2.

Dartmoor - September 1997

The golden light of the lamp hanging from the apex of the tent flickered shadows over her bed. Harry had taken the first watch. The tent was quiet…ish. Ron's snores rumbled and Hermione hated that it was another mark against the wizard upon whom she'd set her heart.

He'd complained about the hot mushrooms, even when they'd hunted out salt and pepper and the scrapings of butter from an old larder secreted away behind one of the tent flaps. He'd complained about the water. He compared the simple meal to one of Molly's feasts and almost bitten Hermione's head clean off when she'd dared to mention Gamp's Five Laws.

She huffed and punched her flat and musty pillow. That might have satisfied his ravenous hunger.

Soft laughter threaded through her mind. Yes, she'd been waiting for Salazar to make himself known again. "You said my blood?"

"To the point. Yet, I must set the scene."

There was a hint of a devilish smile and Hermione found a wry smile tugging at her own mouth. "Set away."

In the pause that followed, she could almost feel the arch of an eyebrow. "History has it that my line is male. That I favoured wizards…and despised muggleborns. This is a lie. Yes, my wife bore me sons, but she also gave me a daughter, Theosophia. A brilliant child; an even more brilliant woman."

A heavy sigh flowed through Hermione, tinged with regret. "But my wonderful daughter was born with a prophecy and I…I could not keep her.

"She was meant to bring balance back to our world. How, none of us knew…but the prophecy declared that she couldn't be known to be of my line. We gave her away, set her with a baron and his wife…and pushed into motion the rumours of my…loathing of muggles and muggleborns. To hide her…and any children she bore.

"Theosophia married the baron's nephew. Roger de Belleme. He treated her very well. My wife and I would visit her, as friends of her…father. I remember holding her first child, Sarah..."

He grew silent and the ache of his loss was fresh and sharp.

"She…had no magic?"

"Not a speck. But she spoke eight languages, was adept in mathematics and astrology, loved to hunt, and had a voice of such beauty…" Salazar paused and his voice grew stronger. "Sarah matched her. A jewel of a child. And her daughter…and so on down through the centuries. Always the first-born female. The hidden line of Slytherin."

Heat bloomed in Hermione's chest as wild, impossible connections chased through her brain. No… "My…my blood… I'm a descendent of Theosophia. I'm…your…" She caught her fingers in her hair. "But I thought all of your descendants spoke parseltongue."

"The male line."

Hermione stared up at the stained sweep on the tent fabric as her heart pounded and her brain turned over the impossibility of her being related to…to Salazar Slytherin. The wizard himself was thankfully silent as she tried —and failed— to accept it. But…she did believe him. She did. Something about him, about that deep sure voice rang truth down to her very bones.

"Your basilisk turned me to stone."

"He was the guardian of the Chamber, never meant…" He paused. "I apologise."

"Thank you. But…I mean, I'm not a muggleborn. If —because— I'm related to you."

"You are the first witch with Theosophia's blood. Excepting her, every one of your ancestors was a muggle. You are very much a muggleborn, Hermione Granger, and no lesser for it."

"That's…" She drew in a long breath, surprised at the vehemence in the voice of one she long assumed hated her kind. A screen. It was all a screen. Her thoughts jumped. As she suspected another Slytherin wizard used a similar screen.

"Him. Yes. He is vital."

Hermione blinked. "You can't mean…"

"I'm connected to my portrait at Hogwarts. Severus Snape can be trusted." Salazar snorted. "A damn sight more than that old bastard, Dumbledore."

"Oh now you go too far—"

"Dumbledore forced Snape under an Unbreakable Vow. Merlin, the man was under two of them. Still is. Headmaster Snape is fighting alone to keep the school safe. He needs an ally. And so do you."

"I have—"

"A whining boy and another who's a conduit to the enemy."

Her brows drew together. Tight. "And Severus Snape isn't?"

"He has Riddle's full trust. How successful does that say he is in keeping his secrets?"

"You're biased!"

Rich laughter echoed, seeming to light the air around her and Hermione couldn't stop the quick twitch of her lips. "Of course I am. I would have Severus Snape as my own blood, if I had the magic to do it. More than the bind of being the Head of my Hogwarts House." Salazar sighed. "Caustic, brilliant…but bound resolutely to his own code. And I've not, in my thousand years, known a better liar."

Hermione snorted. "That's not something to admire."

"Is it not?"

There was that ghost of a shaped eyebrow through her mind. She thought of Snape…and wondered if it was a Slytherin House trait passed down through the centuries. Her stomach turned over. Did she have it?

"Am I the end purpose of the prophecy tied to Theosophia? And what about this?" She tapped her finger against the locket under her pyjama top, her thoughts finally straight enough to think clearly. "Tom Riddle is still in there with you. And…how can we destroy that part of him without removing you too? And there are more of them. He…shattered his soul…"

An indulgent warmth suffused her and Hermione blinked. "So like her." The emotion faded and something sure and bright pushed through her. "First, my child…we must pull Headmaster Snape to our side."