A/N: Yeah, I've lost my Politically Correct Fanfic Censor. Yeah, it's pretty awesome (for me, anyway).

As always, I own nothing, I'm screwing canon over, and history is WRONG!

Enjoy!

Dear Diary,

Is that how you start these things? Does it matter? Hmm...let's start with a story... That is, after all, the purpose of this entire journal - to debunk the myths from the truth...

To say I was pleased would be a vast overstatement. In fact, it was just a plain-out lie, and not one that I could appreciate. One moment, I had been enjoying myself, soaking up the last few precious hours before the students arrived; the next, I was on my sorry arse in the middle of the Entrance Hall, bruised and battered, several minutes after the students arrived. Of course, it was Godric's fault. If that man had an ounce of common sense left in his head, he would have cleared up the test circle hours ago when we had actually finished testing it, and as I had 'encouraged' him to do (I can be very persuasive when I stop trying to not kill people). Another fun fact I have discovered about myself so far! I seem to be sprouting new personality traits as I go, today. Perhaps I have lost my touch? I seem to have lost all sense of everything else... But I digress. I'm speaking in more riddles today than Ro ever has in her entire life. To start from the beginning... I'll just start from where I remember:

My robes swished around me in a comforting manner as I headed towards the brilliant wrought iron gates. To see them glinting so in the sun, I could not help but to smile. Today was heralding the beginning of yet another successful year; I could just feel it! In a few short hours, the halls of Hogwarts castle would be swarming with the soft rustling of worn robes, and the tapping of great canes. And the younglings! Oh, to be able to impart knowledge upon eager minds! The castle was already humming with excited energy about the new arrivals, and my grin broadened. My old girl was enjoying herself, and I knew it to make her happy, for it made me so.

As the main architect of the colossal school, it was my duty to know all her ticks inside out; to meld with her if necessary, to feel her joy and sorrows. However, today my duty lay outside of the relative utopia my comrades and I had managed to create. For the third time in a row, we had been forced to add another year level above the others, as our Founding students had grown beyond the others in wisdom, yet still had a ways to go in finesse. The first to admit I was loathe to see them leave us - not for entirely unsentimental reasons - it had fallen upon me to retrieve the extra school materials the higher grade would be needing. It was a task I had become well-accustomed to - many of our students came from poor, or muggle families, and were in need of assistance regarding the acquisition of standard school supplies. Poor dears, a voice cooed in my mind, bringing sweet Helga to mind. It was not that I pitied them, but that I feared for them; what their lives would have become had one of us four decided not to venture beyond the known those six years ago. I had witnessed first hand the effects of muggle ignorance towards our kind, and whilst I did not condemn them for it, I highly recommended all my students to stay away from such places unless absolutely necessary. No doubt, had no one else stood up to allow commoners free tutoring, such children would be forced into a life of subjugation towards a wretched lord, or else face the horrifying death of a heretic. I frowned. Such terrible deeds...but that was a thought for another time. Today was a time of joy, and while I was loathe to admit it, I did quite enjoy perusing the stands and stores of dingy Diagon Alley. For all that it the air smelt of dragon dung and tasted of ash, there were some truly reputable vendors to back the community up. Ollivander's for instance, sold magnificent wands (and at a fair price) to eager young magicians who still needed the help of an artifact, but would not yet notice the unnecessary drain it had on one's magic.

I finally reached the tall outer-gates, in all their blinding glory. They boldly swung open for me, silent but for a slight creak towards my left. Perhaps I should inspect that later, I thought, only half distracted by the noise. Although the castle was cloaked by an impenetrable wind of fire, water, and mad air, rendering its borders not only impassible, but invisible, the surrounding area was known to be unsafe. From time to time, there had been reports of everything from robbery to murder near the outskirts of the School's forests. I had the creatures' word that it was not they, but that only served in heightening my anxiety. If it wasn't some dark sidhe having their time, it had to be humans. I shuddered. I really was not fond of muggles. Schooling my features to an indifferent mask not one bit suited to such frivolous Summer-time weather, my feet picked up a brisk pace as I headed towards the local wizarding community of Hogsmeade, likewise shrouded by a drab mist that clouded the muggles' eyes. Heart pounding, I suddenly found it imperative to learn the art of apparition in the near future. To Hel with my longstanding terror of being ripped to shreds by my own fickle mind; I'd take that over being ripped to shreds by anything else. Not that I would ever tell Godric any of that. I may have grown up with the man, but a fool to his ways I was not. He would undoubtedly find it terribly entertaining that the Salazar Slytherin, heir to all that the name encompassed, and respected mage within the younger wizarding community was afraid of making a wrong turn mid-apparition. He already thought my dislike of muggles was hilarity defined. I need not encourage the lout further.

