(no subject)

[priscus_salazar]

Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw

The tenth century

Salazar comes back to the castle, piss ass drunk with a whore on his arm. Rowena doesn't like that.

PG-13



It was well after two am and Salazar was just now stumbling back into the Hogwarts grounds, completely drunk and with a red-headed whore no older than twenty on his arm. His shirt was completely open, his eyes were half-lidded and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. The whore had her hand in the front pocket of his pants, the pocket where he kept his galleons, and was nuzzling his neck.

It was late, indeed, but Rowena was not accustomed to going to bed before three or four, as it was. She had curled herself quite comfortably onto her window seat, her latest manuscript on the correlation between age and psychiatric illness spread out on her knees, tapping the end of her quill against her chin. Statistics, she thought grimly. No one wants to read statistics straight. Perhaps I should put them in a table, instead of simply listing the numbers....

She turned her head to the side and pressed her forehead against the glass windowpane, gazing out across the grounds. A dark figure was moving slowly toward the castle. Her eyes narrowing, Rowena whispered the charm to sharpen her eyesight. No, not one figure. Two. Two people, and--she narrowed her eyes yet further--one of them was Salazar.

The pair continued to walk across the grounds and to the entrance to the castle. Salazar had no other choice but to rest against the whore. He had drunk more on this night than he had on most others, and he felt as if he would pass out at any moment.

"I'd 'pparate," he said to the whore, "but splinch you." The whore laughed.

Rowena had been tempted, initially after she had realized who Salazar's companion was, to simply charm the both of them up to her chambers. But on second thought, she had decided that she'd rather not clean up Salazar's vomit--for he almost certainly would throw up, Apparating under such inebriation.

So instead she raised her wand and appeared out of thin air at the castle entrance, blocking the doorway. "Evening, Salazar." She afforded him one small smile before slapping him with the full force of her weight across the face.

Turning to the whore, Rowena pressed a handful of galleons into her palm--twice that which she estimated Salazar would have paid for a night of vanilla sex (she doubted he was up to much of anything else). "Go home," she instructed the girl, in a tone that left no room for argument.

Salazar fell backwards from the force of her slap and hit his head on the hard ground. "Whaz at fur?" he mumbled.

The whore looked from Rowena, to Salazar, and to the money in her hand. Without a word, she turned and left.

"You know what it's for," Rowena said flatly. There was an edge of disdain to her voice. "Get up."

Salazar attempted to stand and failed, so he got on his knees instead. "Not working."

Rowena flicked her wand and his body was drawn rather roughly into standing position. "You're pathetic," she told him, not bothering to conceal her disgust. "We're going up to my chambers, even if I have to levitate you there on a stretcher."

"Fuck you. I'm going back to the pub."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Fine." Salazar found himself quite suddenly strapped to a backboard and incapable of moving. "Don't say I didn't warn you." With another motion of her wand, Rowena began moving him ahead of her back up the stairs to her quarters.

"Bitch," he hissed, though he was too tired to struggle against the straps.

"Somehow I think I've heard that before." She cast a spell, temporarily gagging him so that he didn't have to listen to his drunken complaints on the way to her rooms.

Once inside, though, she removed the charm and let him fall free from the stretcher onto the floor, careless about whether or not he might bruise.

"Why?" was all he could say.

"Because I'm sick of you acting like a simpering girl over all this," she said shortly, crossing to the window to reorganize her papers and put them away. "It's been months. Not meaning to sound crass, but...Christ, Salazar. Get over it."

Salazar looked at her with as much loathing as his drunken face could conjure. "I'm leaving." He tried to stand but found his legs had temporarily stopped working.

Rowena laughed aloud. "Salazar, I'm serious. It's gone past the point of feeling sorry for you. Now all the rest of us can do is watch you in a vague sort of amusement as you engage in all of these pitiful attempts to martyr yourself." She crossed back to where he was sitting on the carpet and knelt down so that they were on an even eye-level. "You have got to stop," she said softly.

