"She's got the Aurae, Rowena.  You'll be killed," said her father.

"I have precedent!  I have -- Athena said -- but she can't!"

"Why not?" asked Etxazarra.

"Ximon, don't agitate her," said Lord Salazar.

"You taught me to read," she said to her father, blinking back tears.  "You taught me to read, she can't do that.  I won't let her."

"Definitely mad," said Etxazarra.  "Did it perhaps occur to you that this isn't an urgent situation?"

"We're working on ways to keep her from moving too soon," said Salazar.

"Oh, too soon!  What's enough time, then?" Rowena demanded.  "What's enough time, tell me, for my father to live?  Are we talking years here, or have you decided that he's had enough time if he survives another month?  Are you just deciding this by yourself, or are you in consultation with your sister Atropos, or --"

"My sister was murdered," said Lord Salazar harshly.

"...I.  Er.  I forgot that you had a sister," she said uneasily.  "I'm.  Sorry?  Really.  Only I thought she'd died normally."

Something about her surprise softened his expression.  "You couldn't have known," he said.  "Actually, you remind me a bit of her.  Very idealistic.  Hated everybody.  Wrote terrible poetry."

"I'm not idealistic!" said Rowena.  She tried to stop sniffling, and failed.  "...and my poetry's not that bad," she added half-heartedly.  She had never told anybody but Ari about the poetry.  Not even Helga.  "What's, er.  What's your solution?"

"We don't know yet," said Etxazarra.

"But I'll tell you when we've worked something out," said Lord Salazar.  "Meanwhile, I have something that may help prepared for the feast."

"You'll tell me really, or you'll just tell me roundaboutly, or you'll just tell someone else and assume they'll tell me, because you want me to react in a certain way?" Rowena demanded.

"I'll tell you really," said Lord Salazar.

"What's at the feast, then?" she asked.

"You'll know it when you see it," said Lord Salazar.

She sighed.  "This had all better work," she told him.

"It will," he said.  And she nearly believed him.  "Master Gryffindor, incidentally, went that way," he said, pointing towards the Entrance Hall."

"Thanks," she said.  "I'm going to kill him.  ...not really," she added quickly, just in case anyone should have any doubts.  Retrieving her wand and unsticking her feet, she dried her eyes and departed in search of Godric.

Godric didn't know what he ought to say. He considered a few clever options, but then decided that they weren't clever at all. Finally, he decided that he was overcomplicating a simple conversation, and that he should just talk. He cleared his throat nervously. "Clio?"

She looked up from her plans, seemingly about to snap at him, but then her weary expression broke into a wide smile. "Godric! What are you doing here?"

"Teaching Transfiguration," he said, trying not to look smug. "You?"

"Telling people what to do," she said, making no such effort. "Sit down so I can see you properly," she said, and Godric complied, although the floor was very dirty. "So you're their great Transfigurator to rival Fudge? I wondered who they'd got, but Our Lady of the Winged Pigs didn't describe you very well."

"Er. You mean Lady Aeaeae?" Godric asked, going a bit red. "I er, I may have shouted at her a bit last time I saw her."

"Yeah, but she acted like you were stupid or violent or something," said Clio. She leaned against the wall, frowning. "I don't know why. Then, she never gets anything right, does she?"

"Aren't you under an Unbreakable Oath to serve her?" Godric asked. He remembered Ersikyne saying something about that.

"Yeah, but I don't have to like her," said Clio. "She has us do all sorts of horrible things and her deadlines are completely unreasonable, and I hate her voice. I hope your side wins, really; pink and blue just aren't my colors."

"I think you look good," blurted Godric, before he realized how stupid he sounded. He blushed. The tunic of her uniform cut off just above the knee, and was quite a scandalous thing for a woman to wear, so he'd been trying his best not to notice how it looked on her.

"Thanks!" she said, grinning. "I'm so glad you got out of that place, though, I was worried about you."

He went even redder. She had worried? "Oh, er--"

"I was going to see if I could have Fudge thrown into an oubliette, but apparently I don't have the authority to do that without framing him for treason or something," she said. "He still should've paid you more. You should have asked him."

"I didn't want to get him angry," said Godric, who didn't want to get stuck on this subject. "But at least I'm out of there now, right?"

"You've got a point," she said. "How'd you end up here, anyway?"

"Oh, um. I sort of know Lady Aeaeae's daughter," he admitted.

"And she hired you? And you trusted her?" Clio asked, staring.

"What do you mean?" Godric asked, blinking. "Why wouldn't I have trusted her?"

"Oh come on," said Clio. "Everybody knows she killed her husband. Probably with something that scary friend of hers grew. And that whole mess with the Inferi was pretty bloody suspicious."

"But why would she..." He was only a Muggle, Godric remembered her saying. What if Clio was right? But she was Rowena. The worst she'd ever done to him was telling Helga when to throw him off the roof. And that had probably been Helga's idea in the first place. Rowena had been consistently nasty, but the worst things were always Helga's ideas. "Well, I suppose it's possible," he said. "I don't know her that well."

"I'm serious, Godric, be careful around that woman," said Clio. "She probably killed Ersikyne, too."

"What?" Godric stared. "But I liked Ersikyne. He's dead? How did he die?"

"I told you! The Inferi thing," said Clio. "How do you think I got to be in charge?"

"I just thought he got too old or something. What Inferi thing?"

"That bitch colluded with --"

There was the clearing of a throat, and they turned to see Rowena standing several yards away, looking quite small and lonely. "It's a long story," she said quietly. He couldn't see her face, because she was looking at the floor in front of her, but she sounded frightened.

"Good evening, Lady Ravenclaw," said Clio stiffly.

"You don't have to call me that," said Rowena. "Godric, you're supposed to be in the --"

"What do you mean, he's supposed to be anywhere?" snapped Clio.

"I'd... I'd really rather not argue with you tonight, Aurelia," said Rowena, plainly biting back some less polite response. "I'm having a very bad night."

"Well, it could certainly get worse," said Clio, glowering.

"That was my point exactly, Aurelia," said Rowena. Godric could hear the strain in her voice from having to be polite. "There are going to be some duels after the feast, incidentally, if you'd like --"

Clio paid her no mind. "Godric, I'm going to make sure my Auras are following orders. I'll talk to you later," she said cheerfully, then left.

He was left confused, with a very relieved-looking Rowena. "What happened there? She's usually very nice."

"I've yet to see any proof of that," said Rowena bitterly. "And it's Aurae, not... why are you sitting on the floor? It's dirty."

"So I could talk to Clio," said Godric.

"You could talk to her perfectly well if you were hanging upside-down by your ankles," she said. "Now get up."

He got to his feet, dusting himself off. "I just -- I mean -- she told me --"

"Really, you ought to stand up for yourself," said Rowena. "I don't see why you'd let her tell you what to do. She hasn't any reason to want you dead."

"Don't be ridiculous, Rowena, I doubt she wants you dead," said Godric. "I mean, why don't you just explain to her about... er. Whatever happened. I mean, obviously you don't kill people. If you just told her..." He trailed off, because everything he said just seemed to make her look more and more depressed. "Or not?"

She sighed heavily, and motioned for him to follow her. "Come on, the feast is starting in a few more minutes. Do you have everything ready for the entremets?"

"So long as the house-elves have got the peacock ready," said Godric. "What are you doing for yours?"

"Marzipan chess set," she said.

"That's not very spectacular," he said, a bit disappointed.

"You'll be singing a different tune when I kick your sorry arse at chess," she said. She sounded almost smug, and when she wasn't looking, he grinned despite the insult. Rowena might be unpleasant sometimes -- all right, nearly all of the time -- but she always looked so sad lately, and a few accusations of idiocy were worth it to see her looking happy again.

* * *

After the first course appeared on their plates, Rowena immediately began introducing people to him, which was something Godric had been dreading all night. He knew soon enough that the names and faces would dissolve into the back of his skull and he'd never recognize any of them elsewhere. "This is Godric of Gryffindor. He's a very good Transfigurator," she told the two men on her left. "Godric," she said, "these are the Stigandrsons, Hrafen and Ari." Hrafen was soberly-dressed, but his brother wore long robes of gold and green, with birds in flight woven into the pattern, as befitted a nobleman. "A pleasure," said Ari Stigandrson in Latin. Godric nodded. "And these," she told the brothers, "are the Hufflepuffs."

"We've met," said Helga, who seemed decidedly unimpressed.

"You have?" Rowena sounded too pleased to have noticed her tone.

"We have?" asked Ari Stigandrson, sounding rather skeptical.

"At a duel," said Helga.

"Helga --" started Basil.

"Now you, Hufflepuff, I do remember," said Stigandrson. "You ruined my best robes. But ...oh, it is the angry little Herbologist!"

"I'm not little!" snapped Helga.

"Every feast," said Basil, sighing. "Every feast! She gets angry at every feast!"

"Tell him that I'm not little!" she ordered Basil.

"Helga, you're only five feet --"

"My trees could beat up your trees, you know that? There'd be nothing left but turpentine and needles!"

"I think we can all agree that, seeing as we're not four years old, it doesn't really matter," said Basil. "Anyway, what do you care about him? He cheats at duels!"

Stigandrson seemed to have something to say about this, but Lady Aeaeae interrupted him.

"I certainly hope there will be no potions tonight," she said, in a whiny, loud voice that silenced all conversation. Godric grimaced and wished he could hide somehow. Instead he looked sadly down at his unfinished apple muse and pretended he was a profoundly deaf boulder. Couldn't she at least wait until the second course to start ruining the feast?

"Funny you should mention that," said Lord Slytherin from the other end of the table. He sounded very pleased with himself. He waved his hand and the remains of the first course vanished.

Well, that was no good. Godric liked apple muse. But Lord Slytherin was going to introduce the first entremet, so he stopped sulking and paid attention.

Lord Slytherin, with what was either remarkable slight-of-hand or house-elf-assisted wandless magic, made one goblet after another appear out of thin air and set them out. Godric remembered these well; he'd stayed up late last night coaxing some of the wine in each glass to coalesce into the shapes of sea creatures. Then, with the air of a showman, Lord Slytherin brought out four small vials. "I have here four fairly interesting potions. Because of the nature of these potions, however, I'm afraid we're going to have to change the order of things just a bit. Master Hufflepuff, would you please draw the dueling circle?"

Basil waved his wand, and a large red ring of smoke appeared at the front of the hall.

"Thank you," said Lord Slytherin. "Now, would all those who intend to participate in the duels please cast their Patronuses into the circle?"

"Patroni," Rowena muttered. "Aurae and Patroni. Doesn't anybody speak Latin anymore?"

What seemed like half the high table raised their wands and cast silver smoke into the circle, and a veritable bestiary of silvery animals coalesced in the ring. Jasper said something -- it sounded like Latin numbers -- and the animals dissolved, leaving smoky copies of themselves.

"What's that for?" Godric asked.

"It's to keep anyone from backing out of it once they've signed up to have their arses kicked," said Rowena, who'd cast what looked like a pigeon. "You've never heard of Patroni? Everybody's got a different animal."

"I know what a Patronus is, I'd just never seen one," snapped Godric. Several well-known Transfigurators had proposed that an Animagus could only transform into the animals they had for his Patronus. Most of them were less well-known for their contributions to magical theory and more well-known for having blown themselves up, so Godric was pretty certain they were wrong. Still, it was an interesting idea.

"You have never been to a feast before?" Hrafen Stigandrson asked.

"I wasn't allowed to stay for the dueling," said Godric, feeling sheepish. It prompted a raised eyebrow from Stigandrson; Rowena just rolled her eyes.

"Now," said Lord Slytherin, "I have here four potions. All of them will greatly improve the chances of the duelists who receive them and, fortunately for the lucky four, all of them can be diluted in wine with no ill effects. This one here is a potion of my own invention, which renders the drinker impervious to pain and injury for several hours -- if anyone would like to contribute a clever name, please do." He poured a dark potion into one goblet of wine.

"Then, of course, there is the Draught of Peace, which calms the nerves of the drinker so that they need not panic uselessly." He poured this vial into another goblet.

"The third potion is Wit-Sharpening Potion; keen insight, I'm sure you'll all agree, is a valuable weapon against the most terrible of enemies." This potion went into the third goblet.

"And finally, the one I'm sure everyone is most interested in -- Felix Felicis. It needs no introduction." He poured several drops of this liquid into the last goblet. "And now, you may all pick your poison," he said, with a sardonic grin at Lady Aeaeae.

With another snap of his fingers, the four goblets became thirty-three, each identical and full of swimming, jumping wine-fish.