With these thoughts in mind, I reached the entrance to Hogsmeade, relaxing immensely as my feet touched the soft grass on the other side of the wards. None of this would be visible to the bustling townsfolk around me, should they even notice my presence. One of the first lessons father had instilled in me was to never perform any overt shows of affection towards anyone who wasn't currently held within my deepest trust. I hadn't realised what that had truly meant until I had grown somewhat - that there were some who still contested my hold over the family fortune, with my womanhood, and my 'undesirable' mother. I could never be sure of who it was, exactly, that held such a grudge against me, only that it wasn't any of the Peverell's - my cousins were, respectively, too kindly, too dense, and too abrasively distrustful to wish me any real harm - or any of my maternal family, who were for the most part so detached from the happenings of mortals that they could go years without acknowledging a day as having passed. That left me in a vulnerable position, and confined to my masks. How I longed to one day shed those skins, regardless of their purpose. I sighed quietly, reminding myself once again that this day was to be grand. Now focusing only on my duty, I headed to the Staff and Orbs Inn, which although crudely named, held access to the public floo network within, free for the use of patrons. I was not in the mind to buy anything even mildly intoxicating, but Stephan let me through regardless. His son was one of the Thirds at the School, and was most public about 'repaying his debt' to us four. Even when I insisted there was no need, I could understand his heart. Qualified wizards were like to earn more than any barkeep, no matter their inventiveness or love for the art of brewing. Passing said wizard at the bar, I tilted my head in acknowledgement. My gesture was rewarded with a hearty wave, before I reached the large ornate fireplace. The sooty relic was grande, and oddly clear of traffic this afternoon. Families traveling to Hogwarts had direct access to the entryway fireplace on days such as today. There was no time for drinking.

I reached to the powder jar resting on the header, slightly too far above for me to comfortably reach. Once my hand contacted with the unhelpful jar, I greedily pinched green crystals between my fingertips. Every time I managed to keep the jar from upturning its contents over the floor, I counted it as a victory. Not wanting to tempt fate, I threw the powder into the hearth, instantly rewarded with sparking green flames. I leaped into the ignited fire, stating, "Diagon Alley!"

In an instant, the breath was whipped from me. I was suspended in emptiness, suffocating without having time to realise it. Then the gritty cobblestone came up to meet me, and my lungs filled with the perfume of the sweaty Alley. I almost choked, only able to stop myself with the knowledge that it was better than apparition. Flooing was unpleasant, certainly, but it wasn't blinking in and out of existence. The worst that could happen with a floo was hitting your head on the underside of a moldy fireplace (which I discreetly made sure to do on my way into the main street); with apparition, you could simply stop, and never be heard of again.

Once on the street, I brought out my list of supplies. Apparently, we would be needing several copies of Hark: A Spell is Coming! by Morgana le Fay, two new racing brooms (specified as Cobolt Skies in Godric's dark handwriting), a single silver stirrer, three pewter cauldrons, and a copious amount of wolfsbane that made me slightly queasy to look at. I mentally added dragonhide gloves to that list. Since adding Care of Magical Creatures to the curriculum, several students had received far too many burns and cuts for comfort. I hadn't been able to do much but warn them to be prepared so far, but even then some persisted in their goading of the salamanders. Silly little fools...

A jovial voice ripped me from my perusing.

"Miss Slytherin! Good day." the voice boomed.

I looked up from my list, a smile playing at my lips.

"Sir Ravenclaw," I curtsied. Roweena's father merely waved me off.

