1.

Dartmoor - September 1997

"Finally…"

Hermione stilled. Her fingers froze on the golden chain of the horcrux. Oh dear god, was that…was that Vol—

Even in her mind —through Ron's constant griping— she cut off the dark wizard's name. Her heart drummed. Shit, shit, she'd asked Harry if he'd been possessed, and now here she was caught—

A huff broke into the panicked run of her thoughts. "Do I sound anything remotely similar to that…pretender?"

Hermione released the chain and quick fingers dropped it down the front of her shirt. She twitched a smile at a tired Harry. "We can't risk that town with dementors swarming. Is there —I don't know— a farm shop nearby, do you think?"

Harry frowned, obviously pulling at his memory, distracted, and Ron, Ron was still weakened from blood loss and not eating half of his own bodyweight in pies—

She blinked at that waspish thought and strange male laughter chased through her thoughts. "The Weasley whelp is not worthy of you."

"Who are you?"

And why she wasn't flinging the locket from her, she didn't know. That was a lie. She did. Something about the voice in her head was oddly familiar. An echo. A half memory. One that teased and promised to reveal itself…then vanished like morning mist.

Her instincts screamed that he wasn't Voldemort. But instinct was not logic.

"I am what remains of Salazar Slytherin—"

"Mione, are you all right? You've gone a funny colour." Harry put his hand over hers and she snapped her eyes open.

She forced a smile and jerked a nod. "Yes, sorry." She drew in a breath and rubbed her fingers over her forehead. "Tired I think. And stress."

"And hunger," Ron broke in. "You need to get us food, Mione."

"You're choosing him? The boy is a walking stomach."

Hermione frowned. "I can find mushrooms." She was on her feet and out of the tent, the air fresh after the musty, used stink lingering inside. She breathed and wrapped her hand over the heavy locket resting between her breasts.

"You did the same as the…the pretender, then? A horcrux."

Anger swirled through her hot and tight and her legs almost gave out. She grabbed at the trunk of a tree, leaning against it as the blaze of fury bloomed through her entire body. "That's a no?"

The wild surge of emotion faded back and Hermione dug the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. She sagged, breathing. As if her life wasn't already spinning out of control, she now had an ancient wizard tearing through every inch of her flesh.

"I apologise." The male voice —Merlin, Salazar Slytherin— was low and quiet. "I am ashamed of what the male blood of my line has done to our world. That he corrupted this repository…" A sigh followed. "But then, this could be the way it —and I— was meant to reach you."

"Me?"

Hermione squeaked the word aloud and slapped a hand to her mouth. "I don't understand. I'm muggleborn. You…"

"Gather mushrooms for the bottomless pit you wish to be bound to and we will discuss this when you are alone and able to focus."

"He's been injured, and he's used to regular meals, and…"

"Ronald Weasley agreed to this venture, aware that there would be hardships, yes? And yet, the minute his belly is empty he is griping at you to fix it. No suggestions. He did not even offer to help you look."

"He's injured."

"Yes, you would have turned him down. Yet, he did not offer."

Doubt twisted around her heart. She didn't want to listen to a strange voice in her head. She poked about with her wand, a spell lighting edible mushrooms in a white glow. Tugging free a button from her shirt she transfigured it into a low basket and piled the first of her haul into it.

Ron was…Ron. Even coming from a big family, he wasn't used to going hungry. And she was…making excuses for him. She wasn't used to missing meals either, but she wasn't whinging. Hell, he'd considered Grimmauld Place roughing it, with Kreacher on hand to feed them.

She blew out a breath and a flick of her wand trailed more mushrooms into her basket.

"If you want to retain any fondness for this boy, never let him wear this locket."

Hermione closed her eyes, hating that…he was right. It had dragged Harry down all too quickly, Merlin only knew how it would tear into Ron. "And me?"

"Your blood protects you."

Hermione frowned. "My…?"

"Mione, you've been ages. Have you found anything?" Ron's head was out of the tent. "We're starving."

"You deserve better…"

The soft echoing voice of Salazar Slytherin drifted through her mind. And, in that moment, she couldn't help but agree with him.