Godric had never heard of Felix Felicis, but he desperately wished Lord Slytherin had just handed the last goblet to him. He'd never heard of it, but it meant luck twice in Latin, so it had to be good. Godric had never been lucky even once.

But once Godric got his wine, he suspected it would do nothing to him but make him drunk if he had too much -- and there was certainly not enough in the cup to do that, since it was the same size as everyone else's. Rowena seemed to be looking happier than she had since the argument with Clio, though, and Godric wondered if she'd got anything in hers.

The second course was mostly soups and cheese tarts, and passed mostly without event, though the entremet afterwards was a complicated-looking bit of Arithmancy that Jasper had put together into a strange game. The object of the game was to make one's marzipan warrior stab marzipan Inferi, which one was then permitted to eat. Basil complained loudly that you didn't kill Inferi that way, while Stigandrson pointed out that really, you didn't kill Inferi at all. Godric didn't care either way, though, because he liked marzipan. He managed to win one round of it and nearly won a second, so he was quite pleased with himself all through the third course, which was mainly rabbit and lamb.

It was followed with an entremet prepared by Helga; a beautiful mint tree sprouting from the center of the table, bearing fruits shaped like animals. First came jellyfish, crabs, scorpions, and Quintapeds, then fishes, lizards, birds, and all manner of game animals. Finally, at the very top, a blue and pink fruit grew into a rough likeness of a woman wearing the winged pig of House Aeaeae.

"Our guest of honor gets the first choice," said Helga sweetly but without much sincerity, sending the tiny potted tree over to Lady Aeaeae with a flick of her wand.

"Oh, you're very kind, but it's yours, after all," said Lady Aeaeae, just as saccharine, sending it back.

"Why, thank you!" Helga said cheerfully, and she appeared to take great pleasure in biting off the fruit woman's head.

The next course passed far too quickly for Godric; it was beef and pork and beef and beef and also some beef, and afterwards it was his turn to be entertaining and impressively magical.

"Well," he said, as the beef and pork (and beef!) disappeared. "Erm."

Rowena was glaring at him murderously, probably because he wasn't being entertaining or impressive or anything but slightly terrified and maybe feeling a bit ill; perhaps it was all those marzipan corpses. He gulped, and looked at Clio. She smiled encouragingly, and it didn't help his nervousness at all, but at least Rowena couldn't kill him with her around. So he went on. "Er. Ah. You all know Lord Slytherin and his son, and a lot of you've had Helga do your terrifying carnivorous gardens for you -- they're nice terrifying carnivorous gardens, don't give me that look! -- but you're probably wondering who the idiot in the middle is. That would be me. Er. Obviously. Well, er. I'm Godric, and I teach Transfiguration here at the school, and I promise you I'm not usually quite this stupid when I'm not absolutely terrified. So, er. I'm afraid I'm not much of a storyteller, but I hope the thing I did is entertaining. The entremet, I mean."

And, hoping he didn't make a fool of himself, he tapped the table once, and a small platter of roasted vegetables sprang up from nowhere. Then, concentrating, he started the real magic.

One of the radishes became a short, red-faced commoner -- either a particularly well-off peasant or a merchant down on his luck. A parsnip -- now turned into a beautiful willowy woman -- walked by, and the radish sprang up from where he sat and began to speak to her in a squeaky, incomprehensible vegetable garble. She laughed and answered him, and the two seemed to be getting along well enough when an exotic carrot-knight in fine purple-and-gold armor rode up on the back of a squab.

The parsnip was suddenly very pleased to speak only to the carrot, and the radish went back to being mopey. There was laughter from the table; the plot was a common one, and Godric had been counting on the others to know it well enough to understand the characters without being given any dialogue.

Then, suddenly -- and the trick was to keep the feasters from noticing -- a great blue bird-beast swooped down from the ceiling and grabbed the knight in its terrible claws. It soared up to the ceiling, then flew the entire length of the Great Hall, breathing illusory fire at the students, and roaring quite convincingly. Godric was careful to ensure that everyone had had a good look at it before it flew up into the rafters with its prize.

The table's attention turned back to the radish and the parsnip as they argued shrilly. The lady seemed distraught, the radish determined. He took up the sword their kidnapped companion had dropped, and climbed, with some difficulty, onto the squab. The lady gestured wildly, blocking his path -- she did not want him to go! She would not forgive herself if he died!

He ignored her gestures and her arguments, spurring the squab onward. At this point Godric brought the beast down from the rafters to perch on the bare remains of Helga's tree. The knight clung awkwardly to a high branch, attempting to climb down stealthily, while the bird-thing cleaned its scales.

The radish rode up to the beast, narrowly missing a jet of fire and waving the sword feebly. With one swipe of its talons, the beast took the squab from under the radish and cooked it. In desperation he swung wildly at the beast with his blade.

It was looking bad for the vegetable men, but suddenly a long rope wound itself around the creature's neck. It tried to fly away, but the rope closed tight about its neck. Slumping to the ground, the dying bird-beast revealed the fine lady, having tied the rope to the trunk of the tree. She helped her carrot knight down from the tree, and admonished the radish, who had the decency to give her the sword. She slit the bird-beast's throat quickly, then returned the sword to her knight.

The radish shrugged to himself, seeming to accept his lot in life as the lady and her knight bade him goodbye. As they walked away, all three of the characters in the drama settled back into their former shapes, and the beast, magnificent even in death, became a beautiful roast peacock, its plumage still intact. Slowly, reality returned to the Great Hall.

There was riotous applause. It surprised Godric, partly because he simply wasn't expecting it, and partly because he'd been so wrapped up in the transfiguration and the story that he hardly remembered his surroundings. He chanced a look at Clio, who was beaming -- at him -- and he tried not to blush.

"I have to say, I have never seen Fudge do anything in person," said Hrafen Stigandrson, "but that was very impressive."

"That was quite good for simple spectacle, Godric," said Rowena, who was actually smiling. Smugly, of course, but smugly for him. "He was panicking over it," she told Stigandrson. "He always panics. I don't know why."

"It appears to work," said Stigandrson, raising an eyebrow.

"We all have our inspirations, Hrafen," his brother pointed out.

"Yes, but yours are so costly," said Hrafen.

"We can afford to buy so much more than panic," said Ari. "Perhaps soon the Transfigurator will be able to do the same; as a scholar, I am certain he appreciates fine things like books and instruments of magic. Rowena tells me you studied with Fudge," he said.

"Er," said Godric. "Yes, I --"

"But I have heard that you were Fudge," he continued.

"I learned most of what I know about Transfiguration while I was working for Master Fudge," said Godric.

"He's very good at vague answers, I will give you that," said Ari Stigandrson to Rowena. "Have you been teaching him that?"

"Look, I'll tell you about it later, all right?" said Rowena, a bit more quietly.

"What? But I -- you won't --" said Godric.

"Yes she will," said Stigandrson lightly. "There's no need to worry, Transfigurator, I never gossip about friends." He smiled. Godric could tell why Helga didn't like him, but he didn't seem bad, and Godric also knew how getting into an argument with such a well-heeled guest would make him look. He decided to shut up, and picked at his food all through the fish course. He didn't think he liked porpoise very much, but perhaps the food was too fancy for his palate.

Finally, Rowena's chess entremet arrived. "Think of it as a warm-up for the duel," she joked, after asking for challengers. She beat Ari Stigandrson soundly within five moves, and while they brought out the rest of the desserts, she played the next game against her father.

And finally, after long aimless conversations about sailing and fistfights and aura-lenses, Lord Slytherin announced that the dueling would begin.

Basil walked to the edge of the dueling circle, where the ghostly false Patroni politely edged back into the corner -- all except for a transparent badger. Basil knelt to touch it, and for a moment it snapped back into a true, silvery Patronus before vanishing. He stood again. "As I am the dueling master of this school, I think it's only right that I duel first. Lady Ravenclaw, would you care to help me show them how it's done?"

"Certainly," said Rowena. She raised her arm, and the pigeon perched on it briefly before disappearing. Godric watched as the two of them stood in the center of the circle, bowed, and then began to duel. His eyes weren't quick enough to see what was going on -- all he could see were sparks and flurries of frantic wand movement, and that Rowena was good at spells but seemed not to understand how to get out of the bloody way what was she thinking agh oh no!, and he clutched the table in suspense and vicarious terror. Still, it was close -- Rowena seemed to know weirder spells, at least, and fancy blocks -- before Basil Stunned her cleanly. She acknowledged her defeat with surprising good humor, got to her feet, and sat down at the table again.

"That was planned," she said under her breath.

"He cannot win his own fights?" asked Stigandrson, laughing.

Helga rolled her eyes. "No, that's you."

"He probably would have won anyway. I just prefer to be prepared, that's all," said Rowena. "Most of it was real."

"All right," said Basil, "who else wants to fight?" He looked expectantly at the table. "Come on, who else cast their Patronus?"

Stigandrson rose. "I will duel," he said loudly. "Although I think I should appreciate some little bonus, since I'm fighting a werewolf."

"Really? Seeing as you cheat and I'm a hell-beast, I think we're pretty evenly matched," said Basil. He cleared his throat, and addressed their audience at large. "I would like to thank Master Stigandrson, incidentally, for being a terrible duelist; it's how I met my wife."

"Basil!" Helga said. "Don't be cruel, there's plenty of time for that after you win."

"Her first words to me were, I believe, 'Shut up,'" said Basil. "You can see we've kept up the same level of conversation through the years."

Stigandrson rolled his eyes. "Tell me, what kind of name is Hufflepuff, anyway?" he asked.

"Dunno," said Basil, shrugging. "I made it up off the top of my head."

Stigandrson seemed annoyed that Basil wasn't insulted; he shook his head as his corvine Patronus alighted on his shoulder. The two of them bowed, the duel began.

Stigandrson was a much better duelist than Rowena, though he was just as theatrical about it. He moved gracefully, and with surprising speed, while Basil dodged hastily, only narrowly escaping his hexes. There was a short, hypnotic few moments when the two of them were bouncing the same curse back and forth at each other with such perfect time that it was like watching a pendulum.

Suddenly, Basil ducked to the floor, breaking the rhythm of the duel, and Stigandrson scrambled to re-aim his wand. Basil disarmed him quickly, while he was off balance, and Stigandrson muttered something about werewolf magic. Helga gave him a wide, smug grin as Basil gave his wand back.

The next challenger was one of the tall, bland men who Godric had been introduced to as a relative of Rowena's on her father's side, although he looked like he might have been Jasper's younger brother. Then, names and faces were quickly beginning to blur together for Godric. He fought methodically, with a sort of fierce detachment, and it seemed to Godric that Basil was trying to trick him and not doing very well. Finally, Basil managed to hex him an instant before he blocked. He was beginning to look a bit exhausted.

And then one of the Aurae stepped forward. Godric recognized him as Bogdanovich, the one who Clio had warned not to kill anyone. Bogdanovich smiled widely. "I wish to challenge the Master Hufflepuff in the duel, yes." His Patronus, which was some sort of giant weasel thing Godric didn't recognize, ambled up to him, and Basil looked quietly terrified. Godric knew that sort of look; it was how people used to look at him when they'd just accidentally insulted him and were wondering if they could outrun him.

They bowed, and suddenly hexes were whirling through the air -- vicious, terrifying ones, enough to sever limb from body, hexes not normally used after feasts, or even in honor duels -- and Basil was doing all the dodging. Bogdanovich seemed pleased enough with himself, until Basil began to deflect the hexes back at him. The Aura blanched at nearly having his own eyes cursed out, and scaled back to pleasant hexes that only caused jaundice and leprosy. Basil had caught his breath, and it looked like he might have a chance -- and since he'd won so many duels in a row, why shouldn't he? -- but then Basil dropped his wand.

Actually, it looked more like he'd thrown it into the center of the ring. There was an awkward pause.

"Oh dear," said Basil flatly. "Look at that! You've disarmed me. Very good."

Bogdanovich seemed grumpy. "Why yes, I must have," he said. "But you, you were doing so well before!"

Basil shrugged. "Can't win everything, can you? I must've worn myself out. I concede." And he picked up his wand and left, looking intensely relieved.

"What was that all about?" Godric whispered.

"If he'd won, he'd have to become an Aura and swear his life to the Chief," said Stigandrson.

"Frankly, I can't imagine a more depressing life," said Rowena, grimacing. "I don't know how sensible people like Alfhild and Hatim can stand following my mad mother's orders. And Bogdanovich is supposed to be pretty bloodthirsty --"

"The Reykjavík incident," said Stigandrson. "Not pretty."