"Get away."

Rowena ignored him and let her body relax into a kneeling position, still holding his gaze steadily. "Why are you doing this?"

"I am--" Salazar paused, trying to remember how old he was. "--thirty-something years old. Let me go."

Rowena sighed in a long-suffering sort of way, and then she slapped him again, even harder than the first time.

"Stop that!" he shouted tersely.

"Then stop acting like a bloody four-year-old. Sit on the sofa, make yourself presentable. Button your shirt." She glared. "Do it now."

"No," he said defiantly. "You're not my mother. You're not my wife. I don't need to listen to you."

Something twisted in Rowena's chest and suddenly she felt angry. She hadn't been truly rageful before, only frustrated and determined to help Salazar get his life straight. But now.... "Yes, you do." She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up, pushing him back onto a chair. A spell did up his shirt and straightened out his tangled hair. "Until you can stop behaving like a child, I will treat you as one."

Salazar felt his stomach contents churn and leaned over the arm of the chair to vomit.

"Great." Rowena Vanished the puddle of bile and alcohol that he left on her floor instantly. "At least when I throw up, I make an attempt to reach the nearest wastepaper bin."

"In case you haven't noticed," he began, wiping his mouth, "I don't care."

"You're going to regret all this when you're sober," Rowena said bitterly, sitting down in the chair across from him. "Are you prepared to talk to me, yet?"

"About what?"

"Why you do this."

He exhaled angrily, growling slightly. "Why do you even care?"

"Because I l--because you're my friend, Salazar. I care about you. I don't want to see you hurting." Narrow break there, Ro.

"Sure you do." Salazar rolled the sleeve on his shirt up to look at his wrist. He traced the faint "E" he carved into it when he was a young teenager, and could barely make out another scar, one from having a chain burned into his wrist, in the dim light and he quickly pulled his sleeve back down to hide it.

"I do," Rowena said. Her tone was firm, but her gaze had reverted to
the safer perspective of staring with determination at her hands. She
could hear her pulse in her ears, suddenly loud and throbbing; feel
the painful waver in her stomach. Forget it. It doesn't matter.
Irrelevant. Etcetra. You'll get over it.

"What does it matter, anyway? I'm not hurting anyone."

"You're hurting me." She spoke before she thought.

"What if I don't care about hurting you?" Facial tic.

"Well, then you'd be lying, wouldn't you?" Rowena said in a self-satisfied tone.

"I'm not lying." Another facial tic. Salazar felt a sudden wave of nausea and he put his head between his knees.

Rowena saw the signs of stomach upset in his expression and she was instantly on her feet, grabbing the trash bin from next to her bed and pushing it between his knees, under his head. "Your face tics every time you lie. If you're going to throw up, do it in here."

"I'm not lying," he insisted. His stomach churned again, harder this time, and he threw up in the trash bin.

"Thank you." When he was done, Rowena pulled his head up and wiped the vomit from his lips with a conjured wet cloth. "And yes, you are. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't care if I get hurt."

"I don't care if you get hurt." Yet another facial tic and his pupils dilated even more than they already were.

"Why do you even want to lie about this?"

"Not a lie." Salazar braced himself on the arms of the chair and stood. "I'm leaving."

There was a click as the door locked itself. "No, you're not. You're staying here the night. I'll fix the sofa for you."

"Why?"

"I don't trust you to take care of yourself adequately."

Salazar glared at her. "You make my life absolutely miserable." Facial tic.

Rowena refused to let his words reach her heart, reminding herself mentally that he was lying through his teeth. So instead she smirked, choosing her light tone carefully. "Except, of course, for the incredible sex."

Salazar ignored her comment. "I want my hair messy..." He tousled his hair. "I don't want to wear a shirt..." He ripped his shirt off, threw it on the floor, stumbled backward and hit his head on the table.

"Oh, God, are you all right?" Rowena spoke on reflex and was at his side instantaneously, kneeling on the floor and peering into his eyes, automatically checking his pupils for dilation and muscle response.