"No need for formalities, lass! If it weren't for ye and that fire-haired lout, my daughter would still be wasting her talents playing for the nobility," he stated, matter-of-fact.

The way he sniffed when he said 'nobility' made my smile broaden into a smirk. If it was hard to dislike Harold Ravenclaw, it was considerably harder to dislike him when he was jesting at the expense of the wealthy.

"Watch your mouth, commoner," I remarked with a grin, "I might have to slice out your tongue."

Harold's mouth flew open, his arms shielding his face in mock horror.

"Such a vicious lady! Wherever do ye get it from? Certainly not from such proud and noble veins as that of Syltherin?!"

I slump over in supposed agony, "Although I loathe to speak of it dear sir, 'tis my unruly mother's blood which taints these splendid veins! Oh, woe becomes me!"

My act sends Harold into a hysterical laugh, bent double, slapping his thighs. I chuckle. Rowena's father is one of the few who hold my favour, if not for his accepting nature, then certainly for his brutal honesty. I smile at him.

"So what brings you to Diagon Alley, Sir Ravenclaw?" Regardless of his preferences, my upbringing tells me to call any respectable man 'sir', and Harold most certainly has my respect. Straightening up, tears in his eyes, he replies, "I came to purchase little Helena her first wand, M'lady."

My eyes light up. Rowena's younger sister will be starting at our school later this very day. Such a sweet girl, but very timid. Too timid to be in my house, I think.

"You've left it a bit late haven't you, Sir?" I jest. My company bows extravagantly in return.

"Forgive me for the way in which I have erred ye, M'lady. I am but a mere bard, and Galleons for us folk are hard to come by," he relates to me.

"Have you tried using Sickles and Knuts instead?" I return to him. We both chuckle at the comment. Harold makes to reply, but at that very moment, a very sprightly little girl runs up to us, knocking into my leg. She looks up at me, blushing terribly.

"S-sorry Miss Slytherin!" she squeaks. I smile at her.

"No harm done, Helena," I say, mindful of my tone. My words appear to calm the girl somewhat, but she remains jittery as she turns to her father.

"Da, I've got my wand," she states in her nervous little voice. Her father smiles back indulgently at her.

"Do ye now?" he asks, tweaking the girl's nose, "And what is it?"

"Hawthorn, thirteen inches...um..." she rushes. Harold rolls his eyes.

"Now slow down, lassy. You'll be giving yerself a headache," he chastises, but I can tell there's no heart in it. Few can maintain their frustration around Helena. Harold wraps him arm around his daughter's shoulders, and turns to me.

"We'd best be goin', lass," he says, "Can't have Helena being late tonight. 'Twas good to see ye again, nevertheless."

I incline my head in acceptance, "Yes, I had better get on with this myself. We're still clean out of a few integral supplies for the elder students."

Harold waggles his eyebrows in mock concern, "Aren't ye leavin' it a little late?" he jests. I laugh, smacking the air between us, as if to ask the pair to move.

"Oh, do get along! I'd hate to deduct house points before the school year's even began!" I say, eyes brimming with mirth. Harold stares at me.

"I'd fight ye, lass, but I know yer likely to do what ye say," he states, before moving towards the great stone fireplace behind us, "We'll be seeing ye!" he calls back. I wave in return, before rushing my way through the list in my hand. I don't have enough time to feel relaxed anymore; the Sorting begins within the hour.

Traipsing back to Hogwarts in the suddenly chilled air, and with no less than fifteen separate packages in hand and floating haphazardly around me was, to say the least, incredibly uncomfortable. I now had less than twenty minutes in which to reach the castle, organise the new stock, unhitch my hindering skirts in a respectable fashion, and reach the Head Table without seeming the least bit harried by my own lack of time. I knew I could do it; I'd have to if I wanted to set a good example for the younger children, especially those of my own creed, who were prone to being overly-observant and manipulative when it was least appreciated. The chugging of coach wheels on uneven earth behind me made me start. Despite the readied floo network, some parents still chose to send their children to Hogwarts in extravagant coaches; likely to prove wealth and status, more than to ensure their kin arrive in the right fireplace. Rattling past me at an ungodly speed, the cart knocked me off my feet, splashing half-dried mud across my work robes, and half of the packages. Delightful. Lucky it had rained last night. I would have considered jinxing the pompous riders, but as it was, I would probably drop my purchases in the day old muck instead. I decided to instead take note of who stepped out of the carriage, and to make the rest of their schooling life Hel. Subtly, of course.

