Helga Hufflepuff was proud to claim herself an expert in what she knew, the Healing Art. She was the best in portion brewing, and had a deep fascination in herbs. There was no wound the witch could not heal, no damage brought to body beyond her abilities to cure. She was the one magical people called "Healer", and the very same "Witchdoctor" rumoured about.

Nonetheless, Helga Hufflepuff shook her head in disapproval upon examining the bushy haired girl. Rescued and brought to the safety of the castle by Salazar Slytherin himself, and now lying there motionlessly in the narrow bed.

Hermione, was the girl's name; a skinny little thing with a heart shaped face, pointy shoulders and a huge mane of untameable hair. Her skin was pale and spotless but for a few peculiar scars, the most remarkable of which was a slash across her chest, forming a long purple line down to the left side of her belly.

Helga Hufflepuff raised her wand purposely over the slightly bulging seam and soon enough, was forced to admit the inevitable and most discouraging truth. Whoever brought upon the girl that grieving injury, was definitely a well-skilled in dark incantations wizard. Helga frowned and stepped aside. It was unusual to encounter something she was unable to deal with. That made the young lady Hermione even more intriguing.

"A lady, indeed," Helga Hufflepuff muttered and as a woman of great experience, she carried no doubt in that respect.

Despite the layers of dirt and soot covering the bruised skin, Hermione had no trace of calluses on her palms and feet. Her pink-skinned feet were soft, tender and delicate. Those feet could not have been possibly shoved into heavy boots or exposed to cold weather. Hermione Granger's petit body looked fragile enough to be snapped in halves by the slightest blowing of the winter wind. There was no doubt that, the girl knew no labour.

And so Helga, in spite of Salazar's snide "filthy beggars" remarks, no longer called into question the girl's ancestry. Helga Hufflepuff fairly concluded that Hermione Granger was a presentable and well-educated lady, from a respectable family.

Helga easily drew the most common picture of what could have happened to Lady Hermione that she ended up in such a pitiful state and at their mercy. Those could have been the usual strange and mysterious things Hermione might have been ignorantly involved in. The unfortunate signs of uncontrollable magical abilities, discovered by non-magical people, possibly even family members.

"Did they banish her?" Helga mussed, as she gently spread a healing balm over the girl's burns. "Did they disinherit her?"

Upon finishing tending to Lady Hermione's needs, Helga covered her body with a thin blanket and left the chamber for a short rest. Dawn was approaching and she had two teaching classes first thing in the morning.

The witch smiled imagining the amount of questions her students were going to attack her with. Lady Hermione's shocking appearance shook everyone off their daily routine. But what troubled her more was that Salazar Slytherin insisted on questioning Hermione as soon as she was awake.

Helga sighed heavily. It might be of help to the girl if she, Helga, would be present during the interrogation. Although, Helga doubted that her presence could be of any essential help, except for some psychological support. The witch hoped that Hermione would have nothing to hide, as she could hardly name anything more provoking to Salazar Slytherin than the concealed truth and secrets wrapped in a guarded silence or worse… lies.

Hermione stirred in her bed. She heard the door shut with a heavy thud and that very instant her eyes flew open. For a few minutes, she simply stared into the darkness, thoughts buzzing in her mind like an orchestra of bees. It was not difficult pretending to be asleep. Her body felt stiff, numb and senseless due to the many potions the woman forcefully fed her with. The old witch had a habit of quietly muttering under her nose – incantations, potion names, and most importantly her point of view on everything. That was helpful. It assured Hermione that she indeed had travelled in time and hadn't gone nuts as she suspected.

Hermione blinked and tried to move either of her stiff, turned-into-a-pair-of-bricks arms. The task was not easy but after what seemed like ten minutes of panting, moaning and struggling, tears glistering in her eyes, she managed to stand up on her wobbly legs.

She needed clothes, but there was none. With the growing feeling of dread and helplessness, she grabbed the gray blanket from the bed and wrapped it twice around her trembling body.