Bogdanovich shouted "All right, so who wants the dueling?"

There was silence.

"Oh come on!" he shouted. "I am very nice! Will not make you win! Is only a game! Ha ha?"

Aurelia Bergfalk, the blonde woman, stood. "I will."

"Oh, but I should not hurt a pretty lady like you," said Aurelius Bogdanovich, laughing. "That would be --"

"I have heard it all before, Vukasin," she said, rolling her eyes. Her Patronus, an odd, bat-eared dog, met her as she approached the ring. Without giving him time to prepare, she bowed, and began to duel.

Bogdanovich's attacks were just as vicious as before, but Bergfalk managed to dodge them, and as they fought, she managed to back him up against the edge of the dueling ring, until finally he stepped out. The line on the ground flashed once, and Bogdanovich's wand sailed out of his hand into Bergfalk's.

He was no longer grinning; after she handed his wand back, he returned to his seat at the High Table, muttering.

"Well, then," said Bergfalk cheerily, looking at the remaining Patroni -- a hawk, a most undoglike canid, and a tall, shaggy dog. "We've got Hatim, Sheffield, and somebody I don't recognize. I promise I won't bite."

And the dark-skinned Aura, al-Aziz, stood and collected his hawk Patronus. "I think I will duel you," he said.

"I always beat you, you know," she pointed out, smirking.

"Not always."

And when this duel began, it was more like dancing than fighting. Whenever Bergfalk threw a curse, al-Aziz blocked it perfectly; she deflected his Arithmantic curses with equal ease. The spells darted back and forth like multicolored fireflies.

Then al-Aziz did something -- an odd gesture with his wand, and suddenly Bergfalk's curses bounced back at her.

"Oh come on. You never get this spell to work," she said, surprised. Her voice sounded tinny and distant.

"But I have!" he insisted, pleased with himself. "I realized my mistake just now!" She kept testing, and found that, though she could move about with perfect ease, none of her spells would get past some invisible barrier. She conceded, though she seemed quite pleased about it.

And then it was Clio versus al-Aziz. "I wouldn't want to be him," said Stigandrson.

"I know," said Basil, apparently having found something they agreed on. "He doesn't look afraid."

"Why should he be?" Godric asked.

Basil blinked. "Aurelia Sheffield? She's terrifying."

"And evil," added Stigandrson.

"No she isn't! How would you know?" Godric snapped.

"You have terrible taste in women, Godric," said Rowena, rolling her eyes.

"Terrible, slightly scary taste," added Basil, horrified. "Sheffield? She'd lop your ears off for fun, sell them on Knockturn, and then steal them back in a fortnight!"

"You married a defense herbologist," Stigandrson pointed out.

"Yes, but I have reasons for my ear-lopping," said Helga. "I do hope she doesn't hurt him too much," she added, worriedly. "Hatim's brilliant."

Godric shushed them all and leaned forward to watch the duel. And this time, it was a real duel. Al-Aziz started chanting under his breath as soon as they'd bowed, and Clio began to attack quickly, with cruel, simple curses. Godric had seen her win fights before -- but those had been bar fights, mostly physical, the kind of thing he'd been hired to stop, and he'd stayed out of them both as a courtesy to her and because she was wonderful to watch.

Al-Aziz wasn't some unsuspecting idiot who picked fights on purpose. And he wasn't drunk. He blocked every single curse, with amazing speed, and sent a few of his own right back, and even she seemed taken aback.

They circled each other warily, al-Aziz repairing holes in his Arithmantic armor, Clio pulling together some sort of magical protection of her own. Godric thought he recognized some of al-Aziz' Arithmancy, but he suspected she didn't, and he wished he could shout help to Clio.

And then al-Aziz struck. With one well-placed curse, he managed to completely shatter her own wards, and quickly sent another hex at her -- a fireball. She put up her arm to shield her face, and Godric nearly leapt out of his seat, but the flames dissipated harmlessly. She opened her eyes, and smiled.

"She must be a werewolf!" Stigandrson said.

"Don't be ridiculous, that's not how it works," said Basil. "You just recover a little faster, is all."

"She's taken the potion," said Rowena, in a flat, strange voice. "She's taken the imperviousness potion, and he's had the Felix Felicis. He wouldn't have been able to hit her otherwise. She's too good." She sounded horrified, though Godric couldn't fathom why.

"Rowena? What's wrong?" Helga asked.

"I thought it would be... it... it's nothing," said Rowena sharply. "I'm just tired."

Meanwhile, Clio was taking advantage of the potion, dismantling al-Aziz' wards with glee, without bothering to dodge his hexes. She finally just waded through all of his magic and knocked his feet out from under him with a sweep of her leg. "Fine!" he shouted, throwing his hands up. "I relent! The duel is yours!" He offered her his wand, and shrugging, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

"Well, then," said Clio, smiling with predatory enjoyment of her invincibility. "Who do we have left?" The lone remaining Patronus was an ugly sort of dog-beast, with ears like a bear's and all the dignity of a cutpurse. Alioth Nigellus stood and walked to the circle with an attempt at a sneer. It didn't conceal his terror.

"I suppose I should have gone earlier," said Alioth. His smile was weak.

"I suppose you should have," snorted Clio. "Hufflepuff taught you to cast a Patronus?"

"No," said Alioth. "My great-grandfather studied Dementors for Balthazar Slytherin. We still have them around, sometimes." He looked bleak.

"How nice," said Clio. "Well, then. Let's begin!" And she bowed, and sent her first curse flying, and Alioth barely had time to dodge. But he did -- and that was pretty much all he did for the first few seconds. He seemed to have given up altogether, and Godric couldn't blame him -- he wondered if it was really sporting, but he'd cast his Patronus and it seemed to be a matter of honor -- and then Alioth cast his first hex.

It didn't do anything -- not visibly, at least -- but it seemed to frighten Clio for an instant, and suddenly the boy was sending a volley of hexes at her -- hexes that didn't seem to do anything. And it was throwing her completely off balance. Godric worried that she was being hurt, but he was only a student, and she'd just taken a fireball in the arm, hadn't she?

And she snarled and recovered, nearly, and though she winced every time he hexed her, she began to fight back. He was terrified, and he no longer bothered to hide it, and do what he might to dodge her, it wasn't working. "Block her! You know this!" Basil was whispering under his breath, but he looked to be losing ground quickly.

With a final spell from Clio, cast in a snarling tone, a cluster of purple tendrils shot from her wand, strangling him and snatching his wand away.

"Some interesting things you're teaching your students," said Clio, waving her wand to dissolve the spell. Alioth dropped to the floor, gasping, and she threw his wand back.

He took the wand, looking rather ashamed. Godric couldn't see why -- he really shouldn't have expected to win a duel with the leader of the Aurae Aurelii.

"I think he did quite well, considering who he was up against," said Basil, shrugging.

"I suppose," said Clio. She smiled painfully. "A rousing series of duels. Many thanks to our hosts. But I should go check some of the wards." And she bowed, and left the Hall before anyone could say anything more.

"Well, that certainly made her look stable," said Ari.

"You shouldn't be so insulting; she might find out about it," said his brother.

"As though I couldn't defend myself," he snapped.

"I don't think she'd actually attack anyone," said Basil. "Her job's to keep the other Aurae from doing that. I wonder what Alioth used."

"Mental hexes," said Rowena. "Not that she needs them. She's already completely --"

"I think all of you are being horrible," said Godric, doing his best not to snarl. "She's a real person, you know." Trying to keep his temper, he added, "I am going to see that she's all right, while you wonderfully polite people can continue to tear her to bits in her absence." He stood to leave, because if he started shouting in Clio's defense it wouldn't help her at all.

"Oh come on, Godric, don't be an idiot," said Rowena. "You're supposed to stay here."

"Idiocy is in my nature, and so is distaste for cruelty," said Godric. "Interpret me as you will. I know you won't be as charitable as you were with poor Clio." And with that, he left, trying not to be angry. They're just being people. People always think that other people aren't really people, you know that, Godric. Don't be like that.

He caught up with poor Clio in the corridor. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She looked up at him and smiled rather tiredly. "I'm all right," she said, wincing. "Well, mostly. Just... sometimes I wonder if I'm up to this damn job, is all."

"Oh, I know how that is," said Godric.

"How could you? Technically the Unbreakable Vow's supposed to keep them in control, but mostly it's me. And none of your students like to hurt people for fun."

"Clio, you hurt people for money," Godric pointed out.

"But they deserve it!" Clio said earnestly. "Unless they don't. But that's for the Council to sort out, and my customers before."

"Oh, all right, then, if the Council says it's all right," said Godric.

"Oh, shut up," she said, smirking. "As if your entremet wasn't for their benefit. Not that I'm complaining, mind, it was brilliant."

He tried not to blush. "I'm glad you liked it."

She grinned. "So'm I. Why don't you show me around the castle, hm?"

"I would, but don't you have to go work for the Evil Overlady?" asked Godric.

"What Lady Aeaeae doesn't know won't hurt me," she said smugly.

"Er. Well, the castle's all shifty and movey," said Godric. "So hopefully we won't get lost. But I think I sort of know my way around by now."

He took her to see Lord Slytherin's alchemy laboratory, where she seemed impressed and slightly disgusted at the poisonous snakes, and Basil's Defense classroom seemed nearly up-to-snuff in her expert opinion. She seemed a bit taken aback by the library. "I didn't know they had that many books," she said, frowning, as they left. "I thought it was just the Bible, and maybe some stuff about what not to do that God didn't think of already."

"I know! Isn't it brilliant? It's mostly magical theory, and some geography and history, and even some weird heretical stuff." He supposed it was mostly weird heretical stuff, as it was about magic, but he didn't care. One of the nicest things about the library was that Rowena hadn't thought to take all of her Transfiguration or mythology texts out of it, so he could still sometimes find useful things on the Animagi.

"I dunno. Reading sort of hurts my head," said Clio. He had never actually seen her embarrassed before, but she certainly was now. "I, er. I was only just learning to read when I met you," she admitted.

He blinked. Her not writing to him, her unfamiliarity with theory, it all made sense now. "Why didn't you tell me?" Godric asked. "I wouldn't have bored you with all of my stupid Transfiguration--"

"Oh, no, you made it sound interesting!" said Clio. "Just, I never quite got used to the reading, is all."

"It takes a while for most people, I think," said Godric. He'd learned to read when he was twelveish, he thought, which made him pretty lucky. They had reached the door to his common room by now, and Godric said "Password." It opened.

"That's a terrible password, you know," said Clio, amused.

"I'd forget it otherwise," said Godric, letting her step in first. "This is the common room that my fourth of the students share. They all sleep upstairs," he said, "and I sleep at the top. There's supposed to be a really nice view of the grounds from the roof of the tower, but, you know, I'm afraid of heights."

"Let me guess, your favorite color's red," said Clio, looking around at the room.

"Of course!" said Godric. "How did you know?"

"I'm very clever," she said, grinning. She went to sit down on the cushioned bench against the far wall, and for a moment all he could see -- and this very dimly -- was one side of her face. The fire sputtered, and Godric pointed his wand at the fireplace to revive it.

"Come sit down," she said, and he sat on the floor near the bench. He stared at the fireplace uncomfortably, not wanting to look at Clio, because suddenly he was afraid that if he looked at her, she would realize what he was -- unworthy and monstrous and boring as hell -- and she would leave him alone again.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He looked back at her, startled out of superstition. The fire was reflected in her eyes, and he could see a hint of a smile, as though she was trying not to laugh. There. He was lost. He couldn't look away. "No?" he said. "I - I mean, I suppose not."

The smile became a full-on grin. "Good," she said. She stood, looking him in the eyes, then leant forward and kissed him. For a moment Godric had no idea what to do, and then suddenly, he remembered.

And then they parted, and somehow, all his sense vanished again. "Um," he said, feeling his face go hot.

"I see you're almost as coherent as last time," Clio said smugly.

"Last time you were leaving," he pointed out. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized she was pleased with him, that she tolerated him -- that she might even enjoy his company the way he enjoyed hers -- and that he ought to make the most of it.

"This time I'm not going anywhere," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"Hmph. Not if I can help it," said Godric, giving in. He pulled her gently towards him for another kiss.

* * *

Rowena had known, absolutely known, that Lord Salazar had planned on giving her father the Felix Felicis. It was rare, it was magical, it was lucky, and she knew by the way Hatim had fought that her father hadn't received it, and what the buggering fuck kind of plan was this, anyway? A bad plan. She'd lost her patience.