Standing, I inspected my hands from above the mound of packages in my arms. Both of which were now coated in blood. This supposedly perfect day was becoming an ever-growing nuisance. Huffing, I continued up the cobbled path for yet another five minutes before reaching the doors to the entrance hall. The students had by now been relocated to the Great Hall, the first years waiting to enter through the side doors. Alone, I Intended to place my purchases in the nearest broom closet until after the Feast. Priorities be damned, I was too dirty, and too hungry to comprehend doing otherwise. In my haste, I failed to notice the rune circle still decorating the floor of the entrance hall until I had slipped over on the slick surface of the magic running through it. My skull cracked against the marble. I groaned. To fall twice in one day due to my own inattention. I really was becoming too careless. Looking around, I could see the parcels scattered everywhere, noticing that my vision was darkening. My body became limp, limbs no longer heeding my orders.

I saw my hand, blood running down it, fall lifelessly onto the closest rune. My vision blackened.

Godric is really going to make sure I never forget this...

My first conscious thought.

I opened my eyes a crack, expecting to see the roof of the hospital wing, greeted instead by the cavernous ceiling of the Entrance Hall. Voices whisper around me.

Voices...? Why can't I see anyone? I thought, offended as I could be in my foggy state. A much more awake voice replied, Because you're on your back, on the floor, fool.

I grimaced. Trust the sarcastic side of my mind to awaken first. Holding that facial expression, I tried sitting. There wasn't anybody there.

"Gryffindor!" a raspy voice cried, followed by muffled clapping. Not whispering; Sorting.

I frowned deeper. Shouldn't they have looked for me before beginning the ceremony? Looking around, I realised the supplies had already been collected. None of my fellows would leave me there, had I been found. Perhaps it was an elf? But which elf would be so nasty? They're such caring creatures...

Concentrating, I glared at the floor. What a conundrum.

What...? Wait! The circle's gone!

I worked on recalling my last moments of consciousness. I had slipped, then blacked out.

The rune! My hand! Blood!

I paled. What had I done? I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings. Wasn't that what the people of my House did? How could I be so foolish.

Breathe!

I inhaled slowly.

Mustn't panic. There must be a reasonable explanation of what's happened... I told Godric to clean those runes up when he was done with them! ...Must go into the Hall. Nothing bad has happened. The circle seems to have transported the goods away. We can purchase more... But, it used my blood. And they started the ceremony without me...? Nonsense, all is well. Everyone probably assumes I'm still in Diagon Alley.

I stand, gentle on my right leg, which I seem to have strained in the fall.

First things...

I heal the open wounds in my hands; something I should have done long ago. Then, straightening myself, I unhitch my skirts, and wipe them of the mud as well as I can with my hands. With all our magic, we still haven't found a way to scour clothes of dirt. I would find that thought humorous, if it wasn't my dress covered in mud. I look myself over one last time before deciding I am as clean as humanly possible. I find myself hoping for my hair to be in order, though I have no time to check. I'm already late for the Sorting.

I inhale deeply once more, before I push the doors to the Great Hall open. Keeping my eyes ahead, I make my way towards the Head Table, on its raised platform. I feel the students' eyes on my figure as I move. I smirk.

False confidence leads to amazing results...

I tip my head towards the woman holding the Sorting Hat poised above a gaping youngling's head.

"Good day," I smile, then falter as I realise I don't know her name. We were to expect several new arrivals this year, but I'd have thought someone so stern and commanding of attention would not have passed my notice. Frowning, I turn to the Head Table before me. Godric isn't there. Neither are Rowena, or Helga, and a particularly sour-looking man currently resides in what is meant to be my seat. I glare at him profusely. Amicably, he returns the gesture with equal force.

Arse.

