Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I only play. I am not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.
Chapter 3
The founders of Hogwarts were arguing in hushed vigorous whispers, but the loudest was Gryffindor's tending to raise voice. Lady Ravenclaw looked tense and utterly speechless. She pursed her thin lips, visibly restraining herself from any comment. Helga Hufflepuff on the other hand didn't preoccupy herself with the etiquette code, but she was most certainly losing the battle.
Salazar Slytherin was looming over the three of them with the threatening scowl on his face. His tone was gruff, the intensity menacing, and for once Hermione was grateful she couldn't make out anyone's words. Whatever he said however infuriated little plump Helga Hufflepuff even more. She snapped at Slytherin and turned to Gryffindor for support. Godric shrugged and shook his head.
Furiously flushed Helga pointed her slightly crooked finger at the sorting hat, which was lying motionlessly on the table. Hermione was sure the witch pronounced the words "absurd" and "mistake", before she faced Slytherin again.
A few more tantalizing minutes passed while Hermione was waiting quietly in the centre of the room. She felt calmer now that the sorting was finished. Her thoughts drifted back to the Hat's words and its offensive tone. Was it true that only Salazar held the key to her salvation? She eyed Helga purposely, and then her eyes moved from Gryffindor to Rowena Ravenclaw, and finally landed on Salazar Slytherin. The greatest and most fearful wizard of all time. The one who despised muggleborns and started the decades of blood detestation against her kind.
Hermione didn't want his help. However did she really have a choice? She was stuck in the time of kings and peasants, swords and knight tournaments. She had not a knut in her pocket and was sure that even if she wasn't destitute, it wouldn't be much help considering the insignificant position women carried in the society and men's barbaric views. That was the time when fortresses' got conquered and women handed over as trophies to the winners. Marriages at sixteen and even thirteen were considered right if it concerned a certain lady and a profit. Where there was no gain, the possible future of a little girl was scary to think of.
Hermione shuddered, all at once repulsed, scared and horrified by her own fate. She must remain within the castle! At any cost, she had to ensure her position at Hogwarts and find the way to travel back to the future.
Hermione was so engulfed into unhappy thoughts that she didn't notice when the hushed discussion carried by the founders had come to a significant halt. She didn't feel them eyeing her warily, as if she was a curious puzzle, or in lady Ravenclaw's case, a nasty obstacle.
"Child," Hermione almost heard her heart sinking deeper into the pit of despair. Her long periwinkle robe brushed the stone floor, as she hesitantly stepped forward. With a nasty feeling of growing fear, she watched lady Ravenclaw speak.
"We have come to an agreement, that the sorting hat's judgment in your particular case is… questionable." She threw a cold look toward Gryffindor, who was standing cross-armed and solemn near the wall.
"As it happens, lord Slytherin does not have any female charge in his care, as of yet. Neither does lord Gryffindor; which is why we required time to discuss your situation." She paused trying to compose herself. "Lady Hufflepuff here, wishes to accept you as her ward, although," her nostrils flared in indignation. "Until this time the sorting ritual has never proved us wrong and so the final decision is up to you."
Hermione gulped. She couldn't feel more grateful towards Helga Hufflepuff for arguing her case, but… Hermione's eyes darted toward Slytherin's enormous form. Was it true? Was he the only one in possession of the key to her salvation?
Hermione lowered her eyes, thinking of a reply that could be acceptable and understandable by the medieval society.
"It would be an honor if lord Slytherin allowed me to attend his classes, but… I am sure you agree that being placed in lady Hufflepuff's care would be more … proper, given that she is a woman."
Hermione wasn't chanced to see any of the three founder's reactions. Helga Hufflepuff lunched forward, putting her protective arm on Hermione's shoulder and gently leading her to the door.
"You have made a wise decision, child," she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Feel free to attend my classes as well, should you wish of course."
"You are very kind," Hermione mumbled, trying not to stumble over her long robe.
"Not at all, darling girl, not at all." Helga hurried to reply, as she closed the massive door, shutting out the obvious stunned silence in the chamber they had just vacated and led her down the dimly lit hall.
"You've made a right decision. Lord Slytherin is curious about you, even more so, since the hat placed you in his care. Foolish piece of rag!" Helga huffed and shook her head. "To extract you completely out of Slytherin's reach at this moment would mean to push him into battling mood, which suffice it to say, no one wishes to witness, least of all, you, I assure you. " She stopped abruptly and grabbed Hermione's hand. "I saw the scars on your body," she said in a hushed whisper. "I am not prying, as I am aware how painful the past can be for our minds and bodies, but I shall warn you that you are never to show lord Slytherin the one on your forearm." Her eyes softened. "That would put you in danger, darling girl, no matter the truth."
