A/N: Hi all! This is a little gift fic for Miss. Silver Star, who was the tenth reviewer on a particular chapter of 'By Candlelight'. See kids? Reviewing pays off!

Cross-fanfictional dedication to sarhea, who helped me fall in love with this pairing. I hope you enjoy this little three-shot!

~SSHG~

Sometimes I amaze even myself, Zar thought to himself as he put the room through its paces. Columns and creatures arose from nothing at his command, disappearing when he no longer needed them. His Room of Requirement would truly be a marvel, a fitting addition to the wonderful school he had built with his only equals in this age: Godric, Rowena, and Helga.

In all honesty, he considered Rowena more his equal than the rest – Godric and Helga were quite intelligent, but Rowena was downright brilliant. Too bad she was already married and with child, otherwise she would have made a good wife for him.

In his youth, Salazar had unfortunate romp that resulted in a child – a girl if he remembered correctly – but the mother wanted nothing to do with him. Still, he supported them as much as he was allowed and sent his illegitimate daughter gold and trinkets every six months or so. The locket he sent her last year had gone down particularly well, if her mother's cease-and-desist letter was anything to go by.

Salazar grinned to himself. He loved riling up Morrigan, even from afar. It was a pity she was as stupid as she was beautiful, otherwise she would have made a good wife. However, the whole unpleasant experience put him off women for some time. It seemed that by the time he looked up, all the good ones were taken.

Now here he was: settled in his profession and almost halfway through his thirtieth year of life. It was time to settle down and secure his lineage. Sure, he could let his mother arrange a match for him and hope that she picked someone good... but in his arrogance, he couldn't imagine anyone but himself picking out a suitable partner. This future and unfound wife would have to be clever, cunning, resourceful, and beautiful.

Most of all, though, he wanted a partner. His parents had a loving marriage, as did his brothers and sisters with their respective spouses, and Salazar perceived that their harmony came from equality and trust. Though many witches and Muggles had approached the powerful wizard, none lit that fire in his soul or earned his unwavering respect. He would deny it til his dying day, but Salazar Slytherin was a bit of a romantic and entirely a perfectionist.

If he was going to marry, he was going to do it properly.

Too bad this room cannot find the one thing I require above all, he chuckled as he headed for the door.

Unfortunately, the room took that as a kind of challenge.

~SSHG~

Hermione Granger was having a bad day. A bad week, actually. Okay, okay, more like a bad six months – and for once it was nothing to do with the unruly state of her hair.

Shortly after the turn of the year, Professor McGonagall mentioned in her monthly letter that Professor Brewer, the fifth Potions professor at Hogwarts in as many years, was leaving at the end of the current school year. The Headmistress was in a dither about who could possibly be qualified enough to fill the position where so many had failed!

Slytherin, the woman was not.

Though to be fair, Hermione was one of the most prodigious products of the Potions curriculum in at least one hundred years. Her research combining Runes with potions for greater efficacy, or previously undiscovered uses, had made her a desirable resource for the Ministry, St. Mungo's, and even Gringotts (who loved her variation on Veritaserum for sealing contracts). At the ripe old age of twenty-six, Hermione found herself in demand from all sides yet itching for a new challenge. She was stalled in her latest bout of research, and rationalized that interaction with young unformed minds might stimulate her own creativity.

Her then-fiance, Ron Weasley, was less than delighted by Hermione's decision to return to the halls of their youth. As a Keeper for the Chudley Cannons he was on the road often, but he seemed to expect that Hermione would be home and have dinner on the table whenever he deigned to return (often without warning, quite often interrupting a delicate experiment). His unwillingness to support her had been the final tear in the fabric of their relationship – leading to a few awful weeks when the Prophet eviscerated her for choosing a career over her man, Ginny and Molly stopped speaking to her, and Harry chose to avoid both her and Ron rather than pick a side.

That was all weeks ago now. Things had settled down once she and Ron were out of their old place: Harry had started speaking to them both again, and it had been at least two weeks since Molly's last Howler. After finishing the last of her unpacking she decided to meander the castle and enjoy the summertime quiet while contemplating her latest potion – a variation on Amortentia that allowed the drinker to only be attracted to their true love, rather than the brewer.

After being at Hogwarts almost two weeks, it was about time that something strange happened to her.

~SSHG~

No one was more surprised than Salazar when he exited the Room of Requirement and tripped over the woman on the other side. He spun so that as they fell she landed on top of him, both landing on the cold flagstones with loud 'oofs'. After a moment spent frozen in shock, the woman raised her eyes to meet his.

Being Salazar Slytherin, he was able to school his expression to hide his shock. The woman had the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen, doe-like yet gleaming with intelligence. Her hair frizzed out in all directions from her petite-boned face. Her body was pressed against his quite intimately – softness and curves and he hoped she would get up soon otherwise she'd find out about the part of his body that he was quite unable to control.

Almost like she had lit a spark within him.

The woman scrambled to her feet, giving him a chance to view her attire. His eyebrows knit together in confusion. She was wearing trousers, some kind of shirt, and a black over-robe.

She spoke and held out her hand, but he found that he could not understand her.

Her confused expression mirrored his own.

~SSHG~

When the strange man spoke, it was like listening to someone speak English through a filter of German and bad French. Hermione was confused.

