Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus

Enjoy the show, folks!


* * * * *

CHAPTER TWO
Shall We Smile

Rowena woke at the sound of the cockerel crowing as the sun was skimming the horizon. She shifted under the covers, causing a little avalanche of the books she had bought yesterday as they came crashing to the floor with heavy thumps.

"Rowena, darling!" came the cheery voice of Helga outside the bedroom door. "Are you up?"

"Yes Helga!" answered Rowena's parrot from his perch, in a practically perfect imitation of Rowena herself. She had found the parrot on one of her many adventures by ship, and he had followed her back to England, securing himself a place in the Ravenclaw family. She had to stifle her giggles under her bedclothes as Helga and Hogwarts, her parrot, had a discussion.

"Sir Salazar and Sir Godric are already at breakfast."

"Yes Helga!"

"Don't be too long, dear."

"Yes Helga!"

"And Rowena?"

"Yes Helga!"

"I'd tell Hogwarts to stop that, or to increase his vocabulary."

"Yes Hel--" Rowena stifled the parrot by levitating his little food-dish up to his beak and filling it with table scraps she summoned from the kitchens, two floors beneath her bedroom. He dug into it greedily, his ruse forgotten as he accompanied his sloppy eating with "Aaarks" and, "Mmmms" loud enough to be heard by the entire household.

She sighed in disgust as she threw her bedcovers off. She had nothing but contempt for the males of this planet. Three alone had earned her love and respect: Her father, uncle, and parrot--and her scientific mind did not find this sufficient proof that men were worth bothering about, whatever their species.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

She went down to breakfast lazily, contemplating matters of the universe that thirteen year old girls often found interesting, such as how fast she could slide down the banisters of the main staircase, and how long Sir Godric spent in front of the mirror arranging his hair every morning. She seated herself at the breakfast table in the dining hall just as Helga bustled out, murmuring about cheese or fleas or something. The knights greeted her courteously and offered her various platters and jugs. Eventually, Sir Slytherin embarked on a real, if somewhat unnerving, conversation:

"Tell me, Miss Ravenclaw. How long have you been telepathic?"

Salazar was greeted with a spray of milk from Godric and a flying--partly chewed--strawberry from Rowena. "I see." He dabbed at himself with a napkin.

"But...you...I didn't read anything!" she spluttered.

"I have studied Occlumency and Legilmency since I was a child. As have you, I imagine," he added. Salazar went back to his breakfast, satisfied. Godric and Rowena, unable to catch his eye, looked at each other instead.

"Well," Godric said gallantly, handing her another strawberry. "Will your wonders never cease?" There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice. Rowena blushed, took the strawberry, and their fingers fumbled together. They smiled.

Salazar stiffened slightly as he realized he'd just lost her to Godric.

Oh...blast.

Generally, Salazar did not approve of debasing himself by swearing, and he did not consider conversing with himself to be exempt from this rule. He applauded himself on his self control.

No matter, he told himself. She is a pureblood, and an intelligent young girl at that. If Godric can overcome his scruples regarding her age, I would not mind her company for a while longer.

Helga entered the room, ushering in a well-fed looking house-elf, who placed yet another platter on the table. She smiled as she took her seat. Godric and Rowena were occupied with their non-verbal standoff, and so did not notice, but Salazar took it upon himself to acknowledge her presence with a polite smile.

That Mudblood, however, is a thorn I will have to remove from my side directly.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

"Miss Ravenclaw, enlighten me. What exactly is there to do all day in this blasted house?"

Rowena looked up from her book in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No offence meant, of course," Salazar went on, staring out the library window at the rain as it relentlessly drummed out its monotonous symphony. He'd been listening to it so long it had begun to talk to him, and he'd had to shake himself more than once to prevent himself talking back.

"But really Rowena, what does an intellectual do all day? I admire your intelligence but I hardly see how you acquired it if you stay cooped up in here all the time." The two had quickly taken to talking candidly to one another, finding themselves to be of the same frame of mind and having taken quite a liking to one another back in Flourish and Blotts.

"I didn't," she sighed. "Practically everything I learned was learnt outdoors in unusual and fascinating countries...with my father and uncle." There followed a pause, wherein the only sound was that of the rain beating at the window.

"How did they die?" he asked in a straightforward, yet kind manner. She hesitated.