Hermione swallowed and gave a sharp nod.
"I understand."
"Good. I am not asking if what is written there is genuine, but I want you to know that you can rely on me with whatever secret you behold. Now, I will show you to your chamber. You are to stay with lady McWeasl. Your bed will be placed there shortly."
"Thank you."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Hermione twirling her head and trying to recognize Hogwarts she knew in the ancient stones and dark passages. But nothing seemed the same in this century. The gloomy walls carried no paintings, candles weren't floating in the air, instead heavy torches stuck out of walls and somewhere deep within the castle she could hear the chains gnashing. Thick cobwebs were hanging in the corners and although Hermione didn't notice any spiders, she decided against investigating.
As they went up another set of narrow stairs and proceeded in the dark lightless corridor, Helga spoke:
"I am afraid I must ask you several questions, child." They entered a round chamber with a huge domineering fireplace and four tall short windows. There was only one single bed near the covered-in-bright-tapestry wall and a huge wide-open chest full of robes.
"Yes, Lady Hufflepuff?" Hermione inquired, watching another bed appearing at the opposite wall. She tried to feign a surprise and by the pleased look on Helga's face, succeeded.
"Magic is wonderful," Hermione murmured avoiding the matron's direct stare.
"Of course it is!" Helga smiled, despite a thoughtful cringe between her dark eyebrows.
"There hasn't been a new student in master Slytherin's care for three years," the witch finally elaborated, scrutinising Hermione's features and making the girl feel uneasy. "I must say his students went far beyond your abilities to catch up with the course at your present state of magic. My classes however are divided into two levels, one of which is still low enough for you not to feel overwhelmed and strained with studies."
Hermione hid her irritation behind a polite smile. She had yet to discover the overload of studying pressure in her life. How could there be any study pressure, when even the exams were always relaxing?
"Now, straight to the matter," Helga looked intently at Hermione's solemn profile. "Do you have a patron?"
Hermione gave a slow, much needed for recovering her senses… blink.
"No-o," she replied slowly, inwardly wondering if she should have hid behind the powerful back of a non-existing stranger. But her worries were immediately discarded as soon as Helga continued her questioning.
"Any relatives, who could attend to your needs?"
Hermione shook her head: "I don't have anyone. Not as of this moment anyway."
"Understood," said Helga but Hermione could feel her lingering suspicion. "Hogwarts was opened not so long ago, and since then, has always come to aid those in need of help."
Hermione bit her lip, fighting a rash of tears. Her words! Oh, they were so familiar!
"Although Hogwarts encourages wizards to pay for the knowledge we provide, however, in a case like yours, the school will require you to work in payment for your studies."
Hermione looked at Helga, her eyes clouded with unshed tears, confusion and a myriad of contradictive thoughts.
"What kind of work would you want me to do?"
"We shall see to it in due time," Helga replied kindly. "For now you should settle in, make yourself comfortable, adjust to the magic environment and start attending my classes." The emphasized "my" didn't escape Hermione's attention.
"Preferably from tomorrow morning." Helga pressed. "We would want for you to catch up with the course."
But Hermione's curiosity was not satisfied.
"What work do other students do?"
Helga Hufflepuff replied congenially:
"Some are brewing potions, some work in the dungeons, a small number of students bring the required herbs from the woods, others are involved in building the school walls and tend to the grounds, and we are currently expanding, so the patrol groups were established. We require every free hand, and as no one is able to provide for your education, you are to be assigned to the assisting group as well and make your contribution."
"Of course," Hermione nodded gratefully, a small smile playing on her lips. The thought of imprinting her magic signature upon the coming- into-life Hogwarts was indeed exiting and well-wished for.
Helga patted Hermione's cheek with a mother like affection.
"When you were brought to the castle, broke and burnt, I realised that there might be secrets within you, that you are not ready to share."
Hermione tensed.
Catching Hermione's worried expression，Helga took her dry palm in her warm hands.
"You don't have to tell me anything yet, however if you wish to talk, my ears are always ready to listen."
Hermione hesitated. Could she trust her with the truth? War taught her many things, and laid a great impact on her judgment, which was now constantly accompanied by suspicion and irking her not to trust anyone blindly.
