Chapter Text
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.
- "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.
- "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.