"At sea," she said sadly. "We were...travelling to Greece from Asia, and part of the journey was taken by a Muggle for of transport called a ship--my uncle's idea," she said fondly, now apparently happier about talking about her late family. "We hadn't been travelling for more than a few days when he was...sick...he said it was a common Muggle ailment called seasickness and that it would pass. But he became feverish. We said we would apparate with him to a safe wizarding location where he could be treated, but he was stubborn...always had been, I loved him for it..." She took a deep breath. Salazar came closer and sat beside her.

"My father and I looked after him...he was getting better, but then...then m-my father became ill.

He was too ill to appparate. They both were, and they didn't...they couldn't..." she broke off shakily.

"They were delirious," he said understandingly. She nodded.

"They were both dead before the ship docked in Crete. I summoned a priestess, and I scattered their ashes to the winds. I think they would have like it." He nodded. Then after a beat, he spoke up.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that crap?" he said flatly, highly offended.

"What?"

"Rowena, you forget I study all the magicks of the mind. Lies are radiating from you. Fear too. You don't have to tell me anything, but I'd rather you said nothing than make up stories." He turned away from her in disdain. She stared at him for a moment, then dropped her head guiltily.

"Helga seemed to believe it," she tried half-heartedly.

"I've no doubt. Rowena," he said seriously, facing her once again, "you have to grieve. You mustn't prove yourself to anyone or try to cover up any details whilst you're still mourning."

She inclined her head up and observed him.

"You sound like someone who's talking from experience," she said mildly.

"I am," he said candidly. "My mother died four years ago; I was eighteen years old. It may not be the same, but it doesn't mean I didn't mourn, didn't miss her. And I still needed my father to hold me and cuddle me like a child."

"You're lying to me," she said with a teary smile.

"I'm comforting you," he said, smiling back. "In truth, I lashed out, fought with my father, sought comfort with wine and pleasurable company. But I set everything to rights before it was too late, and I'm glad I did. We all need a parental figure."

"But not all of us have one," she said gloomily.

"You have Helga, m'lady."

"She's not a parent. She's more a...nursemaid to me."

"A nanny? I find it hard to imagine Helga as a nanny, Rowena."

"I'm sure you do," she replied suggestively.

"I refuse to continue with this conversation," he said imperiously, smirking. "Do tell me, before I go mad, what there is to do here."

"You mean besides read and tell dismal tales of death?" she said dully.

"Exactly. Although you haven't told me anything but a story."

Rowena shut her book with a sharp clap.

"Well, they did die at sea." she said, as if the matter was final.

"Go on," Salazar probed. She let out a cry of outrage and stood up, throwing the book over her shoulder.

"My lady, for one who prizes knowledge and books so highly, your treatment of these volumes is categorically insolent--"

"On a Muggle pirate ship! They died on a Muggle pirate ship--slaughtered by Muggles with blades much like dear Sir Gryffindor's treasured sword! We apparated to a ship, not knowing who the inhabitants were, as we often did. We were reckless; all three of us were incredibly stupid and carefree and...close. We stowed away, and when we were discovered, the blasted blackguards tried to slaughter us.

We should have just apparated or wiped their minds but we were quite simply bored, and wanted some action, so we fought them on their own terms--with swords. But one of the men pulled a bow and arrow and shot my father in the chest. He...fell. My uncle was distracted, I was cornered and outnumbered and injured and we were panicking, we somehow managed to group together and were ready to apparate when my uncle was stabbed in the back. I-I saw the blade through his chest...the blood...he was dead in an instant. I was hysterical, I told my father to apparate, but he wouldn't move, he just lay there, like he had no more strength left. It seemed like eons but it could only have been seconds...he said to me, 'Go, now,' but I wouldn't, I wouldn't leave him, so he pulled his wand, and......and the next thing I knew, I was in Asia, at the house where we were to stay.

It took me months to locate their bodies...I tried apparating back but the ship had moved on, or I couldn't find my bearings, or something was amiss. By the time I had found them and had done with a priestess, Helga had, by some means, heard of their deaths and asserted her...guardianship over me. I never told her, or anyone. I have no idea why I told you," she finished. She had told the story very fast, breaking into silent tears near the end, and had ended by falling back on a chair, drained.

"Perhaps because you know I can be trusted. I understand, it must have taken bravery to reveal that which you have kept secret for so long," he suggested quietly. She nodded tearfully, and, unable to hold back the flood any longer, fell into sobbing heavily. He came to her side, bending to take her in his arms, and consoled her, as she had never been consoled; not by a relative, or a boyish playmate, or blackguard with an ulterior motive. But by a man. He only held her, saying nothing, letting her grieve for over an hour, for he, better than most, knew the agony of loss.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Helga came into the library to announce lunch at noon. The atmosphere was sombre, yet calm. Rowena had composed herself and she and Salazar were poring over the book of transfiguration she had bought in Diagon Alley the day before.