"Thank you, madam," was her only reply. Helga Hufflepuff raised her eyebrows at that but to Hermione's relief didn't push further.
"You may rest today," Helga let go of her hand and stared at Hermione's gown. "A generous gift indeed," she mused, frowning. "But I suppose you didn't have much choice, given your circumstances."
Hermione wondered why the dress she was wearing made Helga so displeased. She had her own thoughts on that matter, though. At this particular century, the rich coloured materials were expensive and only high aristocracy was able to afford the luxury. Did Hermione consider that fact when she hurried to cover her nudity? The thought never occurred to her until the dinner in the Great Hall, where almost every female student except for the ladies she dared to join were dressed in plain black and white gowns, mildly reminding her of the future Hogwarts' uniforms.
Helga waved her hand and two sets of familiar plain gowns appeared on her bed. An enormous empty chest followed and placed itself under the narrow window. Helga cleared her throat:
"It is up to you to decide which garment to favour, but in your place I would have thought twice before accepting Sir Salazar's tokens."
Hermione's eyes widened at the obvious pretext. She opened her mouth to reassure the matron, but Helga Hufflepuff dismissed her hurried explanations with the wave of her hand.
"At this I shall bid you good night. I have a potion to attend to in a few minutes."
"Thank you, lady Hufflepuff."
"You are welcome, child," the witch smiled and with the rustle of her crimson robe, left the chamber.
Alone at last, Hermione let out a relieved sigh. Hesitantly she moved toward the bed, sat on the firm uninviting bedding and closed her eyes.
"Here it is," she thought with trepidation. "My new life."
Several minutes passed before she decided to disrobe and get under the woollen covers. The soft steps around the room alerted her of Melinda's presence, but facing the wall she didn't acknowledge her neighbour. She had much to think of and the doubts nestled in her heart kept her restless through the night. Haunting dreams plagued Hermione's conscience and she barely had enough sleep before she was pulled out of the nightmare by the blood-chilling, hoarse screaming. It took her a moment to recognise her own voice and she sat upright in bed, her chest heaving and heart beating rapidly and painfully against her ribcage.
She moaned and hid her sweaty face in her palms. Sadly it took a few more seconds to take in her surroundings and to come to a depressing conclusion that she was indeed in a nightmare. A real one this time.
A pair of grey eyes peered at her with precautious suspicion.
"I suppose being burnt is not nice after all." The girl mumbled, fuming.
Hermione was about to apologise for the disrupted sleep when Melinda spoke again:
"If you are not going to discuss courtships, engagements and marriage with me, you are welcome to share my chambers. A word of warning though, I enjoy reading till late hours and hate being disturbed while at it."
Hermione pulled her face into a weak smile.
"No problem with me if you shall respect me in the same way."
Melinda huffed in a very unladylike, but wholeheartly appreciated by Hermione manner.
"You do sound like a normal girl," her roommate confessed, stretching her hand toward the cooled fire place. In a second, the flames were dancing merrily in the grate.
"I hate those snobbish English ladies who faint when I say "Merlin's stinky bollocks".
"I see," Hermione couldn't suppress a small laugh. "They really did?"
"What? Faint?" Melinda was now putting her gown on. "A few of them did. But I know they were pretending."
Hermione smiled and hugged her knees.
"Most likely."
From the girl's cheerful talking, Hermione found out that Melinda McWeasel arrived at Hogwarts two years ago from Highlands and was placed in Rowena Ravenclow's care. She also came from a powerful and wealthy wizarding family and like every Scottish, was energetic, straight forward, brave and valued her freedom.
She had also reached her "marriage age", as she stated, revolted by the prospect. Melinda had just recently turned fourteen and any day, could be called back home to marry a decent wizard from her clan.
"I do not favor a prospect of becoming an old hag, but I wish I could have one more year."
Hermione was confused.
"You think that at fifteen you won't find a decent suitor?"
"Men tend to choose younger witches, preferably of twelve or thirteen years old."
Hermione cringed, but forced a polite smile. She hoped to avoid being questioned, although a chance was slim.
"What about you?"
"Oh…" Hermione decided to state her opinion truthfully. Partly because girls tend to gossip and she didn't want to complicate her life. "I am not marrying any time soon."
"You are not?" Melinda started combing her hair.
"I decided to become an emancipated woman… eh… independent in my decisions, so to say."
Melinda's hand froze midair.
"You decided?" she questioned utterly surprised. "What about your family? What did your father say?"