"What am I going to do?" she said into the darkness, her voice barely a whisper.

Hermione looked around. The room in which she was placed was large and spacious. Pale moonlight shone through the three enormous windows upon two more beds and a few crooked stools near the dark stone wall. But it was the view from the window that caught Hermione's attention. Warily she stepped forward. What she saw left her breathless. There were no alleys, or professor Sprout's green houses, no benches under the trees, where the students spend their free time between the classes. The Hogwarts' grounds looked neglected and the Forbidden Forest seemed to be closer, stretching its thickness and menacing threats to a proximity of a hundred meters.

Hermione's lips twitched into a small smile. Draco Malfoy would have peed his pants, had he been forced to enter this forbidden forest. Not that she would be willing to go there herself any time soon. Hermione wondered what the castle itself looked like at this time. Curiosity seemed to have temporarily assuaged her fears.

Hermione's gaze fell on the valley down the hill, where Hagrid's cabin was supposed to stand. She bit her lower lip and stopped suppressing the tears. How could she be interested in the view outside, if she didn't even know how she happened to travel so far back in time? About a thousand years backward.

She wondered if any of the exciting Time Turners in the future could transport anyone that far. She was sure about a few hours, possibly days, but most definitely not centuries! She seriously doubted that her teachers would ever have entrusted her with the Time Turner, if they had been aware of the danger of being lost in time. That couldn't be the Time Turner. Besides, Hermione couldn't remember having one in her possession since her third year at Hogwarts. How could she even? And what for? Hermione shook her head. She honestly couldn't remember anything at all after Mr Weasley and she, went to retrieve professor Snape's body. The lump on her heard was as prominent as before, for the smallest exception that it no longer pained. Could it be that she hit her head and lost her memories?

Deep in her thoughts, Hermione continued staring outside in disbelieve, despair and bitter tears clouding her vision. It was that moment when a dark hidden-in-shadows figure of a man finally decided to move. The chilly grey eyes of Salazar Slytherin lay transfixed on Hermione's slender, half-exposed back. His dark eyebrows furrowed as he drank in the sight with a bothering feeling of unease.

She looked smaller than he remembered. Her bare shoulders and thin long arms were pale and fair, skin shinning like a pearl in the gracing light of the moon. Curly brown hair reaching her lower back in knots and tangled strands. It was the colour of pure honey, glistening in shiny waves.

Salazar's jaw clenched.

He made a determined step forward intending to startle the girl and break the enchanting allure. But she didn't move. Unaware of his presence, Hermione continued gazing at the dark landscapes at the foot of Hogwarts' castle with a curious surprise in her almond eyes.

Salazar couldn't help but wonder what colour they were. The girl let out a small sigh and lowered her eyes. She was thinking about something unpleasant, Salazar was sure, as her eyes lost the gleam of unusual, but certainly witnessed by him, spark of the insatiable curiosity.

Salazar peered into her profile, looking for mischief or any signs of a foe. Finding none, he could not restrain a growl of frustration which at last broke through the girl's mysterious demeanour.

With a muffled yelp, Hermione spun around. Her eyes wide and fearful when she recognised the giant male figure menacingly looming over her. Salazar Slytherin was dressed in loose black tunic over a white linen shirt and tight woollen pants the same colour. The tunic was girdled at the waist and reached his knees. Unlike the shirt, it was short sleeved and trimmed with a silver braid. Fastened to his hip was a long sword sheathed in leather.

Hermione raised her eyes and was met with a cold silver scrutinizing glare.

"Mister… Sly…the…rin…" she mumbled stammering on every syllable.

"She probably meant "Master"" he thought scowling at her and then asked:

"I trust you are feeling better?"

Hermione shuddered. His voice was deep and husky, with a prominent note of thundering dominance over everyone and everything.