"Nphfine." Salazar blinked a few times before keeping his eyes closed, as it was getting harder and harder to keep them open.

"Open your eyes, Salazar, you've got to keep your eyes open, all right? Don't fall asleep." Rowena was feeling for his carotid pulse with two fingers while her other hand reached for her wand.

He mumbled something that could have been interpreted as "I can't", though it was hard to tell. His eyes remained closed.

Rowena pulled his eyelids back with her thumb, one at a time, and shone a light from her wand directly into his pupil. His eyes were responsive and she didn't notice any signs of intracranial bleeding. That was good. But it still didn't rule out a concussion, which was seeming more and more likely, or the possibility of worse damage. "Stay absolutely still," Rowena instructed him firmly. "I'll be right back."

"Mhm," was his response.

Not quite satisfied, but seeing nothing else for it, Rowena got to her feet and retreated to her office, finding the head blocks she'd left under her desk and returning. "Again, don't move." She placed one on either side of his head, fitting it so that his ears were near the creases, then charming his arms and trunk still so that she could roll him onto his side without causing further damage to his head.

As she'd suspected, there was a spot on the back of his head where blood had matted his hair to his skull. A quick diagnostic spell told her what she needed to know and Rowena turned him carefully back into his original position. "As I suspected, you have a moderate-acuity concussion to the occipital lobe," she told him.

"Wha?" he asked weakly. Her words were like a foreign language to him, and, if anything, only made his head hurt worse. "Whas is my head?"

"Your brain has suffered a diffuse injury through molecular commotio--oh, all right. Your brain, which is usually suspended in a jelly called cerebrospinal fluid, has hit the wall of your skull. The part you damaged is the part that contains the visual cortex. You're going to have difficulty seeing and speaking for a few minutes, and some vomiting. Then you'll go into a state of hypermetabolis--then we'll see. All right?"

He still didn't have any idea what she was talking about, but moved his leg to let her know he at least heard her. "I head hurts."

"I know, Salazar. And we're going to fix that." For a moment, Rowena considered giving him morphine. After all, it was in close proximity--she had a stash of vials in several places throughout her office and chambers. But no, that was too strong, and even showing that she kept it in her private rooms might raise suspicion. So instead she Summoned a syringe of a milder pain-relief potion and injected it into the muscle of his bicep. "There."

Salazar was just beginning to relax from the drug when he was suddenly reaching for Rowena's hand, an odd look on his face.

Another wave of concern swept over her face. "What is it?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, vomited obstructed his throat and streamed down the sides of his face.

Rowena quickly rolled him onto his side once more so that he wouldn't choke, stroking his back with uncharacteristic gentleness even as she did so.

Salazar continued to vomit until his stomach was completely empty. He moved his hand again, trying to find hers.

Rowena saw him reaching for her and took his hand, squeezing his fingers once as she cleared out his throat and Vanished the vomit with a quick spell.

Salazar slowly moved onto his back again and his eyelids fluttered. He was finally able to move them. "'ake off," he mumbled.

"Take what off?"

He gestured to his head.

"You have to promise you won't move too much."

His eyes were half-open now. "Sit up. You need understand."

"All right." She removed the blocks carefully. "Slowly."

Salazar reached out for her with his free hand, as he slowly began lifting his upper body.

Rowena braced one hand on the middle of his back as he rose upward, helping him rest against the bottom of the sofa. "Better?"

He felt like he was swaying and he gripped her shoulder, his other hand holding hers tighter by the second. "Need to forget."

"Forget what?" Rowena's pulse thudded loudly in the back of her head. "Her?"

His emotions were aided by the amount of alcohol he drank and he let out a sharp, painful breath.

"I see." Rowena's voice was emotionless once more and she let go of his hand. "I see," she said again, rising to standing. "Well, you'll have to rest, of course. Concussions can get worse if you move around too much...I'll let you have the bed, how's that? I'll have the house-elves bring up another water pitcher as well."