Hermione once again thought over her reply.
"They are far away," she decided to be part truthful for her own benefit. "They… don't remember they have a daughter."
Melinda's grey eyes became sad and sympathetic.
"I knew there was something tragic about you," she said slowly and sat down on Hermione's bed. "Did they disinherit you?"
"No," Hermione didn't want to belittle her parents. "There was a man. He wanted to kill everyone I love. I had to go into hiding to save them."
Hermione closed her eyes, trying to chase away the lingering shadows of her recent unpleasant dream. Faces, so many faces, of her friends and nemesis. Also pain, and grief, and regret.
"You don't have to worry," she heard Melinda's quiet voice. "No one will harm you here. Not with sir Gryffindor and sir Slytherin around. And if that won't be enough, you are welcome to come with me. My father and brothers have power to protect you. They will be delighted to help a witch as you. Do not fear. You are safe now."
They talked no more that day. Both engulfed in the early morning toiletries, breakfast - which to Hermione's dismay was served at five in the morning - and classes till midday. After the much awaited lunch, everyone was obliged to attend to their duties. Some did the necessary revisions, and others, less lucky individuals worked for the benefit of the school under the strict guidance of the founders or their deputies.
For the time being, Hermione was free of any additional work load as she was considered being "on the way to discover her potential", at least that was what Helga Hufflepuff reasoned with. Hermione didn't mind the least as the plethora of uncomfortable issues slammed into her with the crushing force of troll's club, and put the hanging problem of time-travelling in the very last place in a long row of unpleasant discoveries of a century.
Firstly, she could not believe she had to take a cool bath in a barrel while other girls were waiting for their turn, either chatting or openly gawking at her scared body. Secondly, Hermione found herself being terrified of the washing room and a huge amount of the night pots presented for their convenience. Middle age conveniences put her on edge of hysterics, and the lack of a wand didn't help the issue.
Hermione blinked rapidly when she realized that she dozed off during Helga Hufflepuff's lecture about moonstones. She already knew the properties of that particular gem, but was quite exited to learn about their usage in ancient alchemy, which was a banned subject in her time for over five centuries. Nicolas Flamel was the only remaining alchemist but in four hundred years of his long life he did not once accept apprenticeship. Hermione could hardly wait to start the first experiment under lady Hufflepuff keen supervision.
She earned the first praise in about thirty minutes of working with dangerous liquids, and was so delighted by the success that she missed curious glances the domineering male part of the student body shot at her.
There were only three girls including herself attending Helga Hufflepuff's class, which at first made her quite uncomfortable, but on the other hand there were not so many witches in Hogwarts to begin with, so she quickly adjusted to the constant attention.
As the first week stretched into another, Hermione suffered another shocking discovery, which left her stressed, humiliated and even terrified at the prospect of her monthly female problem. So far no one seemed to notice her uncomfortable existence, and she had no plans to change that. Since she could not possibly confront any female on the troubling topic without arising unnecessary suspicions she decided to deal with it in Hermione's way. Brewing a potion to seize her menses seemed to be the best option. But Helga's med-cupboard lacked the ingredients, and even if she had, Hermione didn't feel keen to steal.
She decided on asking Helga the permission to do some brewing in the afternoon, and impressed Helga with an excellent sample of a blood-replenishing potion, the matron had been running out off in her potion cabinet. Some of the student's duties were to wrestle away the dangerous magical creatures out of the Hogwarts territories. That included the wondering trolls and sometimes werewolves. Hermione even heard a rumor about a giant wishing to take residence near the lake, but that case was dealt with Slytherin and Griffindor's force, as none of the younger apprentices was allowed to approach an enraged giant. The whole daily routine of patrolling the grounds and searching through the outskirts of the woods brought a healthy stream of wounded men into Helga's care and Hermione found herself being the one in assistance. She was not allowed to approach an open bleeding wound but was helpful enough at the other side of the chamber, mashing the root for a painkilling draught, or mixing the vials for a quick skelet-grow. She was asked to brew her improved blood-replenishing potion almost every day and soon enough was allowed to work on calming draughts and heeling balms. The latter was a fine artifice which made Hermione's eyes spark with excitement and anticipation to impress Helga once again. And impressed she was, gracing her new student with the honor to brew the required potions without her supervision.
Since that day, Hermione found herself wandering into the adjoining medical quarters almost every day after lunch. A parchment was to appear on Helga's table, with the list of potions to brew, balms to mix and mixtures to prepare from the precious liquids in the cupboard created through the complex alchemic experiments. The moistures were a particular challenge Hermione was happy to face, as she had never worked with the liquids as an alchemist, even as inexperienced as she was.
