Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I only play. I am not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.
Chapter 1
Hermione Granger woke up feeling extremely exhausted and sore in her whole body. Her mouth felt parched from thirst, eyelids seemed to be glued together and hardly possible to open. She blinked. A weak moan escaped her mouth as she made the first unsuccessful attempt to lift her limp body from the damp cold ground.
The sun has almost set down, she noticed vaguely, and then raised her arm to protect her oversensitive eyes from orange streams of light. She gasped when her fingertips came in contact with her forehead. Now she new why it was so difficult to open her eyes. There, sticky and thick was blood dripping down her face for quite a while already.
Hermione frowned. A bump of the size of an egg was crowning her head. She winced when she touched it.
"Never better," she thought grimly and attempted to get up again.
She tried to remember what she could possibly have been doing up the hill, near the Forbidden forest. And then it came to her.
"Snape!" She remembered. They were back on the hill to pick up his body. She turned her head towards the way Hogwarts was supposed to lie, but saw nothing. Only dim light and misty gray shadows were opened to her eyes.
What had happened to her? Why was she lying here, alone and covered in blood, with the huge bump on her head? Feeling lost and, she admitted, a bit scared, Hermione made herself to take a few deep calming breaths.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, she heard a loud shout:
"There she is!"
Hermione's head perked up, her brown eyes immediately focusing on multiple strange lights moving in a distance.
"Witch!" she heard.
"Catch the witch!"
"Catch her!"
Tremor overtook her body. She couldn't move.
Emerged as if from underground, a crowed of funnily dressed people advanced on her. Hermione's eyes widened in fear and confusion. Covered from heads to toes in dark long robes, the people, mostly men, were intending, she had no doubt on that account, to hurt her. But who were they?
She didn't have time to think about that, as she was grabbed on the collar of her jumper and roughly pulled on her wobbly legs.
"Here! Eat this you devil's whore!" shouted a crazy looking raunchy woman and then she threw a piece of dry mud into Hermione's face.
Hermione couldn't believe something so tremendous was actually really happening to her until her arms were forcefully wrenched backwards and wrists tightly tied together with a stout rope. She cried painfully when someone poked her on the stomach with a heavy wooden stick, and almost fell on her knees after being slapped across her face.
Spitting blood and forcing back the burning tears, she gritted her teeth and succumbed to the umpteen nagging and painful pushes on her back. It appeared that they were dragging her down the hill. When they neared its mouth she noticed the shining surface of the grey lake and prayed for someone in Hogwarts to come to her rescue.
"Burn her!"
"Burn the witch!"
"Throw her into the fire!"
And here she screamed. Terrified by what they were intending to do to her, Hermione blew all the air out of her lungs and gave out such a loud and horrifying wail that someone near by shouted:
"Shut her dirty mouth or she will bewitch us all!"
"Where is my wand?" She thought franticly, as a dirty rag was immediately stuffed down her throat. She chocked and tried to bite someone's ugly fingers with black nails, but was hit on her stomach again. She bended and tripped and almost fell onto the ground, but the firm grip on the knot of ropes behind her back shoved her upright on her feet again.
Tears burst out of Hermione's eyes.
"Burn her!" the crowed roared and she was dragged forward again.
A small gaunt man threw a stone, which hit her shoulder with a sharp pain of possibly a broken collarbone.
"Kill the witch!"
"Burn her!"
"Devil's whore!"
After being spitted at, knocked down, pushed and thrown mud at, they finally reached what looked like a tall wooden post rooted into the ground. Her hands were cut free, but only to be bound to the dry post.
"Bring more firewood!" ordered a huge one eyed man, with long tangled goatee.
Totally horrified, Hermione started wriggling in a desperate attempt to set her hands free.
"You will go nowhere, you bitch!" said the same man and he threw a thick rope over her body. "You will stay here and burn!" he said directly into Hermione's pale face. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her skin, the disgusting smell of rotten teeth.
Out of everywhere people were bringing branches and bricks of wood. Laying them carefully under her feet, they were smiling and rubbing their hands in happy anticipation.
What was wrong with these people?
They wouldn't want to eat her after frying, right? As funny as the thought was, Hermione couldn't harbour it at all. She was frightened to death, confused and never so close to losing connection with the reality she had been holding onto as at that precise moment.
Harry… Ron...
Where were they?
Would someone rescue her from that nightmare?
Were these medieval people just a part of her sick dream?
It became dark. The sun sat, and the burning lights of the people's torches were casting menacing shadows on the huge pile of firewood surrounding the post.
Surely there would be no one willing to burn an innocent girl alive.
Just as the thought appeared in her head, Hermione felt nauseous. With a shock obvious in her glistering eyes, she stared as a small boy bravely trotted towards her, and added a small branch to her funeral pyre. His mother most fondly patted him on his head. Even in a dream as incomprehensible and wicked as it was, she could never imagine a child participating in a murder. Something was definitely off. Her stomach fell. Everything seemed to be too real.
The same man, who tied her up to the post, appeared in front of her again. This time he held a torch of fire in his hand.
"Die, witch!" he exclaimed, and threw the torch in the very centre of the firewood. The rest of the crowd followed him eagerly, throwing their torches and shouting:
"Die! Die!"
"Kill her!"
"Burn the witch!"
Hermione gave out a cry, but only a strained muffled noise escaped her mouth. Probably thanks to the dry branches or most likely the people's burning hatred, the fire grew up very quickly. In no time it reached her feet and licked her battled trainers.
Hermione screamed again, but that only made her audience even happier.