And somehow chaos had started to seep in slowly, behind the scenes, until it was knee-deep and only Rowena could feel it. Hatim and Alfhild had disappeared, and Aurelia Sheffield was nowhere to be found, leaving only mad Aurelius Bogdanovich keeping the peace -- which would have been fine with anybody else, but he was mad for a fight. Helga and Basil were telling him violent stories about things that'd happened before their wedding, and keeping him away from the students. Ari seemed to have found a fanboy in Leo, and was looking alternately baffled and flattered at Leo's enthusiasm. And her mother kept implying that the castle had eaten her other Aurae, until Jasper pointed out that the moving floor plan spell on the castle was from a treatise Rowena had written five years ago, so really, whose fault was that? At which point Rowena decided she was going to get out of the Great Hall, since all she could do was look anxiously at her father and at Lord Salazar and remain silently but obviously grumpy.

The excuse she made to herself was that she was going to find one of the missing Aurae. Of course, since she knew Hatim and Alfhild were off getting married and presumably not spending the night on guard duty -- unless that was what they were calling it these days -- the only one she would run into was the unequaled Aurelia Cliodna Sheffield. She was the last person Rowena wanted to run into in an empty hall. But the castle liked her, and so in retrospect, she probably should have known better when she found herself in front of the door to the Red Common Room. At the time, she merely thought she would get to shout at Godric for a bit, since that usually cheered her up.

But when she opened the door and went inside -- eurgh.

And yet, something kept her from fleeing. It was the same thing that had made her finish reading Oedipus Rex as a child, and slightly more recently, the thing that had kept her from fleeing the first Inferius she'd ever seen -- somehow, the horror of it made it impossible to look away.

The Dementor released her unsuspecting victim, and (for the love of all the gods!), she giggled. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

"What's upstairs?" Godric asked stupidly. The idiot was sitting on the floor again, and that crazy bitch was practically in his lap.

"Your bedroom?" She cocked her head.

"Er." All the happiness went out of his voice. "I -- Clio, I can't." (Here Rowena put a hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing. Salazar hadn't mentioned any potion that helped with that.)

"You can't?" Sheffield asked, sounding rather skeptical.

"That came out wrong! I shouldn't. It's -- because you're -- er. I'm. Well, look at me. You can't possibly want -- that is. We shouldn't! I mean. I would hurt you, even if I had a spell that... er. I. And also, we're working for the wrong people."

Sheffield shrugged. "I took a fireball to the arm today, Godric, I don't think you could hurt me even if you meant to."

"That is really not reassuring. At all," Godric said, cringing.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said. "Anyway, like I said, what Lady Vowels-for-Brains doesn't know won't hurt me. And you could always desert," she added, before kissing him again.

Before she could make any more arguments in favor of her proposition, Rowena cleared her throat, and the two of them sprang apart, each looking quite deservedly embarrassed. "Actually, she's looking for you," she said drily.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Sheffield. She looked very, very angry.

"I was taking a walk," said Rowena, realizing that her own presence was also... rather questionable. "I'm really sick of interrupting you two, by the way, so --"

"What are you doing here?" Godric asked.

"What part of common room do you not understand?" Rowena snapped, her tiredness coming back to her. "And you told me the password last week so you wouldn't forget it, remember? It's 'Password.' Twit. Besides, you left the door open. Anyway, it's just as well, she's probably been sent here to seduce you."

"Oh really?" said Sheffield, stepping forward. "I'm not quite that devoted. What I do on my own time is my business."

"But it's not really your own time, is it?" said Rowena.

"Nevertheless, it's my job to protect your stupid mother, not spread my legs for whoever she says. That's your job," she said, jabbing a finger at Rowena. "And you're apparently pretty miserable at it, considering you've been unmarried for, what, six years?" She was approaching Rowena with unnerving slowness, and Rowena was reminded strongly of a hunting housecat.

Rowena stood her ground, clutching her wand for reassurance. She knew better than to raise it, though. She wanted an argument, not a fight. "I've distanced myself from her," she said. "I'm nobody's whore, not any longer, and it wasn't like I had much of a choice to start with. You, on the other hand, well. She's not one to waste resources, even when they are pretty paltry."

"Oh, that's right!" said Sheffield, laughing. "Now I remember! You wouldn't do the job because you prefer your men dead."

Rowena tensed at that, and stepped forward slightly, her fists clenched. "You're disgusting," she spat. "Then, you did crawl out of the gutter, so I shouldn't be so surprised that you left your tiny little mind."

"I suppose after you killed your husband, the necromancy didn't take, and so you had to settle for the vampire." By now, the two of them were at arm's length, and so even with her poor vision, Rowena could see every detail of Aurelia Sheffield's smug expression.

"What are you -- Clio, you're scaring her! Rowena, come on!" said Godric. They both ignored him.

"That's ridiculous--" Rowena started.

"And when Ersikyne found out, you had him killed too, isn't that right?" Sheffield demanded. She was right in Rowena's face now -- not touching her, oh no, but Rowena could smell her horrible breath. She took a step back.

"I didn't --"

Godric was standing above them, still attempting to mediate. "Would both of you --"

"Or maybe the vampire wasn't good enough either -- poor circulation and all --"

Rowena recoiled, but found herself against the wall. "I never even -- we never did that!"

"-- and you thought you'd brushed up on your necromancy by then. You always did seem to have daddy issues, from what I --"

"That. Is. ENOUGH," shouted Rowena. She raised her wand, but Sheffield caught her wrist and bent it the wrong way. There was a sickening snap, and Rowena dropped her wand.

She looked up, and all she saw was Sheffield's fist.

Over the years, Clio had seen a lot of bodies crumpled at her feet.  Some of them had been titled, even, especially now that she was an Aura.
But none of them had been her employer's sole heir.  That was new.

"Rowena!  Are you all right?"  Godric, being his wanting-to-like-everybody self, was on his knees trying to wake Ravenclaw.  He glared at Clio.  "What the hell did you do that for?"

He sounded angry.  That was new too.  She'd never seen Godric angry.  She didn't know he could get angry.  "She drew her wand!" Clio heard herself say, knowing it sounded fatally stupid.  Never let someone dangerous who wants to hurt you have the use of their hands or their head, Ersikyne said in her head.   Never.  If you can, take away their legs, too.  It should have been comforting, having used his advice on his killer, but it really wasn't.  "Is she all right?" she asked, trying to sound penitent.  At least she hadn't broken Ravenclaw's legs.

"Of course she's not all right," said Godric.  He was angry.  Fuck.  She'd actually managed to make him angry.  Of all people, him.  "You punched her in the face!" he said.  "Her head bounced!"

"...But she's alive?" Clio asked.  There was a small possibility that she wouldn't be executed if Ravenclaw survived.  A very small possibility.  And Godric would forgive her, maybe.

"I think so, she's breathing.  I mean, corpses don't breathe, right?  Don't they stop right away?" he asked. "Is it head injuries where you're not supposed to move them, or is that something else?"  He looked at her.

Clio looked back at him blankly, having no experience with corpses outside of making them.

"Right.  Why am I asking you that?" he snapped.

"She drew her wand!" Clio shouted.  "I have been trained not to let people do that.  Was I supposed to let her hex me?"

He ignored her, and with great care, picked Ravenclaw up.  She lay in his arms, looking even stringier and uglier than usual, and Clio tried -- really tried -- not to be angry with her, but she had a history of getting herself into such absurd situations that Clio's hatred was strong and long-lived.

"I think you broke her nose," said Godric.  "Either that or she's bleeding to death inside her head and it's all coming out of her nose. Oh god, what if she is?"

"I did not break her nose," said Clio, trying to retain some tiny scrap of professionalism.  "I hit her in the jaw."

"So she's bleeding to death inside her head," said Godric.  "Wonderful.  Brilliant."  He started walking.

"I think that would look different," said Clio.  "Maybe she picks her nose."  She jogged to keep up with him.  She didn't know where they were going, but she wasn't going to be left behind.

He glared at her, and quickened his pace.

"What?" she called.  "Rich people do it too!"

Godric stopped and turned to speak to her.  "I am taking her to Lord Slytherin's medicinal laboratory," he said.  "You should go find Lord Slytherin."  He looked down at Ravenclaw.  "Hm.  I think she is bleeding from her mouth.  Maybe she bit her lip," he muttered.

"I can't be seen talking to Lord Slytherin!" Clio insisted.

"You seemed perfectly fine sleeping with me earlier," said Godric.

"That's completely different.  You're much better-looking than him," she said, trying to lighten the mood.

Mood unlightened, Godric sighed.  "Look, just find him, you don't have to --"

"Good evening, Master Gryffindor!  Have you seen --"  It was Ari Stigandrson.  He had seemed slightly tipsy, but was sobering quickly.  "I see you have," he said darkly.  Then he looked at Clio and folded his arms, and she knew any damage control she tried was going to go badly for her.  "What.  Happened?"

"It was, ah," said Clio, who was not generally at a loss for words.  "She.  We."  She could certainly take Stigandrson in a fight, but never in an argument.

"She needs a Healer," said Godric.  "The nearest one is in the village -- Healer Wootton.  He mostly handles livestock but he's very good with broken bones.  He's in the house with the, er.  It's like a snake wrapped around a stick, you know the symbol.  It's on the door and it glows at night."

Stigandrson listened to all this with wide eyes, and seemed to have forgot entirely about Clio.  "I'll bring him here," he said.  "Where will she be?"

"He'll know the way to the place where we usually dump incapacitated professors," said Godric, glaring at Clio.  Stigandrson nodded once and left quickly.

"That was close," said Clio.

Godric looked around the corner, made a face, and stepped back behind it.  "Look, I think you'd better just be quiet for now."

"Oh, thanks," she said.  "Really?  Is that it?  I just punch one person out and I go from 'Ooh, Clio,' to 'Just shut up, I don't want to hear it'?  Really?"

"I'm serious, Clio," Godric insisted, quietly but urgently.  He looked around the corner again.

"Look, I'm at least as upset about this as you are," said Clio.  "I could die!  Especially if she dies.  What are you even looking at?"

"Would you shut up?" he hissed.

 "It's nice that you're so concerned about my well-being," said Clio.  "Of course, that's fine with me.  I can take care of myself.  As long as Lady Aeaeae doesn't find out what happened --"

Lady Aeaeae turned the corner.  Godric looked as though he would have put his face in his hands, had his hands not been full of unconscious noblewoman.

Oh.  That.  Clio tried to apologize to Godric with just a look, but he was looking concernedly at Ravenclaw.  Ugh.

"And just what did happen?" Lady Aeaeae asked.

"I.  Well.  There was this..."  Clio was trying to come up with something to say that was both the truth and that did not make her sound bad.  Under the Unbreakable Vow she had made, she had to obey Lady Aeaeae's orders, and there was a standing order not to lie to her.

"Answer me now," snapped Lady Aeaeae.

"You know, I'd like to stick around for this but I'm just going to leave," said Godric, looking down at his unconscious burden.

Lady Aeaeae rolled her eyes, turning on her heel towards him.  "And why should I let you -- Rowena!" she gasped, finally noticing what Godric had in his arms.  "What happened to her?"

"She needs medical attention," Godric pointed out.  "Clio and I were taking her to --"

"Yes, yes, go on!" said Lady Aeaeae, shooing him off.  "Hurry!"  Godric did so, and Clio started to follow him, but Lady Aeaeae put out a hand to stop her.  "No," she said.  "Tell me what happened.  The bad parts first."

Fuck.  The Unbreakable Vow was niggling at the spot just between her eyes and above her nose, making her want to sneeze.  She knew if she disobeyed it any longer, her head would explode or something.  "So I sort of punched out your daughter," she blurted.

"Sort of?"

"By which I mean completely," she added, automatically.  Bloody spell.  "See, because she drew her wand on me!  I had to!  It's like, like, like, that thing where you kick the Healer when he hits you in the knee!  Instinct!"

Lady Aeaeae didn't look impressed.  Then, she never looked impressed.  Maybe it was a good sign.  Maybe if she'd been impressed, Clio would be executed.  "Did she hit you in the knee?"

"No.  Why would she do that?" Clio asked.

"Is she going to live?" demanded Lady Aeaeae.

"I don't know," said Clio.  "What, do I look like a Healer or something?"  She really hated these little question-and-answer sessions.

Godric rushed around the corner.  "She's all right, she's going to be all right, Healer Wootton's here and he says he thinks it'll all be all right!" he said, looking intensely relieved.

"And what was his part in all this?" Lady Aeaeae asked, pointing at Godric.