"Who would want to change a perfectly good piece of parchment into a fish so small?" Salazar was saying as she walked in.

"Well...suppose you were starving and without means of obtaining food, but you did have a few books with you. You'd have an instant feast," Rowena replied.

"I wouldn't sacrifice any book for an anchovy, madam."

"Even a bad book?"

"Even bad books are books, and therefore sacred."

"Well said, sir," she said with a smile.

"Don't mock me," he said derisively, smiling all the same. Rowena laughed, and Helga took this opportunity to interrupt.

"Excuse me Sir Salazar, Rowena dear, lunch is ready."

"What is it Helga?"

"Fish, I believe, dear."

"Fresh or parchment variety?" Salazar muttered, getting up.

As they reached the dining hall, they saw that only two places had been set.

"I'm afraid I have to go out to run a few errands, so it will just be the two of you for lunch. The house-elves should serve you in a minute." And with that, she pecked Rowena on the cheek and left.

Salazar pulled Rowena's chair out for her and she sat down gracefully. He swept into his own chair and surveyed her through the ornate candelabra that hung low from the ceiling. It was gloomy outside, the rain persistently pouring, and the single source of light coming from the candelabra that illuminated only an undersized circle of space around them, giving the atypical impression that they were the only two people for miles around.

"I assume Sir Godric is not hungry," Rowena mentioned, as a number of house-elves tottered into the room, mostly hidden by the large plates of food that they placed on the table by reaching up above their head and sliding on from the corners.

"Blasted man never eats," Salazar replied, resting his chin on his knuckles. "Barely stops to sleep and has to be constantly reminded to do so should he lapse into delirium." Rowena giggled.

"What a good thing he has you as his companion. I can't imagine a better friend." Salazar paused halfway through the act of reaching for his wine goblet, and looked at her shrewdly.

"Are you attempting to court me, Rowena?" She stared at him.

"No."

"Good, because I hasten to inform you that I do not find you attractive in that respect." He took a sip from his goblet and turned his attention to his lunch.

"How dare you," Rowena said quietly, taking a forkful of fish.

"Come again?" he asked. She swallowed.

"Why on earth was that necessary?"

"I believe on commencing acquaintances on even ground."

"We are on even ground, Salazar. And I hasten to inform you that the prospect of courting you hadn't once crossed my mind!"

"Yes it did; twice at breakfast and once in the library, you forget I am a Legilmens."

"I...I hadn't forgotten," she shot back weakly, instantly dropping her gaze. He chuckled.

"I apologise if I affected your delicate sensibilities, Rowena, but you must understand that I harbour no feelings toward you except my approval and my respect..." he trailed off as she had lifted her head and was staring at him, eye to eye.

He saw what she was thinking now, arrogant knightly bastard, what she was feeling, anger, vengeance, superiority, injured pride, what she was remembering, this morning, at breakfast...'...Lady Slytherin? I suppose Sir Salazar has had his fair share of women, but what would it be like to marry him...? And if Salazar's memory served, it was at this point that he had lost eye contact with her... 'No, I don't think I could cope with being married to someone who would suffocate me intellectually. I don't think he is particularly broad-minded either, he probably takes after his father in his views and I can't imagine him being particularly splendid in bed, and I don't like that abnormal mole on his neck--'

"Alright, alright, you've made your point quite clearly m'lady," he snapped, breaking his gaze and furiously stabbing his fish with his fork. She blinked, smirking widely. "I suppose those thoughts were only worsened in the library?" he added sullenly. She paused.

"They were...modified." He looked up, mildly curious. "I decided you were a man of consideration, at least. But no, Salazar, I don't want to court you, much less be your wife."

"I suppose I hadn't realized he extent of your intellect," he said evenly and honestly. She smiled. "And, in any case, I don't take children to my bed."

Her fork fell to the table with a bang.

"You still think me a child?" she spat. Calmly, he laid his own fork down on his plate before answering her.

"Rowena, there can be no doubt in my mind that the quality of your intelligence and dialect and indeed, your life, far surpasses that of any mere child. You know I respect you, you know the lengths to which I have gone to assess you as a worthy acquaintance, and you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you have not been found wanting in my eyes.