She nodded reluctantly, not trusting herself to speak again. Salazar looked at her suspiciously. What was wrong with this girl? Why wasn't she blushing, squealing, and running away to conceal her nudity from his ravenous stare?

Minx!

He continued looking at her intently, with his narrow eye slits.

Hermione shivered, her hold onto the blanket tightened. She bit her lower lip, made a tiny step backwards and then raised her chin defensively.

Salazar forgot what he wanted to ask. He found himself completely lost and out of words when the light brown eyes of the richest cinnamon firmly took in his invading features. Those eyes were stunning! Framed by thick curled lashes intertwined at the corners. They were burrowing intently into the depths of his tainted soul, wrenching his very heart and surprisingly… soothing.

Salazar backed away. Fury immediately filled his brain. Salazar Slytherin was fleeing from a pair of brown eyes? That would never happen!

Hands clenched into fists as he stepped even closer, forcing the girl to stumble backwards. He wanted to strangle her for daring to look at him with those magnifying defiant eyes.

"You are to listen carefully to every word I am going to say now, girl. Otherwise, Merlin my witness, my own hands will see to your end. "

The girl nodded again, her wide eyes instantly loosing the defensive fire.

"I am Salazar Slytherin, the founder of… this school. You are to obey every word of mine or I'd feed you to werewolves."

Hermione neither moved nor dared to breathe.

"In a week from today, I will decide your fate. If you are deemed worthy of studying magic, you are to stay in the grounds and learn. If not-" he paused, breathing hard. He seemed to have a short fight with himself before continuing. "You are to be appointed to other… duties."

Hermione blinked. Her lips twitched, as they always did when she was about to ask a question, but again… she didn't dare.

"Is that understood?" he asked quietly after a significant pause.

Hermione nodded and he stepped away. When he was a few inches away, Hermione felt as if a mountainous load had been shoved off her shoulders. She could finally breathe again.

He continued staring at her though, forcing Hermione to lower her eyes to his black knee-length covered-in-dirt boots. This encounter was as scary and unsettling as Salazar Slytherin himself who was but a whisper away.

Hermione wished she was dressed. That would have given her some confidence. She could not feel shy or embarrassed at this moment because the encounter with Slytherin was too shocking for her to brood over such trifles. But on the other hand, her inner precautious self-warned her sheepishly, not against the most powerful wizard of all times, but against a man he was. Hermione raised her head and met his gawp and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. That seemed to bring the man into his senses. He waved his hand abruptly and a pile of neatly folded robes appeared on a stool near her bed.

"You are to wear these" he ordered and in three giant steps left the chamber. For some time, Hermione stood still, staring at the vast space his impaling form had been occupying just a few seconds ago. Then slowly she turned her head towards the clothes.

She'd better be dressed before another more shocking encounter. Although she doubted that anyone in that timeline could be scarier and more intimidating than Salazar Slytherin, she decided against giving anyone else a chance to gaze at her half naked body. She hurriedly put on the strange silky garments. All this time, she was unaware of the grey scrutinising eyes fixated on her exposed forms from the dark.

When a week later Hermione Granger entered the former Great Hall, she was not at all surprised by the rise of fluttering murmurs and penetrating stares everyone, including the founders of Hogwarts welcomed her with. Hermione didn't have a chance to get someone's approval on her appearance. But she knew she looked decent and probably beautiful in the long robes of dark periwinkle. She had to admit that Salazar Slytherin had a good taste, concerning the outer attire. In the pile of clothes he left for her the other night, she found a long chemise of linen with a low neck and short sleeves. Over it, as Hermione guessed, came a tunic, the same shape as chemise. It covered Hermione from neck to feet and had long, tight sleeves. That tunic was of dark periwinkle colour, trimmed with wide strips of golden braid at the neck, wrists and round the hem. The last garment of beige colour left her in doubts for some time. She couldn't decide whether she should wear it or not, for her first dinner in the Great Hall. It looked similar to the tunic, but shorter with shorter sleeves. As nervous as Hermione was before the upcoming parade of hers, she decided to put it on.