"i go to my room." Salazar stood carefully.

"No, we've already discussed that." Rowena guided him over to her bed, pulling back the sheets. "Lie down, rest. Don't think...think about her. Just sleep." Her expression was blank.

"No!" he shouted. "I have to forget. Forget. I need that girl."

"You're concussed!" Rowena nearly screamed at him, burning with an emotion that she could too-easily identify as jealousy. "You are drunk, concussed, and still thinking about sex! And you won't stop talking about--about---I could bloody kill you, Slytherin. Get in bed. Go to sleep."

"NO!" It was as if his body had an agenda of its own and he sat on the bed and buried his face in his hands.

"Then shut up!" Suddenly Rowena was breathless, and she turned away from him, pressing a trembling hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry, Salazar," she said, quiet now, voice shaky. "I didn't mean...that...."

Salazar fought off tears. "I can't deal with it." The words were easy for him to say to her, too easy...

"I know. Just..." Just don't talk about it to ME. "We'll talk about it later. All right? You're hurt."

"I don't want to sleep. Sleep is dream." He held his hand out for hers.

"I'll give you a potion." She couldn't resist taking his hand as he offered it to her, despite her conflicted emotions.

"Sit," he whined.

"Are you going to keep--" talking about her "--keep complaining?"

"I need to feel you near me."

She hesitated for a minute, then--"Fine."

Salazar smiled. "You."

She sat down. "What about me?"

Instead of answering, Salazar pressed his lips against her. The kiss was far different than the usual ones he gave her, softer and missing one key element-- lust.

Rowena made a soft sound of surprise, but her shock quickly dissolved into the warmth of his kiss. A spark of what might have been true happiness lit in her breast, and then--no. Rowena pulled back sharply, and as she did, there were already tears streaming down her face. "I," she said coldly, harshly. "I am not Esme."

"I know. You're Rowena."

She pushed him away from her and stood up. "Yes. Yes, that is precisely right. And I will not be the tool you use to forget your--your wife."

"I don't want you for that." No facial tic this time.

"Yes, you do." Rowena would not look at him. She knew without even trying that it would hurt too much.

Salazar swayed again, and put his hand on the bed to steady himself. "No." He felt sick.

"Then what? What do you want me for, Salazar?"

"You for you... you... you... trash bin." He put his hand on his stomach.

Rowena Summoned the wastepaper basket and thrust it into his arms just in time.

After vomiting a small amount of liquid and dry-heaving for a few minutes, Salazar put the bin down and fell back onto the bed.

"You should go to sleep," Rowena said, stroking a few tendrils of hair back from his sweat-soaked forehead. "I'll leave the trash bin by the bed."

"You're beautiful," he said sleepily and sincerely. "And you're the only one... who I..." He yawned. "Don't think of her... with."

Rowena's breath caught in her throat and her fingers paused for a moment on his brow before slowly, tremulously, moving down along his cheek. "Go to sleep," she said again, suddenly realizing how hard she was trying not to cry.

He closed his eyes for ten seconds before opening them again. "Stay with me."

"Of course I will." She kissed his forehead, pulling the covers up to his chest. "I'll be right here."

"In the bed with me." He closed his eyes.

"Are you su--all right." Rowena patted him once on the shoulder then crossed to the other side of the bed, not bothering to take her clothes off before slipping in between the sheets next to him.

He moved his arm so his hand was resting on her shoulder.

"What? Didn't I just tell you that you needed to go to sleep?"

"No sex. Jus-- just you."

"All right. Well, I'm here." She was being obstinate on purpose.

Salazar turned his head to look at her and he opened his eyes. "I'm glad." He fell asleep.

She stared at him for a long time after that, her lips parted from both surprise and concern. And sometime in the middle of the night, Rowena gave up on her pretenses and reached across the space between them, taking his hand in hers, and bringing it to her lips.