"Well," said Clio.  "Well, he didn't do anything."  Thank God for that, or they'd both be up for punishment, and Godric would get far worse.  Clio was the only one who could keep the other Aurae in line, so at least she had that going for her.

"Is that so?" Lady Aeaeae demanded.  "Then why was he there?"

"Well, er.  We were kissing," said Clio.  She was not blushing, she was not, it was just very warm suddenly.

"If I could maybe speak," said Godric, "I think --"

"You be quiet," said Lady Aeaeae, waving him off.

"No, you be quiet and let me explain!" Godric snapped.  Clio shook her head at him.  Hadn't he learned when to shut up?

"You're right," said Lady Aeaeae, smiling slowly.  "You ought to explain.  In fact, you can talk all you like.  Aurelia Sheffield?"

Clio winced.  "Yes, my lady?"

"Take him to Aurelius Bogdanovich for interrogation," said Lady Aeaeae.  "Tell him to use the knives.  I'm not wholly convinced that he didn't have anything to do with my daughter's grievous wounds."

That tickle behind her nose was back.  "But he --"

"Take him!  Was that an order or not?" she demanded.  "And if he tries to escape, you will either kill him or die trying."

Clio and Godric exchanged a look.  It was not a happy one.

"Yes, my lady," said Clio.  "...Can Bergfalk or al-Aziz do it?" she asked, hopefully.  They were good at not killing their captives.  She didn't know where they were, though -- hopefully not off snogging in a closet somewhere.  Not that she had any room to complain.

"Bogdanovich," said Lady Aeaeae.  "Do what I say.  No suggestions or improvisation."

"Yes, my lady," said Clio.  She pointed her wand at Godric.  "Come on, Godric, this way."

"And  no talking to the prisoner," said Lady Aeaeae.

"Yes, my lady," Clio sighed.  Godric looked like he was tempted to kick Lady Aeaeae down the corridor, but he went with Clio instead.

* * *

"...best the little girl ain't here -- she'll prolly be mad as hell, so--"

"Want me to sit on her?"

"Nah, that might hurt her wrist worse."

There was a strange, wordless whimpering.

"She's coming 'round, I think."

"Rowena?"

She opened her eyes, and as she sat up, the whimpering became a yowl, and then a shriek, and then "Oh gods, I hurt," and as she caught her breath she realized where she was and that her voice and that her pain were both coming from her body.

Mostly from her head.  The back of it.  The pain, anyway.

...what?

Wait, where was she again?  She looked around dizzily.

There was Helga, looking nervous and freckly and inexplicably relieved, and Ari, apparently deeply shaken.  Jasper was fiddling with an empty vial, paying such close attention to it that she knew he didn't care about it.  And Healer Wootton was standing over her looking extremely smug.  It was then that she realized something unexpectedly bad must have happened.

"What am I doing here?" she demanded.  And she remembered the argument.  Not all of it, but enough.  She sat up.  "THAT BITCH!  Where's Godric?  I'll fucking kill him!"

 "Calm down, Lady Ravenclaw," said Wootton.  "I'm gonna treat your wrist --"

"LET ME AT HER --"  She cut her rant short with a hiss of pain.

"Like I said, I'm gonna treat your wrist, so it'll heal straight."

"Where's Godric?" demanded Rowena again.

"He's, er.  With Bogdanovich," said Helga, her smile faltering.

Rowena gaped.  "What?  No!  He'll kill him!"

"Then it saves you the trouble," said Ari, not looking much cheered.

"Is she going to be all right?" Jasper asked Wootton.

"I'm right here, you arse," snapped Rowena.

"She'll be irritable for a while," said Healer Wootton.

"I'm sure he'll be all right, Rowena," said Helga.

"I'M NOT IRRITABLE," shouted Rowena.

"Well, you just got hit on the head, Rowena, I'd be irritable too if it was me," said Helga calmly.  "What happened?"

"How should I know?" Rowena demanded.  "I don't remember a bloody thing after she accused me of necromancy."  Her head throbbed.  "Or was it necrophilia?"

"Er," said Jasper uncomfortably.

"There is sort of a difference," Ari pointed out helpfully.

"Was it both?  Sodding Hades, it was both," Rowena snarled.  "That BITCH.  ...I have a headache.  ...wait, where's Godric?"

"With Bogdanovich, we told you," said Jasper.  "You're certain she'll be alright?" he asked Wootton.

"I knew it!" Rowena said.  "They're both in on it!"

"In on what?" Ari asked Helga.

"Not a clue," said Helga.

Rowena blinked.  "I'm going to throw up," she said.  And she did.

* * *

It was raining outside, despite all the spectacle that had taken place in the Great Hall, and now that Helena was trapped in the common room, away from the noise and food and warmth, she could hear the rain tapping against the stained-glass windows.  The cold crept up on her, stealthily establishing itself on her nose until she rubbed it off with the warmth of her fingers.  She wished Uncle Basil had seen her side of things rather than shutting her up in here.

Fortunately, there were others she could count on.  "What's going on?" she asked, as Devlin stumbled into the room.

"No idea," he said.  "Professor Hufflepuff and Lord Slytherin are talking with that blond Council duelist, the one with the raven Patronus."

"But what about my mum?" she demanded.

"Couldn't get that close," he said.  "Professor Slytherin's standing guard.  He's got that look, you know, like everyone's in his way, even though everyone's staying far away.  But Julian's trying out espionage charms --"

"He knows those?" she asked, turning to listen to him in earnest now.

1. "Nah," said Devlin, "but he's, you know..."   He rolled his eyes.

"No," she said, getting the impression she was being blamed for something.  "I don't know.  What is he?"

"Well, you asked him.  And he takes that pretty serious--"   

Julian burst in.  He was sopping wet -- his hair was plastered to his forehead, and his shoes squished when he walked.  Helena felt bad for him; she should have been the one going to great lengths to get information.  "I need something of hers," he told her.

"Why?" she asked.  "What's going on?"

"And why are you half-drowned?" Devlin asked.

"Because I had a theory that was wrong," he said.  "I had to go outside to test it.  And now I need something of Lady Ravenclaw's.  I have a spell that might work."

"I'll go find something," said Helena.  "Something important to her?"

"If possible," said Julian.  "It's one of those charms."

She nodded, and hurried up to the top of the tower.  Lighting her wand, she peered around the gloom of her mother's bedroom, looking for something she was fond of.  Ideally, Helena knew, it would have been her wand, but of course Mother kept that with her at all times, and got rather upset when she didn't have it.  But aside from that, Helena could think of nothing physical that her mother considered particularly important.  It wasn't as though she didn't have things -- there were plenty of trinkets and books and clothes cluttering Mother's quarters.  They just weren't the sort of things she obsessed over.  She was far more passionate about ideas, and people were a distant second.  But things?  Things she already had.

So Helena rifled through the parchment on her mother's desk, looking for writing that she might feel strongly about.  There were poems in Greek with flawed rhyme schemes, mostly half-crossed-out (with self-deprecating comments in the margins), and lesson plans for the more advanced classes.  She found student records, which were useless for this situation, but she briefly considered pocketing them and trading them off to interested parties.  Then she came across the notes on the gods of Egypt.

That was odd.  Helena knew, of course, that other families had other gods, but her mother had only ever seemed interested in the Olympian gods.  Examining the parchment more closely, she realized they were only notes taken from a much more complete manuscript.  And then she realized she knew what could be used in the spell.  She scanned the bookshelves until she found it -- a leather-bound volume in Greek, with a bloodstained binding.

Taking it, she ran back down the stairs to the common room.

"What is it?" Julian asked.

"This!"  She waved the book at him.

He took it and leafed through random pages.  "What is this, a book of necromancy?"

Helena grabbed it back.  "Don't be stupid," she snapped.  "It's the Odyssey."

"Then what's with the blood?" Devlin asked.

"She clobbered a vampire with it once," said Helena smugly.  "He was going to kill Aunt Helga."

Devlin whistled appreciatively.  "Your mum's badarse, you know that?"

"Yeah," said Helena.  Of course, Helena wasn't badarse, but it was better than nothing.  "What else do we have to do for the spell?"

He pulled out a scrap of parchment and squinted at it.  "Right.  Yeah.  There's a sort of a circle thing, and you've got to stand in it with the book."

"Why me?" Helena asked.

"We need two important things of hers to triangulate," said Julian.  "So, the book and you."

"...oh," she said.  She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"How are we going to draw the circle?" Devlin asked.  "She'll bash our heads in with history books if we ink all over the floor in here, and we haven't got chalk."

"That's where you come in," said Julian brightly.  He handed Devlin the parchment.  "See that circle?" he asked.  "Transfigure it into the stone of the floor."

"Er..."

"And make certain you can undo it," he added.  "Or else, books to the head."

"This is sort of advanced," said Devlin, worriedly.  "D'you really think this'll work?"

"Not really," said Julian, "but we've tried using normal methods."

"You mean Muggle methods," said Helena.

"That's what I said," said Julian.

She decided that arguing the point was useless.  "What about the spell on me?" she asked.

"You won't technically leave the room.  You'll just be helping us to hear what's going on in the sick room."

"But I'll be able to hear too, right?" she asked.

1. "Why wouldn't you?"

"I'm just the spell object," she said, grumpily.

Devlin snorted.  "What are you talking about?  You've still got ears, haven't you?"

"Shut up, Devlin, and do the circle," said Julian.  "If you can't hear it, I'll look at the spell again," he told her.  "But let's try it first."

Grumbling, Devlin managed to transfigure the spell circle into the floor.  It wasn't very deep, but it was there, sunken into the stones with magic, and that was all that was necessary.  Clutching the book to her chest, Helena sat in the middle, unsure as to what she should do.

Julian put the tip of his wand on one of the lines in the spell circle, and, reading from the book, chanted the Latin spell, and suddenly, they heard the sound of retching.

"Eurgh," said her mother, apparently out of the air.  "Why does that keep happening?"

"You got hit in the head," said another voice -- probably the healer.  "The shock of it sometimes goes all the way down to your stomach."

"I actually don't want to know," she said shakily.  "...hey, where's Godric?"

"Why does she keep asking that?" Professor Slytherin asked, panicky.

"I guess the shock got to her ears too," said the healer, noncommittally.  In the background, Uncle Basil and Lord Slytherin said something about wards, and the door opened and shut.

"Bogdanovich has got him, Rowena," said Aunt Helga, gently.  "You keep asking and then forgetting."

"What?  But --"

"He'll kill him, we know," said Slytherin.  "My father's probably seeing to it.  He's very valuable."

"Good," she said.  "Good.  Then he'll live."

It was weird to hear them talking like this -- without worrying what she or the other students would think of them -- and stranger still not to see them.  Helena closed her eyes so that she could better resist the urge to look around for the owners of the voices.

There was a shuffling noise, as if someone was trying to come in by a crowded doorway, and then Lord Slytherin spoke.  "It's not working.  They're saying he tried to assassinate you."

"What?" her mother asked.  "Why would he do that?"

Silence.

"Find my mum.  Tell her I'll break my other wrist if they don't --"

"Rowena," snapped Aunt Helga.  "They're going to kill him, this isn't the time to be overdramatic."

"You think I wouldn't do it?  I don't make idle threats."

"Well.  Er."  There was guilt in her voice.  And doubt.

"Of course I -- oh gods give me that bucket Jasper it's right th--"  There was a horrible retching sound.  "...right, never mind the bucket."

"Eugh."

"I didn't even eat that much.  Where is it all coming from?"

"I'll go find your mother," said Professor Slytherin quickly, sounding desperate to be gone.

"Perhaps you should give the lady her bucket first," said Lord Slytherin.  "For future use."

"Right, yes, here you go, I'm off."

Quick shuffling, door closing.

"Do you think she'll take it seriously?"

"She seems prone to panic about you," said Lord Slytherin.

A snort.  "Only because I'm the only heir she's got."  Helena never understood why her mother was so angry at Grandmother.  She had arranged an awkward marriage, apparently, but Helena supposed you had to take what you could get.  And all the other bad things Grandmother had done were the sort of things Helena could imagine her own mother doing.  They obviously cared about each other -- they couldn't get that angry with each other unless they cared.

"Perhaps.  But her panic is notable, if only for its rarity."

"Right.  Yeah.  Whatever.  ...speaking of panic, where's Godric?"

Door opening, footsteps.  "What do you think you're doing?" Uncle Basil shouted.

"He's with the Aurae --"

"Wait, wait.  Did you answer that already, or am I --"

Someone grabbed her shoulders and pulled her out of the circle.  Her eyes flew open and she screamed in startlement, both at the motion and at the bright light she suddenly faced.  The sounds of the sickroom faded, and as Helena's eyes adjusted to the light, she realized Uncle Basil had broken the spell.  Devlin and Julian seemed to have been caught by surprise as well.