Between her lessons and new duties as a potion maker, Hermione successfully brewed the potion she required to lighten her mood during the next week. She breathed a relieved sigh as she cropped the vials but struggled with the problem of hiding them. She missed her little bag and her wand, which turned her attention to another problem. She had to find a way to sneak out of the castle and search the hills.
Gryffindor and Slytherin seemed to maintain congenial relationship, although Hermione suspected they were cooperating only for the benefit of Hogwarts. They were occupied from dawn to sunset, but still managed to notice everything; especially Slytherin.
When Helga mentioned Salazar Slytherin being curious about her, she apparently underestimated the man's growing obsession with Hermione's whereabouts. Hermione knew he was suspicious, but could not think about any possible way to divert his attention, except for one.
The silence was palpable when early Tuesday morning Hermione Granger hesitantly entered the dungeon. Everyone was watching her. She didn't have to raise her eyes from the floor to feel the collective staring. She hurried to the nearest vacant chair, making sure she sat down as gracefully as it could have been possible in a long slightly oversized gown. When she deliberately adjusted the skirts around her feet, she looked up, with her face carefully blank and emotionless.
As expected, every single occupant of the circular room was male. Her eyes ran swiftly over a few curious faces, noticing a polite surprise on some on them. She blinked rapidly and felt a mortifying heat color her cheeks. She hoped no one would be actually willing to start a conversation, and almost prayed for Salazar Slytherin to hurry in.
"Lady Granger," the deep male voice on her right startled Hermione, but not as much as the impressive young man, who immediately got hold of her hand, and was bowing gracefully over it.
Hermione gulped. The warm lips touched her skin only slightly before curious blue eyes pinned her to the chair.
Hermione's throat went dry. She recognized the man from the previous encounter in the Great Hall. His name was Sir Adam, a supposed-to-be Malfoy predecessor.
Hermione gently pulled her hand out of his lingering grip and switched her attention to the surroundings. The room was dark, but nothing about its round shape or the heavy placed in a semi-circle chairs carried any trace of a menacing aura, as she had been anticipating. The torches of warm fire were attached to the grey stone walls, and just like other firelights in the castle, they spread magically magnified heat to warm the chilly air.
Open robe billowing after him, Salazar Slytherin entered the chamber with a purposeful stride of a proud decisive man who bore no doubt about his power. Hermione was still trying to get a grip on her nerves when he started talking, his quiet deep voice resonating in the complete silence:
"… in the chest. You all are well-practiced and familiar with the incantation. Mister Malfoy will try first. Lady Granger will be the last. I trust there is no need to remind you not to forget to think of something hilarious and deprive us of an aggravating necessity to watch your pathetic fears."
A condescending murmur followed and Adam Malfoy stepped into the center of the room. A flick of his right wrist and the chest opened with a slow screeching sound. To Hermione's astonishment a bogart turned into a dementor and eventually shrank back, as everyone laughed to see him in the period female dress. Even Hermione allowed herself a small smile. It was unsettling to watch Harry's fear to be the same as Malfoy's ancestor. She felt strangely linked to her past and for what seemed like a moment, got lost in her memories.
"Lady Granger,"
Through laugh and mirthful discussions of their weaknesses, she heard her name being called again and stood up.
"It's alright if you are scared," she felt Adam's warm and supportive hand on her shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. "I shall be beside you to assist, if necessary."
Hermione's heart soared and then sank back into the gloom when she noticed Slytherin's dangerously contemplating countenance and his narrowed-on- Adam-Malfoy grey eyes.
Hermione shook her head slightly. It wasn't time to dwell on Slytherin's interest in her persona. She had a bogart to get rid of, mutely and without her wand. Thinking hard and concentrating on her never appearing wandless magic, she slowly made her way into the centre of the room and faced a giant confused troll looking dumbly at the sword in his hand, although what was funny about it she could not possibly fathom.
As she watched the creature, familiar heavy smog enveloped it in a dark grey cocoon of transformation, which slowly dissolved, bringing her new fear into view. This time, however, it was not professor McGonagall.
Hermione froze, turning pale, as her worst nightmare slowly turned its head her way.
"Hello, little mudblood," the crispy voice of Bellatrix Lestrange reached every corner of the room. "Shall we continue our talk? A girl to girl. "