Now that she was standing in the middle of a staring medieval crowd, Hermione felt overdressed. The air in the hall was warm and welcoming. The sweet aroma of well cooked dishes made her mouth water. Hastily she circled a few grand round tables with four or five students by each, and at last, found an unoccupied chair. The unpleasant feeling of being continuously in the centre of attention was unnerving and she almost tripped over the hem of her robe. Squaring her shoulders, Hermione walked towards the unoccupied chair with only girls at the table. Later, when she had time to survey her surroundings, she noticed that their sitting arrangements were not a simple coincidence. Girls and boys were indeed dining separately, which shouldn't have been surprising for her, considering the century she was now living in. As Hermione sat down and arranged her robes, she felt the cool familiar eyes of Salazar Slytherin scrutinising her frame. She raised her chin and tried to compose her unsettled nerves. Determined to ignore curious and indignant stares from every corner of the hall, Hermione took a sip of scolding black tea from an enormous mug, her thoughts drifting far from the tumult she had caused with her arrival.

"You are Lady Hermione Granger?" asked the girl with the shinning black hair combed in a form of a crown.

Hermione gave a reluctant nod. The girl on her left beamed.

"You have been treated for a week!" she continued. "Have all the burns come off your body?"

The other three girls' faces lit up in curiosity.

"Almost."

Hermione didn't want to go into details about anything at all with the residents of the medieval Hogwarts, but she also didn't want to appear rude.

"Just a few burns on my shins are left," she added, helping herself with a large piece of warm bread.

"Oh, I am sorry," said another girl in a squeaky voice. "Have you really been caught?"

"Yes…" exhaled Hermione nibbling on her bread and wondering what kind of future was awaiting her.

"For your information, we all saw you!" the same girl went on and Hermione lifted her head to face her. The girl had carrot like hair, almost orange by color, and her accent seemed to be slightly… Scottish.

"I am Melinda McWeazl"

McWeazl?

Hermione stared dumbfounded at the girl's freckles.

Weasley?

Could it really be?

"Nice to meet you," Hermione mumbled, tea and bread instantly forgotten.

She was hardly aware that the other girls followed suit in presenting themselves. She just couldn't stop staring.

Come to think of it, Ron's hair was slightly darker and his skin was not that pale. His eyes were bright blue, and the Scottish girl in front of her had the eyes of a dark green moor.

But still… McWeazl?

Hermione dropped her eyes and squeezed the mug.

"You were telling you saw me…" she reminded Melinda.

"Oh, yes!" Melinda smiled and went on. "We were all having a lesson on the opposite side of the lake. Lady Ravenclaw was most displeased at the interruption of her lesson, I must say. But she summoned Lord Slytherin and then escorted us back to the castle."

"I see…" Hermione bit her bottom lip.

If only she had realized straight away that somehow she had been transported through time, she would have never allowed herself that slip of tongue. Telling her real name to Salazar Slytherin was the gravest mistake she had ever done in her life. She could only guess what kind of impact that piece of information would have on her future. Having Salazar Slytherin breathing down her very neck was indeed most discouraging.

"That might have been so romantic!" the girl on her right exclaimed in delight. "To be saved by Lord Slytherin!" Nobody noticed Hermione's scowl. "Have you both talked at all?"

"Not much," Hermione lied. "I passed out immediately."

"Oh, right."

Hermione could see that they were disappointed. But the least she wanted was for them to have any kind of side thoughts. Hermione had already decided to become as invisible and unremarkable as it could possibly be, considering her surroundings and the lack of knowledge about medieval age.

"Look!" the fourth girl with golden hair and sparkling tiara jumped on her chair. "Sir Adam!"

Hermione turned her head towards the entrance and saw a tall, aristocratically built young man with remarkable pale skin and hair so fair it reminded her of Malfoys. She suppressed a shudder and returned to her breakfast.

