Disclaimer: yeah, not mine.

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"No, No, and a thousand times NO!" Helga screamed, banging her head against the desk.  "This is NOT FAIR!"  She glared at the other Founders, and pointed to the stacks of files they each had sitting by their places.  "Rowena got all the Jedi Masters-"

"-Not all," Sal corrected.

"Well, all the ones you and Godric didn't snap up, then," Helga conceded, sounding marginally more under control.  "It's bad enough that I don't get anybody interesting from this batch, but then, you try to pawn this…this thing off on me!  I won't have it!"

"This thing," Godric answered sharply, "is called a wookie.  I'm surprised at you, Helga, being prejudiced against Chewbacca simply because he's not human…"

Helga interrupted him furiously.  "I am prejudiced because he has been known to tear people's arms off, speaks no intelligible language, and despite all that, he is supposed to balance out these great catches that the rest of you get!  That is not fair!"

 "Attention."  Rowena Ravenclaw kicked the door open and came back into the room.  Her arms were full of a messy collection of files and folders and packets, which she dumped on the table in between them all.

Helga pounced on it.  "Let me pick first this time!"

As she sifted though the heap, Rowena whispered in Sal's ear, "Let's not get our hopes up with these – I'd be willing to bet they're almost all going to Godric."

"Why?" Sal asked aloud.  "And why are they all so ratty?  It looks like they've been through a war…"

"They have," Rowena explained.  "We've only just retrieved them.  Most of them come from some place called 'the barricade,' and the rest just got thrown in on top.  A big mess, I must say."

Meanwhile, Helga was flipping files open, glancing at them briefly, and tossing them to Godric with increasing irritation.  "Enjolras…Godric.  Jean Prouvaire…Godric.  Courfeyrac…Godric.  Gavroche…oh, what a dear…Godric."  She looked up.  "Godric, you might as well just take all of them!"

Sal motioned to have a folder passed to him.  "Calm down, Helga.  What seems to be the trouble…oh…"  He read over Enjolras's file and shrugged.  "So, this whole crew died bravely, eh, fighting for a lost cause?  Not my type.  Or yours, really."

Helga was close to tears.  "But it's not fair!  Can't I have any of them?"

Meanwhile, Rowena had sifted out one of the few pink files (the rest were blue).  "Look – Eponine."

Snatching the file, Helga scanned the girl's statistics greedily at first, but her manic expression soon gave way to something rather like pity.  "Oh – she had such a bad time.  But look, Rowena, you're right.  I can have her, she's such a sweetheart."

Sal and Rowena looked at it together.  "Her dedication is really something.  She died for loyalty to her friend, and not for sheer Gryffindor stupidity…no offence, Godric…" Sal tacked on speedily.

"Yes, definitely a Hufflepuff.  Kind and dependable, but fades right into the background.  She's even a little more introverted than your usual kids, Helga," Rowena observed.  "Almost too self-effacing.  Make sure she makes friends and stands up for herself."

"You don't need to tell me how to get through to that type," Helga reminded her.

Salazar smiled.  "Of course, mum."  He nodded his assent to the placement.  "Eponine's got a bit of a mothering streak, too, come to that.  She's everybody's little sister or mother or what-have-you.  Take her.  She has a good heart."

"Let's just hope it wasn't damaged; she did take a bullet to the chest, didn't she?" Helga worried.

Godric laughed.  "Oh, come off it.  You and those superstitions.  I tell you, the cause of death has absolutely no effect on future personality.  Remember that Javert fellow you stuck me with?  He died in water, didn't he, and it doesn't seem to have diluted any of his convictions.  More's the pity," he muttered under his breath.  Sal raised an eyebrow.

"Godric, I'm surprised at you," he said self-righteously.  "Complaining about an attribute you claim to value…"

"No, I don't value pig-headedness, only confidence.  Strength of character, you know.  Can't have them bending with every breeze that passes, but nobody ever learned anything by being stubborn as a mule.  Look – this Enjolras.  He is what I want.  He was willing to give his life for a cause-"

"-A lost cause," Sal interrupted softly, but Godric continued.

"-for a cause because he believed in it, but he didn't waste the lives of others.  When an opportunity came to send people to safety, he took it.  He's a good leader…"

"He shot one of his own men in cold blood," Sal read.  "Directly before a battle when they were already outnumberd.  Oh, what a strategical genius.  No wonder Godric likes him."