"That is not happening…" she thought to herself while what was a considerably small fire burst into flames and leveled up with her sweaty and blood covered face.
She screamed again but no one could hear her.
She thrashed and twisted her arms but there was no one to come and rescue her.
She called for wandless magic, but it didn't come out. She should have practiced more. She should have done better than always relying on her wand. The black fumes were clouding around her now, intoxicating her lungs, burning her eyes and rising up into the night.
She hardly noticed her jeans and jumper catching fire. She tried to focus on the brightly lit star strewn sky but the black smokes were clouding the view.
She was going to die, to find her end as every witch was doomed to in the medieval age. And there was no one to save her.
"Move away, you filthy scrum!"
Hermione tried to blink off the tears. Pain clouded her vision. She could hardly see through angry flames feasting on her open flesh. Clashing sound and agonised screams followed. Part of Hermione's consciousness which was still sane despite on unbearable burning pain, recognised the sound of a sword battling.
And then the fire… parted, agonising flames which were burning holes in her skin disappeared and she saw a horse… a huge man on the horse to be precise. And he was stretching his gloved hand to her.
"Hurry, witch!" he sounded highly irritated. As if it was against his wish to take part in this salvage party.
After all that happened to her for the past hour, Hermione couldn't blame him.
"We do not have a millennium, witch! Hurry up!"
She realized that the ropes holding her captive were gone, when a strong muscular arm snaked around her waist and pulled he onto the horse. The shouting around them increased, the footsteps and torches of fire surrounded them, blocking their way. People were desperate to prevent her escape. Cursing under his breath, the man settled Hermione in front of him and put the horse into a gallop. More angry screams followed, but with every second they became more distant. Hermione shifted and untied her mouth. The horse swiftly turned to the right and Hermione couldn't help but to clutch onto the man's clothes. She lifted her eyes, but saw nothing except for the black hair and a hard square jaw. Immediately the man's arms circled around her waist and he shoved her into his broad chest. Sitting on his lap, Hermione's head was hardly reaching his shoulder. How big exactly was her saviour? And who was he? Why they were riding a… a horse?
At that precise moment, the animal jumped over a ravine and Hermione's body gave in to pain. She whimpered, her small fingers curling into his frame. His unusually big arms tensed, and although she felt that it was not his intention to be gentle or careful with her, the mad gallop of the horse seized and Hermione's body relaxed against his broad form.
"What is your name, witch?" he asked, his voice quiet but demanding. Hermione winced and yelped when he roughly shook her wounded shoulder.
Upon hearing her cry of pain, the man tried to pull her away, but she clutched on the folds of his jacket, her little body all trembling.
"Hermione," she whispered. "Hermione Granger".
She couldn't see him frowning and pounding over her name.
"What were you doing there?" he asked after a moment, obviously ignoring her discomfort, the burned open flesh of her body and wounded state of her terrified mind.
Hermione gulped and felt nothing but burning pain in her dry throat. She felt like dying from thirst.
"Please…" she moaned. "I was just going to retrieve the headmaster's body… I don't know where all these people came from. "
"Headmaster's?"
Hermione nodded.
"Hogwarts' headmaster."
She saw no point in lying. She already guessed that the man holding her in his arms was a wizard. And he saved her.
"He might be someone from the Order…" she thought, holding onto his body as the horse jumped again. The stranger's broad warm chest was steadily raising and falling, somehow soothing her nerves and chasing away the fears.
Suddenly she felt his big palm on her scull, mercilessly tugging on her hair. Unwillingly she faced her saviour, although she regretted it the very next moment. Not that she had any choice on that matter though. Half-burned and heavily injured, she couldn't possibly protect herself and the crystal grey eyes of the stranger were overwhelmed by fury and abhorrence.
"You, little lying wench!" his trenchant voice whipped her ears. "I am the very same person you are talking about! And I am not any time close to death!"
Hermione gasped. What was that vigorous enraged man talking about?
Have they already appointed a new person to the headmaster's post?
No, that couldn't possibly happen so soon. The school was in ruins, and moreover it was already decided that professor McGonagall was the most suitable candidate for that post.
Hermione forced herself to think but the pounding pain in her head seemed only to increase at her slightest attempt to do so.
"Who are you?" she managed to utter.
Two black perfectly carved eyebrows raised in superiority.
"I am called Slytherin, the founder of Hogwarts school of witchcraft."
Hermione gaped.
Then she blanched.
Gulped.
And blissfully fainted.
"No, you damn won't!" hissed Salazar Slytherin, shaking the girl.
He couldn't believe the chit dared to faint just when he was about to squeeze every bit of truth out her weakened mind.
He cursed, pushed the girl to his chest and nagged the horse to go faster. Soon the lonely Hogwarts' tower came into view, as well as the rest of the school grounds. He didn't risk to apparate them in, since he wasn't sure the girl would survive it in her pitiful condition. Not that he was feeling any compassion. He sneered as he looked at her down his nose, wondering why the sound of his name made her black out.
A quick revealing spell proved that she was indeed… hurt, and to his surprise badly.
Helga Hufflepuff will patch her up. He didn't want to associate himself with the witch of no origin. And he decided that that is what she was. A homeless orphan. A mudblood, capable of nothing but a tiny splash of magic to amaze people and then to be burnt, as he was sure, all mudbloods deserved.
Detestation towards her weak and vulnerable state overwhelmed Salazar and he put the horse into a fierce gallop. First he wished to deliver the girl to Hogwarts and then, his lips curled; he is going to dispatch her.
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