"Isn't he gorgeous?" one of the girls asked in a dreamy voice and suddenly all of them burst into stupid giggles. Apparently girls giggle at all times.

Hermione wriggled uncomfortably on her chair and gave them a weak smile. Her facial appreciation of Sir Adam's attributes might have been passable and in a moment, the girls continued their energetic chattering.

That gave Hermione an opportunity to relax and, while sipping her tea, she sunk deep into her thoughts. She couldn't do much without her wand. That she considered to be the main obstacle to her salvation. The tiny possibility of her being thrown through time without her wand, for a second flashed through Hermione's mind. The next second, she discarded it. She couldn't possibly let go of her wand, unless she was forced to. Setting on this thought, Hermione decided to search for her wand next day at dawn. She looked around and here it hit her.

She didn't see anyone carrying a wand! Come to think of it, Hermione didn't see any of the students using magic, or possessing a magic attribute, such as a wand. She frowned at that indeed strange discovery. Hermione thought hard. There were also some other things that didn't go unnoticed. The clothes she wore during the bonfire disappeared as well as her other personal things. She wondered if Helga Hufflepuff disposed of them and if her beaded bag was among those things. A tiny hope that her wand together with the beaded bag might still have been lying on the hill struck her with the force of a Hogwarts express. She literally had to stop her legs from running. Now that her mind was set, Hermione's thoughts streamed into another direction.

She wondered if she made the right choice to hide the truth of her origin from the founders and mainly from Salazar Slytherin. The latter was already suspicious on her account. But that was the nature of his wicked mind. Hermione doubted that he would trust her more if he discovered the truth. Most probably she would find herself stuck in this century forever, feeding him with enormous quantity of priceless information of how to dominate over the world and live forever.

A tremor went through her body. She felt exhausted and scared. She really wanted to retrieve her wand. At least to conjure a pair of clean soft knickers she needed so much. She felt her cheeks turning pink from embarrassment. She needed knickers and bras.

"I heard he is engaged to Lucinda!"

"No. That couldn't be true!"

"Yes-yes, I heard so!" that was Melinda talking. "After all", she lowered her voice to a whisper, "it is the only way for her after being discovered."

"You don't really believe in that rumour, do you?"

Melinda shook her head.

"I am positive that she was involved in an affair with him. I saw her coming out of his chambers half-dressed and all crying, remember?"

"You'd better keep your mouth shut about that matter!" hissed the black haired girl, and unintentionally attracting Hermione's attention. "We wouldn't want to put a shade on Lord Slytherin's reputation, would we?"

Hermione frowned in disbelieve. Melinda snorted, very unladylike and ignored the warning.

"It's only reasonable!" she said. "Every girl he gets himself involved with disappears shortly, presumably due to a successful marriage."

"As you just said, those are just girls, Lady Melinda. They have no origin, no family and no name. Personally, I think they got lucky being married at all. As for us "Ladies"..." there was a significant pause. "I think it is more than disgraceful to discuss Lord Slytherin's affair with that… girl… during breakfast. We might as well loose our appetite."

The ladies felt silent. Melinda McWeazl's cheeks flashed pink. Hermione looked at the black haired girl more attentively. She was not the one to cross swords of power with. She seemed dominant and superior and… Hermione's eyes went wide. She recognised her! That girl was Helena, Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter. And although Hermione remembered her only as the Lonely Lady's ghost, she couldn't be mistaken.

For Merlin's sake what did she get herself into? And most importantly how? A gloomy foreboding clawed onto her heart. She felt close to tears. How was she supposed to survive in this world?

"He is looking!" said one of the girls in a hushed and excited whisper.

Hermione indeed felt it at once. It was as if ten fire daggers pierced through her back.

"He does!" exclaimed Melinda, without any attempt to suppress her dislike toward… Salazar Slytherin.

Hermione gulped her tea and tried to pretend indifferent, blind and possibly dead.