"We were just, er," started Devlin.

"Nothing else worked!" said Julian, angrily.  "And we were worried --"

"He made me do it!" Devlin added.

"Shut up, both of you," snapped Helena.  "It was my fault."

Uncle Basil rolled his eyes.  "I had worked that out for myself, actually.  Unfortunately, you still shouldn't have done it."

"Why not?" Julian asked, not letting her take the blame.  What was wrong with him, anyway?

"Because you were told not to," said Uncle Basil.  He looked like he had a headache, which made Helena feel a bit guilty, which was completely unfair of him to do to her.

"So what?" Julian demanded.  Helena and Devlin exchanged a look -- when Julian was Righteously Angry, it never worked out well.

"Julian, shut up," said Devlin, quietly.

"No, really, so what?" Julian asked.  She was trying not to wince but he was just making things worse for her.

"Well, since it's Helena's fault, maybe she can enlighten us.  So what, Helena?"

Helena fidgeted.  It was one thing to be put on the spot to try and explain why the wrong thing you did was right, but when you had to explain why the wrong thing you did was wrong it was even worse.  Saying you couldn't see how it was wrong made you look stupid, and saying why it was wrong made you look evil.  It was even worse when it was Uncle Basil, because usually he was the one who let her go into all the neat shops with the cursed objects and dead things, and told scary stories about hunting vampires, and bought her sweets she wasn't supposed to have.  She took a deep breath.  "Well, I mean, I suppose we shouldn't have been messing about with magic that we don't know, but really, she's my mum, I don't see why --"

"Wrong," said Uncle Basil.

"What do you mean, wrong?  She's my mum."

"Helena, do you know where Professor Gryffindor is right now?"

"He's with the Aurae, Mum keeps asking," said Helena, grumpily.  She didn't care about stupid old Professor Gryffindor.  It wasn't like anybody could hurt him, anyway.

He sighed.  "Yes.  Exactly.  It's... the way they ask questions is very violent."  He looked worried, then -- frightened, even.  Maybe they could hurt Professor Gryffindor.

"But I thought the Aurae were good," said Julian.  "I mean, they catch Dark wizards and criminals, yeah?"

Devlin chewed on his lip.  "They're official.  Doesn't mean they're good.  If your dad said I was a thief and hid gold on me --"

"Oh," said Julian.  He had a very ashamed way of being wrong.  "Yeah.  Yeah, that sort of... er.  So how are they getting him out?  He's not dead yet, is he?"

"They won't kill him intentionally," said Basil.  "He's more useful alive.  But the only reason I can have this conversation with you, now, is because I've just checked for eavesdroppers.  There's a similar spell on the hospital wing."

"Then how come we could --" Julian started.

"It only tells Lord Slytherin where the listener is, rather than shutting them off entirely," said Uncle Basil.  "That's how I was able to find you three so quickly.  The problem is, anybody who did want your Transfiguration professor dead or -- or something -- might've been able to listen to us through your spell."

"Well, nobody ever told me that," Helena snapped.

"You should have considered the consequences on your own," said Uncle Basil wearily.  He was definitely off of Helena's Fun Adults List.  "Next time, if you want to break the rules, break them right."

"...But nothing bad did happen, right?" said Julian, sounding much more conciliatory than he ought to have.  Especially since it was Helena's argument.

"Not yet," said Basil.  "But I have some more damage control to do.  Please don't make me waste any more time keeping you out of trouble."  He turned and left before Helena could think of anything appropriately withering to say.

"Well," she said once he was gone.  "Well, fine."

"Sorry," said Julian, apologetically.

"Hey, look on the bright side," said Devlin.  "Your mum's alive."

"Yeah.  Brilliant," said Helena, who was still angry.  She sighed.  "We'd better un-Transfigure the floor now, before somebody else comes in and tells us off.  Devlin, you take the near side, and I'll take the far side."

"Er.  Helena?" started Julian, somewhat awkwardly.

"And you had better do a drying charm or something," said Helena.  "And don't make my arguments for me."  She busied herself with de-Transfiguration, which -- since Devlin had done his job well in the first place -- was easy and actually sort of soothing.

Julian wasn't letting it go, though.  Whatever it was.  "Helena, I didn't mean --"

"Didn't mean what?" she demanded.

"...You know what?  It's nothing," he sighed.  "I'll go find some dry clothes," he said, trudging up the stairs.

"Drying charms!" she called after him.  He would catch his death someday if he kept ignoring minor magic in favor of big impressive espionage spells.  But then, that was Julian for you.

Godric had had rather a rough night, mostly spent in a long and painful session of interrogation in one of Lord Slytherin's suspiciously dungeon-like storage facilities.  He'd decided to cooperate, because while he probably could have killed one or two of the Aurae Aurelii before someone had hexed him, he didn't want to hurt Clio.  And even if it had been Bogdanovich, he had to admit to himself that he was had been too frightened.

Bogdanovich had done the actual interrogating, of course.  Godric had screamed, of course, but for a while he'd managed to keep himself from confessing to any number of things -- horrible things, anything, really -- by reminding himself that both lying and suicide were sins.  It wasn't working very well, though, so he'd eventually given up on the whole religious angle and bitten his tongue instead.

He'd been rescued, bizarrely, by Lady Aeaeae bursting in and calling it all off, although he had no idea why.  The last thing he remembered was Healer Wootton asking if he'd like to be knocked out while they healed the burns.  Apparently he'd said yes.

When he came to, he found he was on the floor of the room Lord Slytherin kept his healing potions in.  Dizzily, Godric sat up, and saw Rowena lying on a cot, holding a book gingerly.  She wasn't actually reading, merely glaring at Lord Slytherin, who was whistling a jaunty tune as he reorganized the contents of one of the far cupboards.  Godric suspected she was making a concerted effort not to take the book and bash him over the head with it, which meant she was probably behaving as normal as she ever did, and was therefore going to be all right.

She sighed, shutting the book, and shot a withering look at Godric, as though there was nothing more intensely disgusting to her than his continued existence.

Godric smiled weakly.  "Hi."

"Hi," she snarled.  "Is that all you have to say?"

Well, fine.  He'd been through quite enough lately; the burns had healed but the broken fingers still twinged.  "Look, it's not my fault you can't keep your temper," he said, glaring.

"It's not my fault your stupid whore can't keep hers," Rowena said.  "And it's not my fault you were stupid enough to fall for that trick, either."

"Look, I know it's a novel concept to you, but there are actually people I've met who don't hate me, because I don't make a concerted effort to be as unpleasant as humanly possible," said Godric, seething.

"Don't make me laugh, Godric, you can't be that naïve," she said, smirking venomously.  "Name one person you regularly associate with who doesn't see you as a convenient means to an end."

Godric opened his mouth to say something, but he found he didn't actually have anything to say, so it turned out to have been a bad move.  He didn't like the way this conversation was going, anyway, so he changed the subject instead.  "What were you doing spying on me?"

She looked horrified.  "I was not spying on you.  Why would I want to spy on you?"

"Why would Clio want to spy on me?"

"Why would 'Clio' want to fuck you?" she asked, and Godric inwardly wished he could just fold into himself and disappear out of shame.  She was probably right about Clio, he thought, but he wasn't going to give Rowena that sort of satisfaction.  "I was only looking for somebody," said Rowena.

"Who were you looking for in my common room?"

She glared.  "I don't know, I was just wandering and I ended up there, and I was going to see if you were in --"

"What, so you could shout at me, I suppose?"

It was her turn to look ashamed.  "Look, just because I'm an angry bitch doesn't mean I --"

"You were, weren't you?" he demanded.  "Something happened and you were going to say -- " (and here he waved his hands in a falsetto imitation of Rowena) " -- 'Godric, you're useless and stupid, and I'm going to sit here insulting you because something totally unrelated has happened and I won't admit it but it's actually all my fault!'"

"I do not sound like that!"

"'Oh woe, I have all the money in the world and I have nothing better to do but sit around and whine about how nobody likes meeee!'"

"STOP THAT!"

"'And I know lots of curses, because that'll make up for everybody hating me!'"

"Shut up.  Just.  Just shut up," she snarled, fumbling around with her left hand for her wand.  She knocked it off the bedside table accidentally and it rolled under the cot, and then, quite unexpectedly, she burst into tears.

Making people cry was actually worse on the Scale of Shame than being a monstrosity with a working libido.  Godric sat momentarily frozen in horror, wishing her face would uncrumple.

"I try to make sure everyone's having fun and then," she gasped thickly through tears and snot, "and then they're going to kill people and I try to keep everyone alive and I try to do everything at once and I can't do ANYTHING --"

"I didn't mean to --"

"-- and NOBODY SODDING CARES, DO THEY?" she shouted.  "NOBODY.  Nobody -- my daughter thinks I'm mad and my best friend thinks I'm a traitor and my father --"

"I don't think you're --"

"-- and that bitch wants me dead which isn't so bad, considering, but then you're just an arse, despite all your pretending to be stupid and pretending to be nice --"

"I don't pretend to be stupid," Godric said.  "I just am."

"-- and GODS DAMN YOU, STOP WHISTLING!" she shouted at Lord Slytherin, getting shakily to her feet.

"I was wondering when you'd be getting around to me," said Lord Slytherin, apparently unperturbed by her tantrum.  "Do you have anything else to say?"

"You're a liar and... and a fraud!" she said, still sniffly.

"Repetitive, but it'll do.  I don't know what I've done lately that merits the insult, though."  He walked over slowly as if to get a better view of her nervous breakdown.

"You promised me you'd help him," she said, "you promised me, and you promised him too, and you didn't."

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I did," he said.  "He got the potion."

"No he didn't.  Hatim did.  It was obvious."

Salazar frowned.  "Which potion did al-Aziz get?" he asked Godric.

"The luck one," said Godric.  "It was in Latin.  It meant luck twice.  Lucky luck."

"Felix Felicis," snapped Rowena, glaring.

"Oh, that," said Lord Slytherin.  "No, no.  I wouldn't give him that.  Makes you overconfident, and knowing your father, that'd make him... well, about level with the rest of  the world, actually, he's always been completely paranoid -- I wonder if you get it from him, actually -- but luck's no good against this sort of thing.  I gave your father the Wit-Sharpening Potion at the feast, and some of the extra Draught of Peace after you got knocked out last night.  And he's also got a Transport Key that can take him to Etxazarra-controlled territory, where she can't get at him.  This way he won't panic and he'll know when to use it."

Her shoulders slumped, and her eyes went wide.  "Oh," she said.  "Oh, good."  Then she rushed forward and hugged Lord Slytherin, beginning to cry again.

Godric was just as confused as Lord Slytherin looked.  "Er," he said awkwardly.  "Do I get a hug too?"

"No.  I hate you.  Go die," she said, sniffling.

Lord Slytherin tried to push her away as gently as possible.  "Considering the measures you took to keep him alive, that would be a terrible waste."

"I was just angry," she said, sounding very small and fragile.  "My wrist hurts."

"Healer Wootton said you were supposed to rest," said Lord Slytherin.  Godric couldn't tell if he cared, or if he was just saying it to be irritating.

"What does he know about rest?  Most of his patients are cows and dogs," she said.  Turning to Godric, she added “Yes, except me,” and he squirmed, because he'd been thinking it.

"Well, if you'd rather I knocked you out," said Lord Slytherin, "I have this Draught of Living Death --"

"Fine," she muttered, sitting on the cot.

"...what did you do to get me out?" Godric asked, now feeling even more guilty.

"Nothing important," she said, making a point of opening her book again.

"From what Mistress Hufflepuff and young Stigandrson were saying, she was going to break her other wrist.  I believe there was also a rescue attempt, which ended somewhere around the doorway when the force of gravity overwhelmed her."

"I was maddened by the injury," said Rowena, "obviously.  It was just a symptom."

"Oh.  Well.  Thanks.  For, er..."

"Being insane?"  She glared.

"Not letting me die," he said.  "I appreciate not being dead.  Mostly.  I mean, it hurts more but it's probably worth it."

"Well, good."  There was an awkward silence.  Godric recalled, vaguely, that the point of the feast had been to secure an invitation to steal somebody's thought-storage research.  He was, by this point, absolutely certain that he'd rather just do his own research, because this was just too much damn work and every time something went right it all went crashingly wrong, but he didn't want Lord Slytherin to hear about his mind-control experiments, because he didn't want to sound creepy or anything.  "So, er.  How were... people?"