But I do not dwell on it for too long. A suspicion begins niggling at the back of my mind. I turn my gaze towards the students already seated at their House tables, searching. The uniforms are odd... No one appears familiar. Not even Helena is visible - not in the group waiting to be sorted, not at the tables. My heart clenches.

Fighting to keep calm, I continue on my way to the Head Table, halting in front of an elderly wizard with sparkling eyes. I curtsy, my eyes catching sight of a blackened arm.

How curious...

"Pardon me, M'lord," I say, sounding more polite than I feel, and by rights should be, both, "But do you mind telling me where this is?"

The man nods, looking quite amused by my query. I understand him completely.

"This, my dear, is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he rasps out in a friendly tone, and I nod along.

I know. I built it.

He continues.

"And I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of this school."

That information halts me in my tracks. He smiles, still seemingly oblivious to my inner turmoil.

"Who might you be, miss?" he asks. I snap out of my daze.

"Huh?" I articulate.

Oh, congratulations. That will win them over... My conscious starts to clap for me, a snarky sound. I'd almost blush, if I wasn't already so filled with dread.

"I'm, uh, Sally," I reply into the man's ever-pleasant eyes. Dumbledore inclines his head.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Sally," he says. I wince.

Damned be Gryffindor and his humiliating nicknames!

You'd almost swear that he was deriving pleasure from my now obvious discomfort. So much for my 'masks'. I'd probably have fainted by now if not for the intensely distrustful glare the seat-hog is still sending my way. I grin back.

"I would say the same, but I'm...I need to know something," I say, quiet as I can, feeling the entire castle population's eyes raking over me.

The incredible Salazar Slytherin...outdone by a sloppy practice rune...

I clench my fists.

Professor Dumbledore sits back casually, pressing his bony fingers together to create a peak.

"Ask away, my dear," he waves one hand in consent. I cough.

I will NOT be nervous.

"What is-" I find myself clearing my throat once more, "What is the date?"

The Headmaster looks slightly surprised, and even that disrespectful furniture-snatcher turns the hatred in his gaze down to a low simmer.

"My dear, did you not set your watch?" the Professor asks in a fatherly tone. I start.

What the ruddy Hel is a watch?

Don't be crude, dear...

I know the shock is written plain across my face, so I use it to my advantage.

"Yes," I say, sounding perplexed, "However did you know?"

The man smiles serenely, "I forgot to set my own, this morning, and was almost late for the Sorting."

The dark-haired man stops glaring for a minute, taking the chance to scoff. My eyes flit between the pair; oblivious to shrewd, and back again. Dumbledore is still smiling.

"I'm afraid mine is a few minutes off, my dear," he said, looking at a silver bracelet on his wrist. The centre of which was a constellation of moons and stars, all rotating slowly, "But I believe it to be between seven and seven-thirty post meridiem, on the 1st of September."

I nod eagerly, expecting him to go on, but all I am met with is another blind grin.

"I expect you'll know the year," he states, amused. I do not appear to be leaving this situation easily.

"Actually," I say, "I was wondering if you could tell me that as well?"

Cue pleasant grin.

I get another smile back, "But of course! Isn't it tremendous when one loses track of time? The year is 1996."

This time I do choke.

"Ex-excuse me?" I squeak. I know I'm not doing myself any favours by the glaring one, but I am beyond caring.

"1996, my dear," he replies jovially.

I don't know how long I stand there with my mouth hanging open, but when I snap out of it, my first word is a high-pitched squeak.

"Gry...Gryffi...inndor.."

A/N: How horrible am I, making Salazar a woman and stuff? :P

Yeah, I just want to break canon history. :D

I'd just like to note a few things here:

*I'm sorry for any remaining spelling mistakes. I started writing this at 4 in the morning, and I CANNOT write that early. I have edited the above about 50 times, but I can't help everything.

*Once more, so tired I used the word 'satin' in place of 'stated' at one point, so if you see any of THOSE mistakes, please notify me. I'll fix it when I'm properly awake.

*Anything else that seems unintelligible, ditto. Tell me, I'll fix (unless you're talking about the whole 'woman' thing, in which case...no).

*I have the entire back-story planned, so is all good.