But he was still looking. She felt his eyes on her back like a scolding pan. The girls at the table were getting more excited within every second. They were about to start an argument when Hermione felt his gaze move sideways. She exhaled with relief. Hermione didn't know what distracted him, as she couldn't find enough courage to turn and face the founder's table, but she took it as a lucky omen to disappear into the medical chambers.

No one prevented her from leaving the Great Hall. She sensed many eyes cautiously following her steps as she slowly made her way towards the massive doors. Was the Hall that full when she entered it half an hour ago? Hermione was about to praise herself for not tripping over the hem of her dress when she heard a voice calling for her attention.

"Girl! Girl!"

Rooted to the spot, Hermione couldn't move.

Girl?

Rowena Ravenclaw approached Hermione and gracefully inclined her head toward the door on the opposite side of the hall, behind the Founder's dinning table.

"We are about to start discussing your future," she said with a clear distaste in her tone. "Follow me."

Hermione was silent all the way through the hall and down to the dungeons. She wondered why their office was there and immediately thought of Salazar Slytherin. Could it be that they all were under his lead? Hermione felt doomed.

They stopped in front of the black wooden door and Rowena knocked. Precisely three times.

"Enter." The voice undoubtedly was Slytherin's.

Bracing herself together, Hermione took a deep breath and entered the chamber. Fear gripped her with a heightened intensity. What if they decide to throw her out of the school? How would she ever return home? She needed Hogwarts and the knowledge within it. Hermione forced deep breaths, steadied her breathing and lifted her head.

Four pairs of scrutinizing calculative eyes were eyeing her with curiosity (from Gryffindor's side), and suspicion (from everyone else.)

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, clutching to the long skirt of her exquisite gown.

"Girl," Rowena said and for a moment Hermione felt herself falling under the enchantment of the beautiful sparkling diadem the witch wore on her head. She shook her head and forced herself to listen. "You are here to be given the privilege of the knowledge of magic. Tell us. Do you find yourself worthy?"

Hermione's throat became dry. A clear revulsion was written across Rowena Ravenclaw's fair features. Salazar Slytherin was standing not far behind, his face concealed in shadows. Godric Gryffindor's eyebrows were furrowed and he was tapping his fingers impatiently on the table. Only Helga Hufflepuff seemed to bear a calm and wise countenance.

Hermione nodded.

"Yes, I deem myself worthy of the knowledge that Hogwarts can provide."

"So be it," pronounced Godric. He pulled his hat off his head and strode toward Hermione.

Hermione gaped at the Hat in his hand.

Could it be?

He put the hat on her head and stepped aside.

For one painfully long moment, Hermione desperately thought that she might have been mistaken. But then, through the silence of the room, a tiny familiar voice whispered in her ear.

"Tell me, little girl, why do I see myself in your head?"

Hermione's eyes widened. She bit her lip.

"Vey strange," continued the hat quietly. "It seems like you know me and you also know what I intend to do."

Hermione pushed the reply through her mind.

"You are about to sort me into the right House."

"The right… House?" a surprised voice inquired. "But there are no Houses in Hogwarts."

Hermione stopped breathing. Out of the hem of the hat she noticed Helga and Godric exchanging surprised glances.

"There are, where I come from," Hermione replied hesitantly.

"And that would be…" asked the hat only mildly curiously, although Hermione felt a hint of persistence in its voice.

"I come from year 1998 and I need your help… I need to stay in Hogwarts to find the way to travel back… home."

"A time traveller," the hat sang amused. It was silent for a while.

"And in your …time, I sort children into… Houses?"

"Yes!" Hermione thought eagerly. "There are four Houses named after the founders of Hogwarts. Every year you sort the kids into the appropriate Houses. Although…" she paused.

"Yes?" the hat asked eagerly.

"You call everyone to unite. You are… You say we are not different from each other. "

Hermione concentrated and pushed the memories of the sortings she remembered forward.

