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Title: Between Here and Now and Forever, Chapter 11
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: The Founders, various OCs
Rating: PG
Summary: Lord Salazar asks Rowena to write a letter.
Chapter 1
Master Founders post
Chapter 10
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 learn the language, he's become my intermediary between them and myself. 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.
Chapter 12
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: The Founders, various OCs
Rating: PG
Summary: Lord Salazar asks Rowena to write a letter.
Chapter 1
Master Founders post
Chapter 10
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 learn the language, he's become my intermediary between them and myself. 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.
Chapter 12