Gryffindor glared.  "Enjolras shot that insurgent," he growled, "because it was a necessary thing.  The courage to do that is courage like any other."

"That's true," Rowena agreed.  "Sal, come on – quit needling him.  You know you'd have done the same.  And you don't want Enjolras anyway."

"Yes, I don't.  Spy, we are judges, not assassins," Sal mimicked the rebel leader, then offered his own translation.  "In other words, sure, we're going to look you in the eye and kill you, Javert…just not with a knife.  We'll do it with a gun, see, and that way, we can pretend there's some honor in it.  Of course we can't just call a spade a spade and say-"

"SALAZAR SLYTHERIN!  IF YOU DARE-"

Sal looked shocked at Gryffindor's outburst, and held up his hands.  "Godric, Godric, keep your knickers on!  I was only joking.  If you people need fancy moral excuses to do what you want, that's just none of my business, is it?  You can keep Enjolras and his posturing.  If evil is to be done, I prefer a more straightforward approach to it – judges, assassins, they're all killers."  He picked up a different file and sighed.  "Speaking of straightforward…I suppose I have to take this crude couple?"

Rowena nodded.  "Yes.  Sorry.  The Thenardiers may be disgusting, Sal, but they're definitely your territory.  Ambitious, crafty, you name it."

"Ugh.  All right," he agreed.  "The…female?...isn't exactly the brightest torch of the hall, but I guess, with a lot of effort, I can make something of him, at least.  He's resourceful and good heavens but he's got balls of steel.  Look at this bit in the sewers: he comes across a murderer who's strong as an ox and instead of running in terror, he concocts a plan on the fly, to get the man's money and use him as a distraction to make a getaway!  I can work with that."

"See?" Helga asked cheerfully.  "There's a silver lining in every cloud."

"Unless Thenardier's stolen it already," Sal muttered.  "Just make a note on that file – I'll have to be sure I get them reborn into very wealthy families, so there's none of that petty money-grubbing going on."

Godric seconded that with a little chuckle.  "Yes, most of the greedy Recycles mellow pretty quickly when they're raised in the lap of luxury.  Which only goes to show that a charitable view of human nature is proper after all…"

"Charitable, my foot," Sal said irritably, glaring at the filthy grinning photographs on the Thenardiers' coverpage.  "Stuff it, Godric.  You've won your point; I'll take them, so you don't need to rub it in.  Clever or not, these people are disgusting and they have no principles.  But I don't suppose I could persuade any of you to take them…Rowena?  Helga?  No?  Shocking.  So, I am left with the worst of the slime again this year.  How unusual."

 Getting a little testy herself, now, Rowena pointed to Sal's pile.  "On the whole, you can't complain.  True, Godric is getting most of these hunky French boys, but you got a couple interesting people already today…"

"Oh, yes, of course."  Sal ticked off on his fingers:  "The saintly Thenardiers, a couple no-account scrubby soldiers who just happen to dream big, and the illustrious Darth Vader.  Yes, today has been very productive for me.  We've done great honor to Slytherin house."

They were all so used to his sarcastic griping that they ignored him completely, paying attention instead to a very disorderly-looking binder Rowena had pulled from under the table.

"I saved this for last," she said loudly, overriding Salazar's complaints, "Because it's, um, a special case."

Salazar sat stubbornly in his chair while Helga and Godric went to leaf through the papers.  After a bit, Helga's bad mood resurfaced with a vengeance.  "I give up," she snarled, pounding her fist on the table.  "I just give up!  What the bloody hell are we supposed to do this guy?  What do they think we are?  God himself couldn't place this nut!  What are we supposed to do?"

"We're supposed to work magic," Sal answered nastily.  In response, Helga threw the coverpage across the table to him with a growl, and he looked it over.  Instantly convinced, he made a face, forgetting his own peevishness of a moment before.  "Is this their idea of a joke?"  The Four Founders had stopped arguing, were once more united in common exasperation against The Powers That Be.  Salazar read the title aloud.  "Jekyll comma Henry slash Edward Hyde." 

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The End (for good this time – I actually tried to make myself sort Marius and Cosette, but I dislike them too intensely so I couldn't be fair.)