The hat fell silent for a very long time. When it finally spoke again, its tiny voice was quivering.

"I see," it said. "Miss Granger, I am most grateful for the most enlightening conversation I have had so far. I shall decide how to prevent the unsuccessful events the future holds. After all, I have one thousand years to think."

Hermione gulped and shook her head vigorously.

"Oh no, we are not supposed to meddle with time! Bad things happen. Bad things!"

"As for your persona," the hat continued, playing deaf to the girl's worried pleas. "I agree with my future self. Ravenclaw would be a good master for you. However…" Hermione held her breath. "I didn't place you there, did I?"

"N-no…I-I asked you to put me into Gryffindor… and… you did."

"That's what I thought."

The hat's discontent voice made Hermione tremble in apprehension.

"Gryffindor was good for me," she thought and decided to make a slight push. "But given the circumstances, I think this time Hufflepuff will be most…"

The Hat interrupted her meek attempt to influence its decision almost instantly.

"Neither of the masters you have mentioned would be of help to you in this time. As I see in your thoughts you always knew that. The only wizard in possession of the knowledge you seek is Slytherin."

Hermione stiffened, her eyes rounded in fear.

"No!" she thought desperately. "I am not a pureblood! I am not worthy of… Slytherin House. I am mud-blood! I can not be chosen to be taught by Salazar Slytherin!"

"Now that I hear your pleas I start doubting my future self's sanity. Gryffindor's first request was to accept only the brave in heart."

"I am brave!" whimpered Hermione, not realising she was speaking out loud.

"We shall see about that," replied the hat with a frightening determination.

"Hufflepuff!" Hermione begged inside her head. "I am not a pureblood! If Slytherin finds out, he will kill me and destroy you!"

"What he doesn't know, will not harm him. Secrets are meant to be kept. We will take the risk." It finished in a mocking voice. "We are brave, aren't we?"

Hermione could hardly think straight. Fear clouded her vision.

"Please, don't do it. I will find the way back to my time all by myself. I do not need his help. I… Please…"

"Why, Miss Granger, are you so terrified to take the potion of your own brew?"

Confused, Hermione only managed to gasp a weak "What?" before the hat sternly continued:

"Why Miss Granger, did you show me the future? Wasn't it a sly attempt to persuade me to accept your choice?"

"I…" and she was interrupted again.

"You lied to the Masters concealing the truth!" the hat stated.

"Only because if they knew about the future it could change the course of events! We must not meddle with time! It's dangerous!"

"Oh, but using this knowledge here and now for your own benefit is acceptable?"

Hermione's legs started to tremble. A panicked cry left her lips:

"Please! Please! He won't like it!" and then silently. "He will kill me!"

"Master Slytherin does have opinions. But he is young and might as well be persuaded."

"What… What are you saying?"

"Apart from this little issue, I see no reason to deprive him of a company of "the brightest witch of her age". Therefore… SLYTHERIN."

The hat announced its choice so firmly and decisively that everyone except for Slytherin shuddered.

But none of them had the slightest idea that the resoluteness of the hat's voice was just an attempt to persuade itself into thinking that it made the right decision. Apart from Salazar Slytherin being the only wizard who could possibly help Hermione Granger to return to her time, the hat had its own cowardly reasons.

The truth was that the hat got scared and confused. It couldn't understand why it allowed the children of the future to decide for themselves where they wished to study. Was it so desperate to unite the Houses that it dismissed every single rule in sorting apart from "pure" or "dirty" blood origins?

The hat felt devastated. Anger, rivalry, hatred, wild obsession for dominance and power… War… Pain… The hat couldn't peek deeper into Hermione Granger's memories. Fear was coiling around her soul, trapping the girl's heart into death's embrace and ruling over her emotions. However, the hat saw the end and the beginning. Everything from the girl's memories to her fearfulness was coming to one crucial point.

Salazar Slytherin.