"But you are still thirteen years old, my friend. And I would rather you were not yet my equal in everything."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

"Excellent lunch. Where did you find these house-elves?"

"Ask Helga, I haven't the foggiest," she smiled. They sat in companionable silence for a minute before Salazar spoke up.

"Well, Rowena, we've heard each other's life stories, you've sobbed on my shoulder, I've betrayed your trust through Leglimency, we've mutually agreed that we are not suited for wedded bliss, we've quarrelled over all three, and we've had lunch...what would you like to do now?"

She laughed out loud at this one.

"Well, what is dear Sir Gryffindor amusing himself with?" she countered, not disguising the fact that she really didn't care. After the moment with the strawberry earlier that morning, Godric had not gone out of his way to engage Rowena in anything, and she had afforded him the same courtesy, and their friendship had hit something of a stalemate.

"Oh, he's sword-fighting with the suits of armour he charmed in the dining hall," he said dismissively.

"Really?" she asked, interestedly.

"Yes," he said, surprised. "Why, does that sound like an interesting way to spend the afternoon?"

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Four seconds after Helga shut the front door, she heard it.

SMASH!

A girl screaming. Rowena.

Shouting: "Rowena!"

"Godric, halt. Halt! HALT!--Rowena!!!"

"Oooof! Good Lord woman, desist!"

Helga ran to the hall as fast as she could, where the sounds were coming from, dropping and smashing all her purchases in her haste. She burst through the door brandishing her wand, and...well, what she saw made her flush to the core in all her simplicity. Salazar, watching from a safe distance with his back to Helga, seemed rather amused. He hadn't noticed her enter.

Rowena was lying flat on the floor, her hair loose and in disarray, her dress rumpled and splayed about her, gasping for breath, and Godric was straddling her with a sword to her throat. Another sword lay a few feet away in a pile of crystal that had once been Rowena's uncle's crystal ball. Rowena was giggling helplessly despite--or in actual fact due to--her onslaught, and Godric, smiling broadly (poor Helga dropped her wand in shock) bent down and kissed her.

Salazar turned immediately at the sound of the flimsy wood tapping the stone floor where it was dropped. A wave of embarrassment would have overcome a weaker man. Salazar Slytherin merely smiled at Helga as he walked over to her, stepping delicately over the rubble in his wake.

"Shall we?" He took his arm and led her out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

"Godric?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you mind very much getting off me?"

Godric blinked.

"Uh, of course, m'lady." Somewhat clumsily, he shuffled off her and clambered to his feet, beating away the dust on his robes that had come from the breakage. "I'm very sorry if I offended you at all, Rowena--"

"Not at all," she said from the ground, pointing a sword at his throat. From the sunlight gleaming through the windows and illuminating the inscription on the blade, he saw that it was his. She grinned up at him, reclining on the floor.

"I'm not easily offended, Godric."

Wordlessly he smiled and offered her his hand. Withdrawing the sword, she took it and he pulled her up close to him. Her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she dropped to her knees in front of him. His eyes gleamed with wonder. But a moment later, she had sprung up and pushed the other sword into his hand, which she had retrieved from the floor.

"Shall we?" she asked silkily, falling back into stance.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

"I can't say I'm entirely happy with Godric....pursuing Rowena in such a...bawdy manner." Salazar fixed Helga with an appraising look.

"I suppose it's because you care about her so badly. You are a mother to her, after all." Helga nodded. They were walking out in the garden. The rain had stopped but the grass was wet through and the hems of their cloaks and robes and their boots were thick with mud and dew, but they were so engrossed in their conversation that neither was bothered. Salazar had come to two disturbing conclusions in the last twenty minutes: Firstly, that Helga was actually very intelligent, despite her apparent simpleton ways. And secondly, that she was uncannily pretty for a forty year old.

"Oh, I care about her, of course. Dearly, I do. So yes, I can't say I'm comfortable with it. But children will be children."

"You consider Godric to be a child?" he snapped curtly.

"No, I meant Rowena," she said honestly. "I still think of her as the little girl of four who used to turn my skirts to stone." Salazar chuckled at the thought of Helga unable to move. He was surprised to realize that he liked it.

"Sir Slytherin--" she began suddenly.

"Salazar," he urged her gently.

"Salazar," she said without a smile, "There's something I really need to tell you," she said quietly.

"Yes," he said huskily, leaning forward.

"Salazar, there...there is ...there's a dragon behind you."