"Where did you come from?" she asked again. The stranger's expression darkened, which was really a shame because it added to the pleasantness of his features instead of detracting from them. Hermione's face darkened with a blush as she dropped her hand – the man was clearly not going to accept it.

"Do you speak English?" she asked, and the man continued to gaze at her in frustration (and dare she think it, lust?). This would never do. With a roll of her eyes, she turned towards the Headmistress's office. The man cried out, but Hermione motioned him to follow her instead of responding verbally. There was no sound of movement, so she glanced over her shoulder and was surprised to see him already a few steps behind her.

"You certainly are stealthy," she said. "I wonder where you popped in from? The only thing up here is the Room of Requirement, but I never knew it to turn out fit men before. That certainly would have come in handy when I was a lonely teenager with only books and two immature boys to keep me company. If I had known I only had to stroll past on a sunny afternoon in July while thinking about a potion that gives me my true love for the Room to take pity on me and send me a fit bloke, I might have done it sooner. Let's get you to McGonagall to see if you're just a figment of my desperate imaginings."

She knew he didn't understand her, that's why she was talking so much.

~SSHG~

The woman had deduced he didn't understand her, so why was she talking so much? Salazar was getting frustrated with the strange woman, but not enough to dim his situational awareness. Those stained glass windows were not of his making, or his friends', and he would be damned if he had any barbarian suits of armor in his school! He hissed in displeasure at the British armor – as a native of Ireland, those suits symbolized repression and hatred, not safety.

Finally, they arrived at a monstrous statue. The woman said something and the statue hopped aside, gesturing them to the stairs it guarded. Once Salazar set his foot on the stairs, a little way behind the beautiful woman, they started moving. What a waste of magic, he thought. I could just climb the stairs like a man!

At the top, a second female voice bid them enter. Inside, there was an elderly witch in tartans sitting behind a large, heavy-set desk. Paintings of witches and wizards looked down from all sides, making Salazar uncomfortable. He sensed many eyes on him, and heard several gasps from the nastier-countenanced paintings.

The woman he had run into spoke to the woman behind the desk, who regarded Salazar with a single raised brow. He was reminded forcibly of Helga, who, though kind, was extremely strict. A painting of an old white-bearded wizard behind the elderly woman said something with a chuckle.

"Oh!" the beautiful woman said, a look of excitement on her face. She turned to Salazar with a smile.

"Linguistica Veritas!" she incanted with a flick of her wand. "Do you understand me now?"

"Yes..." Salazar said, the word feeling strange yet familiar on his tongue.

"It worked!" the woman giggled, clapping her hands together. "I've never used that spell before – I like to learn the language before I go to a foreign country-"

"Is this, or is this not Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" Salazar interrupted.

~SSHG~

"Indeed it is, sir," McGonagall replied, giving the stranger a stern glare. "And how did you come to be on the premises? The wards did not alert me that any visitors were at the gates, much less wandering the seventh-floor and running over my Potions Mistress."

"I hardly think I'm a visitor," the handsome stranger drawled. "I am one of the founders of this school, and I would thank you to extend me some courtesy, Lady...?"

"Impossible," McGonagall breathed, voicing Hermione's thoughts.

"What an odd name," the Founder commented. "Well then Lady Impossible-"

"No, I meant that it's impossible for you to be one of the Founders," McGonagall said. "Hogwarts has existed for almost one thousand years. If you were who you say you are, then you should look at least twice your age."

Hermione had a bad feeling about this.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir, what is your name?" Hermione asked, hesitation in her tone.

With a courteous bow, the man took her hand. "I am Salazar Slytherin, student of Merlin and a Founder of this illustrious institution." Much to Hermione's surprise, he kissed her hand with a roguish wink. "And you are?"

"Hermione Granger," she said, snatching her hand back. "Professor, graduate of Gryffindor, and mudblood." She spat the last word, turning to McGonagall without catching the confusion on Slytherin's face. "May I be excused, Headmistress? I'm sure that you can clear up this matter without me."

"Of course, Hermione," McGonagall whispered, gesturing for the younger woman to leave. Hermione left without looking back at the man who, for all intents and purposes, had ruined her life.

~SSHG~

"Was it something I said?" Salazar asked as the young woman – Hermione – left the room.

"Rather something your descendant did, and your House, and really actually yes it's something you did," the older woman said, sitting down in a huff.

"And what is it I've done, Lady I-Refuse-to-Give-My-Name?" he asked, taking a seat before the desk despite her lack of offering one. Everyone started talking at once – the Headmistress and most of the portraits, though some seemed too angry to speak.

"Your vendetta against Muggle-borns made that young woman's life miserable!" McGonagall shouted, causing Salazar to jump back to his feet in alarm. Maybe it would be wise to move out of hexing distance. "Your House has been the bastion of bigotry and elitism for longer than most can remember, and Hermione, being the brilliant girl she is, was systematically targeted by Slytherins for the majority of her student life. And don't even get me started on your descendant. Tom Riddle -"

"If I may be allowed to defend myself?" Salazar interrupted. Is everyone in this time so rude? "What supposed vendetta against Muggle-borns?"

The room was silent.

"You don't hate Muggle-borns?" The white-bearded portrait asked. Salazar snorted.

"That would be rather counter-productive, seeing as I am one."