Her brow furrowed.  "People?"

"I dunno," he said, shrugging.

"I should think they were people," said Lord Slytherin, who was refilling a jar with something slimy.  "They generally are."

"Well, one of them broke my wrist, apparently, although I don't remember it at all," she said.

"I didn't mean her," said Godric, "would you stop harping on that?"

She rolled her eyes, and looked about to say something angry, but she seemed to suddenly remember something delightful.  "Leo was here!" she said.

"That's Mistress Hufflepuff's brother, right?" Lord Slytherin asked.

"Yeah, and he's horrible," said Godric, grumpily.  "And I don't see why I have to put up with whining about Clio if she's going to go all --"

"I do not go all anything about Leo," said Rowena.  "He is dead to me."

"He looked quite lively last night.  Seemed in quite a hurry to leave until he saw his favorite duelist," said Lord Slytherin.

“Well.  He’s dead to me unless he is hilarious to me.”  She smirked.

"Wait, wait, I thought you were all goopy about him," said Godric.

"Yeah, when I was twelve," she said.

"Try fifteen," he said.

"Try piss off," she said pleasantly.  "I got over it.  He's an arse."

"I told you!" he said.  "Did you torment him?" Godric asked, leaning forward eagerly.  "Tell me you did!"

"I may have proposed to him," she said smugly.  "He fled in terror."

"Can you blame him for being scared?  I'd have reacted the same way," he said.

"Yes, well, we've already established that you have very poor taste in women," said Rowena, not seeming in the least offended.  "Also you're a coward."

"Well, anyway," said Godric, not wishing to have to defend Clio any more, "I wasn't talking about Leo."

"Well, who were you talking about, then?" she asked.

"You know.  People."

"Oh yes, of course I know, because I can read... minds."  Her face dropped as, presumably, she realized what he was talking about, but the sentence rolled on like a cart of bricks.

"Well, I thought it ought to be obvious," he said.

"Well, it wasn't," she snapped.  Godric was beginning to get a headache.

"I think I'll leave you two to discuss people," said Lord Slytherin.  "While it sounds fascinating, I have to go see about the missing Aurae."  And, infuriatingly, he left.

Godric looked at Rowena.  "Do you think he knows?"

"Of course he knows," she said, glaring.  "He always knows everything.  It's horrible."  Rowena generally gestured a lot when she talked, and he wondered how much of her anger was at him and how much of it was at the terrible pain she must be in every time she tried to speak normally.  "That was fucking stupid of you."

"Well, I'm sorry, I just thought maybe you would be able to work it out on your own, since you claim to be so much cleverer than me," said Godric.

"Maybe you hadn't noticed, Godric, but I was a little distracted, what with the psychotic Aura and the plot to kill my father!"

"...the what?"  Godric stared.

"Do I have to repeat --"

"Yes," he said.  "You do.  What plot to kill your father?"

She sighed.  "There's a plot to kill my father."

"Well, that can be solved easily," said Godric.  "Whoever's doing it, I can scare him off."

"That would be my mother," she said, "and we know how that's worked out lately."

"Wait, so if your mother's trying to kill him... then why isn't he dead yet?"

"It's more complicated than that," she said.  "Mum came to power in sort of an iffy, deathy way.  I mean.  Very Classical.  It should be a play.  My grandfather’s throat was slit, which isn’t all that suspect considering everybody hated him, but then Lord Slytherin -- Balthazar Slytherin, who was our Lord Slytherin's father -- died, and he was the Chief before her."

Godric frowned.  "But if he was the Chief, he probably had a lot of enemies too.  Couldn't somebody else have --"

"Well, apparently Lord Salazar and my mum had been betrothed, but he ran off with this servant girl or something and so he was off being -- this is how Mum tells it, so there's a sad lack of scandalous details -- he was off being irresponsible.  So the Council voted her in because the late lamented Chief of the Council, in his sudden illness, had asked her to keep his faithless, useless son from taking power."  This last bit was accompanied by much eye-rolling on Rowena's part.

"Oh.  Well.  That does make her look pretty bad," said Godric.  "Especially if she's all vague about things."

"Exactly," said Rowena, attempting to gesture enthusiastically with her wounded hand.  She winced, and put her hand back down almost immediately.  "It's got to be lies.  Anyway, since then she's tended to have people who she's sick of arrested for something like treason, and since nobody can imagine my dad plotting against her, that wouldn't go over very well."

"But she's the Chief.  She can do anything she wants," said Godric.

"Not if the rest of the Council decide she's mad," Rowena said.  "I don't know, I don't really like the way the Council's set up, because it's this dreadfully unstable remnant of the Roman Republic, and we all know how that turned out -- and then it was dragged kicking and screaming through the Empire -- but at least it means she can't do anything without a semi-plausible reason behind it."

"...how did the Roman Republic turn out?" Godric asked.  He wasn't fond of history -- the moment you turned your back on it, there was more of it -- but Rowena talked about history as though it was a brilliantly funny story she'd heard.

"Stabby death!" said Rowena cheerfully.  "They all do.  If you start letting people think they're in charge and then they find out they're not, it all ends in knives."

"It does?" Godric asked.  He was glad he knew he wasn't in charge, then.  Not that he was normal.

"Generally.  Well, or poison," she said, warming to her topic.  "I mean, if you're too clever for them, then all of a sudden they're all 'Here, drink this!' and you say 'What is it?' and they say 'Hemlock!  Yummy!' and you say 'Why do I have to --' and they say 'YOU ASK TOO MANY QUESTIONS,' and then you die.  This is why I tell people what to do -- it's my duty to keep everything from ending in knives and hemlock.  It's noblesse oblige."

"But doesn't it end in knives and hemlock when your mum's in charge?" he asked.

"You see?" she asked.  "They should have just stuck with Lord Salazar -- he didn't off his father."

"But he ran off with a servant girl," said Godric, who was trying hard to keep track of what she was saying.

Rowena frowned.  "...maybe the servant girl was a plant," she said.

"Then wouldn't Jasper be all green and leafy?"

She sighed.  "Not that kind of plant."

"Well, how should I know what hemlock looks like?" Godric asked.

"Look, I don't think we're going to get very far in this conversation because you honestly have no idea what you're talking about," said Rowena, "so let's discuss the unwitting invitation Helga and I got from Ari Stigandirson to go steal things from them instead."

"Really?  Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Godric asked.

"Stabby death's more interesting," said Rowena.  "But yeah, after I threw up --"

"Are you ill?  Did you take hemlock?"

"I got sick from the knock on the head.  Healer Wootton says  since your head's on top of your body it's got to stay properly aligned or you can't balance right, so you throw up until you can.  After I threw up he offered it --"

"Hemlock?" Godric asked.

"An invitation," said Rowena.  "Do try to keep up.  But anyway, I think after he went rushing to get Healer Wootton for me, Helga sort of forgave him for being an arse, which he really is," she said.  "But he's not a bad person."

"So do I get to go along?" Godric asked.

"Oh, he very specifically invited you as well," said Rowena, seeming quite amused by this (though Godric could not see why) "but you were at the tender mercies of Bogdanovich and I said I couldn't properly answer for you.  And I was throwing up."

"Right," said Godric.  "Um.  How are we going to get to the --"

"Well, that's all settled," said Lord Slytherin, walking in cheerfully.  "Did you know al-Aziz and Bergfalk were going to elope?"

Rowena snorted.  "Did anyone not know?  Except for that bitch --"

"Would you quit calling her by undeserved epithet?" snapped Godric.

"-- the esteemed Aurelia Sheffield, whose Patronus is, unrelatedly, a large hairy dog," said Rowena.  "She doesn't pay nearly enough attention to her staff if she couldn't see that coming."

"At any rate, they apparently wanted to see you but they're getting a thorough shouting-at by the esteemed Aurelia Sheffield, whose Patronus et cetera and all that," said Lord Slytherin, "so if they survive they may be by later.  But right now we have more important things to discuss.  Have you two discussed the, ah, delicate situation with --"

"My father?  Yes," said Rowena.

"Good," said Lord Slytherin.  "Then you know there are --"

"Wait, wait," said Godric.  "What does this have to do with me?" he asked.

"Good point," said Rowena.  "I refuse to stake anybody's life on Godric, much less my father's."

"Well, you seemed to think he handled the Muggle army well enough," said Lord Slytherin.

"She did?" Godric asked.

"I did?" Rowena demanded.

"Look, I wouldn't stake my own life on me," said Godric, "so this strikes me as a terrible idea.  Whatever it is.  Sorry.  I mean, I volunteered to be scary for it but Rowena's mum isn't frightened by me.  Oh, and also!  I just got tortured by her guards all night," he added.  "It wasn't much fun."

"I was just thinking," said Lord Slytherin, apparently ignoring them, "that we could discuss the situation and our options."

"It would be nice to know exactly why she's planning to kill him," said Rowena, sarcastically.  "Because I have this feeling that it might help."

Lord Slytherin rubbed his eyes.  "I think, and your father agrees, that she intends to marry Fudge."

Rowena wrinkled her nose.  "That is her sort of thinking.  Why is it always murder and weddings with her?"

"They must make her sentimental," said Lord Slytherin.  "And I suppose everybody needs a hobby."

"Well, it'd definitely explain Fudge's -- er."  Godric wasn't sure Lord Slytherin was supposed to know about that.

"Fudge's what?" Lord Slytherin asked.

"His behavior when we went to extort him," said Rowena cheerfully.

"Oh, is that all?" Lord Slytherin asked.  "What did you tell him?"

"Just that ‘the deal is off,’" said Rowena.  "We didn’t know what deal, but I knew it had to be something awful.  He looked very relieved."

Lord Slytherin laughed.  "I would imagine so."

"...did she try the same thing with you?" Godric asked, curiously.

"Godric!"  Rowena sounded horrified.  "Gods, you're ruder than Helena and I put together."

"...no," said Lord Slytherin, looking amused.  "Our parents arranged that mess.  It might've worked out, if...  if we'd been two completely different people, I suppose.  At any rate, she obviously intends Fudge to be the newest addition to the Wizards' Council after the Glendowers are kicked off, since she apparently can't control the real transfigurator.  That is why you come in, Master Gryffindor.  If we can discredit Fudge, and make you an appealing Council member, they will vote you on instead."

"...me," said Godric.  He was fairly certain they were just joking with him.  He didn't know what he was going to say if they weren't.

There was an awful silence.  Lord Slytherin looked calmly expectant.  Rowena was cringing.  Godric kept looking between the two of them in the hopes that perhaps one of them would change.

Finally, Lord Slytherin said, "Or we could just kill him.  Then he really couldn’t be on the Council."

"What?" Rowena demanded.  "You can't just go and kill him!  That's ...that's.  Wrong."

"Well, you're the ones who extorted him," said Lord Slytherin.

"That's different.  The money belongs to our Runt," she said.  "...I mean, er.  Godric."

"Listen, you can't put me on the Council," said Godric.  "That is a, a, a ridiculous, scary idea.  Because, er.  Because the Council.  The Wizards' Council?  It's -- it's the thing that rules the whole...."  He trailed off, gesturing roundly.  "The, the, the thing of Europe."

"Continent," said Rowena.

"It does!" said Godric.  "Yes.  And, er, some of the Holy Land and I don't know, lots of ...stuff.  That, you know, has people living there.  I don't do... ruling people.  I just sort of sit around and do things that aren't ruling people.  Like with, with books and things.  Sometimes things blow up, which I think makes me unfit for government."

"Not necessarily true!" said Lord Slytherin pleasantly.  "Explosions are a sign of creativity.  Or improper storage of saltpeter."

"But look, you're not listening," said Godric, who didn't care about saltpeter.  "I mean, I think she -- Lady Aeaeae -- she suggested that I do that -- you know, for her -- because she's evil, you know?  You're not evil.  So I can't!  Besides, I'm not a person like that, you know, with importance.  Or anything."  He took a deep breath, and tried to force all of his thoughts into an actual sentence with all the words in the right order.  "I can't be on the Council!"  There.  That would have to be good enough.

"Well, it's not as though you have to own land," said Lord Slytherin, "although I think that's mostly because nobody ever imagined they'd have to worry about a commoner getting onto the Council until the Etxazarras and the Solomons showed up.  And your inexperience makes you a good candidate, because you'll appear naïve and easy to push around."

"...that makes no sense," said Godric.  "None of this makes any sense.  You do realize?  None of it."

"Quit babbling, Godric," Rowena snapped, "I want to see where he's going with this."

"The sooner you're on the council, the sooner Ophelia realizes Fudge is useless to her, and that her husband’s death would be wasteful," said Lord Slytherin.

