Misunderstood Identity - Rowena/Salazar
For Fanfic100, prompt:Who?
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Rowena, Salazar, various insignificant OCs
Summary: Rowena Ravenclaw's search for a potioneer leads her to encounter a (supposedly) lying street vendor, a pompous official, and an inexplicably amused young man.
Follow-up/sequel here.
“Who?”
He repeated himself.
Rowena went rigid. “Do you think I’m simple?”
Walter the merchant cocked his head to one side. “No...”
“So what happens when I walk into the shop and ask for...” she made a face, “someone like that? I’m laughed out into the street? Or thrown out? I’m sure you’d find that very amusing.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t throw you out. He gets all sorts of women looking for him - makes a fair bit in love and beauty potions.”
“Do I look,” Rowena snarled, “like I’m looking for a love potion?”
“N-no,” Walter stammered. “I - I just meant...” He trailed off, intelligent enough not to mention that she certainly looked as if she were looking for a beauty potion - or at least as if she should be.
She’d forgotten how much people cared about looks.
“Just give me his real name and have done with it!” she snapped.
“I did give you his real name!”
“Don’t play me for a fool, man!” Most of the street was watching them now, with looks ranging from concern to disdain to outright glee. “You might as well have told me to ask for Luke Warmwater!”
“A relative of the Clearwaters?” someone muttered, earning a few snickers.
”I ask you the name of a good potioneer. You tell me you know one as long as I don’t mind Parselmouths. And what is the name of this serpentine potioneer? Slytherin.” The bystanders went quiet. “And you thought I was going to believe that?” She was breathing a little hard when she finished but it did not escape her that everything was suddenly silent.
“You obviously have no idea of your betters,” an ominous voice proclaimed.
“I what?” She found the speaker, a portly balding middle-class man puffed up with his own pomposity. “I don’t believe I was speaking to you.”
“You have no idea of proper comportment, have you? Or dress? Or the faintest inkling of what you have said. You,” he pointed a pudgy finger at her accusingly, “have no idea of the Purest.”
“I should have known you were a purist,” she said, confusing him. ”Oh, dear. Too many syllables?”
The man turned red and had opened his mouth to begin the fight in earnest when someone said, “What’s going on, Willard?”
The speaker was a young man in clothes too simple for him to be Willard’s peer, but the other man seemed inordinately submissive to him.
“The lady was looking for a potioneer, and Walter gave her a false name,” one of the onlookers volunteered eagerly, grinning.
“I never - “ the merchant protested, but he was shushed impatiently.
“Really? A potioneer. Well, I might be able to help you, actually. I do a bit of that myself.” Rowena glanced at his arms; his hands were stained and his sleeves bore the splash stains of a serious practitioner. Clearly, he did more than ‘a bit.’ “What name did Walter give you?”
“Slytherin,” she said, lips pursed.
The man glanced quickly at Walter and grinned. “I see. Well, why don’t you come with me and we’ll go over my credentials?”
“I suppose.” She had some reservations about his youth, but he seemed serious. “Rowena Ravenclaw.”
He grinned at her. “I’m Salazar.”
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Rowena, Salazar, various insignificant OCs
Summary: Rowena Ravenclaw's search for a potioneer leads her to encounter a (supposedly) lying street vendor, a pompous official, and an inexplicably amused young man.
Follow-up/sequel here.
“Who?”
He repeated himself.
Rowena went rigid. “Do you think I’m simple?”
Walter the merchant cocked his head to one side. “No...”
“So what happens when I walk into the shop and ask for...” she made a face, “someone like that? I’m laughed out into the street? Or thrown out? I’m sure you’d find that very amusing.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t throw you out. He gets all sorts of women looking for him - makes a fair bit in love and beauty potions.”
“Do I look,” Rowena snarled, “like I’m looking for a love potion?”
“N-no,” Walter stammered. “I - I just meant...” He trailed off, intelligent enough not to mention that she certainly looked as if she were looking for a beauty potion - or at least as if she should be.
She’d forgotten how much people cared about looks.
“Just give me his real name and have done with it!” she snapped.
“I did give you his real name!”
“Don’t play me for a fool, man!” Most of the street was watching them now, with looks ranging from concern to disdain to outright glee. “You might as well have told me to ask for Luke Warmwater!”
“A relative of the Clearwaters?” someone muttered, earning a few snickers.
”I ask you the name of a good potioneer. You tell me you know one as long as I don’t mind Parselmouths. And what is the name of this serpentine potioneer? Slytherin.” The bystanders went quiet. “And you thought I was going to believe that?” She was breathing a little hard when she finished but it did not escape her that everything was suddenly silent.
“You obviously have no idea of your betters,” an ominous voice proclaimed.
“I what?” She found the speaker, a portly balding middle-class man puffed up with his own pomposity. “I don’t believe I was speaking to you.”
“You have no idea of proper comportment, have you? Or dress? Or the faintest inkling of what you have said. You,” he pointed a pudgy finger at her accusingly, “have no idea of the Purest.”
“I should have known you were a purist,” she said, confusing him. ”Oh, dear. Too many syllables?”
The man turned red and had opened his mouth to begin the fight in earnest when someone said, “What’s going on, Willard?”
The speaker was a young man in clothes too simple for him to be Willard’s peer, but the other man seemed inordinately submissive to him.
“The lady was looking for a potioneer, and Walter gave her a false name,” one of the onlookers volunteered eagerly, grinning.
“I never - “ the merchant protested, but he was shushed impatiently.
“Really? A potioneer. Well, I might be able to help you, actually. I do a bit of that myself.” Rowena glanced at his arms; his hands were stained and his sleeves bore the splash stains of a serious practitioner. Clearly, he did more than ‘a bit.’ “What name did Walter give you?”
“Slytherin,” she said, lips pursed.
The man glanced quickly at Walter and grinned. “I see. Well, why don’t you come with me and we’ll go over my credentials?”
“I suppose.” She had some reservations about his youth, but he seemed serious. “Rowena Ravenclaw.”
He grinned at her. “I’m Salazar.”