"And the sooner you have one more person who'll vote for you when you make your bid for Council Chief," said Rowena, now glowering.

"That is an incidental benefit, yes," said Lord Slytherin.

"But I'm big and scary and common.  And Muggleborn besides," said Godric.

"Then you'll just have to work twice as hard to impress them without being threatening," said Lord Slytherin.  "Or, as I said, we could just kill Fudge.  After all, we can't let Gualterus Avitus suffer for your shortcomings.  Tallcomings.  Whatever you like.  It's up to you!"  There was a knock at the door, and Lord Slytherin smiled, as though they hadn't been talking about mad things.  "We'll discuss this some other time -- you appear to have visitors."

Helena threw open the door, and hugged Rowena, who put her arms gingerly around her daughter.  "Are you all right?  Nobody will tell me anything."

Rowena sighed.  "Later, Helena."

"They said Professor Gryffindor tried to kill --"

"He didn't," said Rowena.  And Clio, who stood in the doorway, uncertain.  Rowena looked at her, a startled expression on her face.

Godric cleared his throat.  "Er.  Hi."

Clio took a deep breath.  "I am so so sorry you had to go through --"

"Oh, it was no problem," said Godric, trying not to wince.

"...really?" said Clio, all disbelief.

No, he thought.  Not really.  "Oh no, it was fine," he said.  "I mean.  Things happen.  You know how it is."  He laughed nervously.  He couldn't quite look her in the eye.

"I thought I did," she said, sounding uncertain.  "Well, you're all right, that's all that matters --"

"No, it's not."  Helena glowered in all her thirteen-year-old conviction.  She stood by her mother's bed, standing straight and very still, in the way that small people do when they want to conceal their trembling and look strong.

"Helena!" Rowena snapped.

"Did you do this?" Helena demanded of Clio.  "Did you break my mother's wrist?"

Rowena winced.  "Who said anything about --"

"I heard things," said Helena.  "When people are keeping something from me I know enough to ask around."

"Helena," said Rowena warningly, "I think you should --"

"Are you afraid of her?" Helena demanded.  "What can she possibly do to you?  Or me?  Grandmother can make her stop breathing at a word.  And maybe she should."

"Your daughter is as paranoid as you are mad," said Clio.  "How charming."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Helena.  "My mother is the sole heir to the Chief of the Council, and if you --"

"Helena, that's enough," snapped Rowena, getting unsteadily to her feet.

"What?  I'm sick of --"

1. "It would, therefore, be ridiculous to suggest that she has."

Helena glared.  "So you just happened to break your wrist --"

"There was an accident.  A misunderstanding.  If you’re so very interested in the workings of the human wrist, Helena, I shall give you something to do.  Five diagrams of wrist movements for higher-grade transportation spells, explaining all points of inflection thoroughly, due tomorrow," said Rowena.

Helena glared.  "This is absurd!"

"Ten diagrams.  I'm making it fifty if you say one more word."

Her shoulders shook with anger, but she walked out silently.

"She's thirteen," said Rowena, by way of explanation.

"When I was thirteen, I had already been freelancing in London for a year," said Clio.

"Your precocious viciousness isn't something to be proud of," said Rowena.  "Leave me alone.  While you're at it, leave Godric alone, too.  We've both suffered enough."

Disgusted, Clio turned to Lord Slytherin.  "Is she this insolent to you?" she demanded.

He shrugged elaborately.  "I consider it one of her unique charms.  I prefer critics to flunkies, don't you?"

"I prefer --" she started, but then she glanced at Godric's wounds and swallowed her words.  "Lady Aeaeae's party is leaving," she said instead.  "Will you be seeing them off?"

"I suppose it would be the polite thing to do," said Lord Slytherin.  "Shall I make your apologies, Lady Ravenclaw?"

Rowena winced.  "Just... make something up that verges on polite?"

He laughed.  "I will do my best to be convincing."  He followed Clio out of the room.

"And not pompous!" Rowena called after him.  "He's got this habit of being pompous," she told Godric.  "I'm not pompous."  She looked at Godric, as if for confirmation.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm not pompous," she repeated.

He just rolled his eyes.  "Of course you're not," he said, not bothering to sound like he meant it.  "How am I going to get out of this Council thing?"

"You're not," she snapped.  "If he thinks it's the only way --"

"He can't think it's the only way," he said.  "Why doesn't he just --"

"Just what?"

"I don't know, benevolently kidnap your father!  Or something.  That's what I'd do," said Godric.

She began to laugh.

"What?" he asked.

"You would not kidnap anyone, Godric," she said, still trying not to laugh.  "I mean, what would you do?  'Oh, sorry about this, I know it's inconvenient, but I just, you know, I'm kidnapping you.  You might've noticed.  But don't worry!  I won't hurt you!  It's benevolent!  Oh and try not to undo my knots by accident, I know they're not very good but I do my best.  Maybe you could do them better if you want?'"

Godric charitably chose to ignore her terrible approximation of his accent, which wandered drunkenly between Salisbury and Edinburgh.  "Well, I meant if I were Lord Slytherin --"

"Which is why you aren't Lord Slytherin," she said.

"Exactly," he said.  "I'm me.  How'm I supposed to get onto the Council?"  Hopefully Rowena would come up with something else.  He was no good at politics.

"You do have the advantage over Fudge," she said.

He stared at her.  She didn't look mad, but obviously she was.  "How?"

"Well, there's the part where you can actually transfigure things," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, but --"

"Anyway," she said, "Lord Slytherin will have some way of --"

"But you don't even like him!" he said.  This was not going well at all.  If he couldn't convince Rowena that he was incompetent, he couldn't convince anyone.  Probably she knew he was incompetent, and just wanted to see his life ruined.

"He's better than nothing," she said glumly.  "That's what I thought when we put the school here and, well.  He wants to save my father."  She glared.  "Which is certainly better than everyone else.  You just don't care, and Mum's outright hostile."

"And now you're comparing me to your mother," said Godric, rubbing his eyes.  "This has been a completely awful night."

"We both survived," she said flatly.  "It could have been worse."  With that, she took her book, lay back on her cot, and read, apparently intending to ignore him for the rest of the morning.

"You're not helping," Godric muttered.  He was not going to be on the Council.  There had to be a way out of it.

* * *

Helena sat sulking in the library, looking at spells.  "She sent me away!"

"It was probably for your own good," said Julian.

"But she sent me away," she repeated.  She had tried to help.  Every time she tried to help it all went wrong.  Either it was her fault -- which it wasn't -- or it was Mum's fault.

"Look, here's an easy one," said Julian, "Cestrosphendonus."  He pushed a book at her.

"Yeah, I want to throw rocks right about now," she said, grumpily.  Her mother was so stubborn.  She wouldn't let anybody do anything for her.  Helena wondered how she had managed to be raised by a woman like that and still be sensible.  "Like a child!  She sent me away!"

"We heard," said Devlin.  "Why are we helping her?"

"Because," said Julian.

"I hate it when she gets all mopey and overdramatic," said Devlin.

"I spent all night listening at keyholes for her, and she sent me away," said Helena, ignoring them.  This was not entirely true, of course, but she felt like it was true.

"Well, maybe she likes her rest," said Devlin.  "I mean, you are sort of loud."

"That's not my problem."  She glowered.  It wasn't as if they were being very helpful either.

"Can we focus here?" said Julian.  "You've only got one done.  Let's at least try Cestrophendonus."

"Not really even one," said Devlin, examining her diagram for Mobilinovacula.  "I mean, unless 'TO STAB FACES' is a good reason for a spell gesture inflecty thingy."

"Don't look at my things, Devlin," she said, grabbing the parchment back.  Useless nosy peasant.

"Also, contrary to popular belief, faces don't make very good stabbing targets," Devlin said.  "I mean, legs, maybe, or --"

Alioth Nigellus interrupted them as he walked into the library.  "Stomachs," he said.  "Stomachs are good.  And throats."  He stood behind Devlin and Julian, looking at Helena's embarrassingly incomplete list.  "Not much osseal protection there."  He looked very gloomy, she thought.  He had a lot of nerve looking gloomy while her mum was bedridden.

"What do you want?" asked Julian, turning around in his seat to glare at him.

"Nothing," said Nigellus, shrugging.  "Just trying to help."

"Well, don't.  None of us likes you and you're useless," said Helena.

"More useless than these two?" Nigellus asked.

He had a point.  Still.  "Well, I don't really care about osseal protection.  I'm not going to actually stab people.  I mean.  It isn't likely to help."

"Oh," said Nigellus, sounding disappointed.  "Well.  I didn't mean to offend," he said awkwardly.  He shrugged and left them, possibly to brood on his own time.  Helena thought he needed practice at it anyway.

"Maybe he didn't, but he's so good at it," Julian said, once he was out of earshot.

She giggled.  Julian's expression was so full of loathing.  "You shouldn't be so hard on him.  He's just trying to play to his strengths."

For some reason, Julian brightened.  "Maybe, but today's not the Feast of Let's Be Nice to Nigellus.  Maybe tomorrow.  Anyway, I think this book's got some promise…"

"If you two are all face-stabbed out, I'm going to go do research for that Transfiguration thing," said Devlin.

"What, you didn't do that already?" Julian asked.  "I thought everybody was doing the alchemical dilemma."

"Yeah, but that's too easy," said Devlin.  "I was thinking Animagi."

"Are you mad?" Helena asked.  "Mum says none of the books agree on those, and she would know.  She's read everything."

Devlin shrugged.  "Maybe I'll make stuff up.  Anyway, there's got to be something I can find that two people agree on.  Even if it's wrong in the end."

* * *

Rowena had suggested to Godric that they walk to the village to thank Healer Wootton for his help, which had mostly been an excuse to get out of the castle and away from Lord Salazar to talk privately.  She had to admit, though, the smell of rain was a nice change from the rotting organic smell of Lord Salazar's healing room.

"Do you think it's going to start raining again?" Godric asked, looking up at the overcast sky.

"Probably," said Rowena.  "Just don't say things like 'it couldn't get any worse.'"

"Don't worry.  It can always get worse," Godric said with false cheer.  He sighed, and started in on whinging again.  "How am I going to get onto the Council?  Or get out of it?"

"Maybe we can buy them off," said Rowena, who was not interested in discussing it any further.  "But look, about the thought-storage thing --"

"Oh yes, you did mention Stigandrson invited us for a visit, didn't you?" Godric asked eagerly.  "It sounds exciting.  I've never been so far away.  I mean, I've hardly been out of England --"

"You are out of England," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but I live here now, so it doesn't count," said Godric.  "And you're Scottish, so it's not that exotic."

"I'm Greek," she said, offended.

"You sound Scottish," he said.  "Anyway --"

"Well, my father sort of is, and I was born here, and grew up here but I'm --"

"See?  Scottish."

"I am the descendant of Odysseus, King of Ithaca and Circe of Aeaea," she informed him.  "Supposedly."

"Really?" Godric asked.  "Why aren't you Princess of Ithaca or something, then?"

"Blame the Romans.  And the Muggles.  Especially the Roman Muggles," said Rowena.  "Anyway, we haven't any proof of that -- I mean, I had this ancestor who tried to lead a slave revolt when he got sent to Britain by Emperor Hadrian, and that's just what he claimed.  We're definitely descended from him, but he was mad, so who knows about Circe and all that?"

"Is this the Dark Transfigurator Circe," Godric asked, "or was there a lighter, fluffier Circe?"

"The Dark one," said Rowena, "but I think the Dark part's just good propaganda to scare people into behaving.  I mean, she doesn't seem to have been much more than a socially-maladapted recluse, as far as I've read."

"Or maybe she just really liked pigs," said Godric.

Rowena stopped in her tracks.  "Eurgh."

"What?" Godric asked.

She looked at him skeptically.  He was obviously playing at being stupid again.  "Well, what did you mean?"

"Pigs are clever!" said Godric, with worrying enthusiasm.  "I taught one to do tricks once.  Then a nobleman visited Fudge and they had it for supper.  But, er.  It's not impossible."

"Maybe all transfigurators are socially-maladapted recluses," Rowena wondered aloud.

"Maybe!" said Godric, in a tone that suggested he thought anything was possible in theory, as long as nobody was asking him to do anything about it.  "...wait, you just --"

"Oh, look at that, we're at Healer Wootton's already!" said Rowena cheerfully.

"I hate everyone," he muttered.

She laughed.  "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Well, I did already.  You just reminded me," he said resignedly.  He pushed the door open with his less-bandaged hand, and ducked in.