Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I only play. I am not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.
Chapter 5
"We seriously need to do something about your nightmares."
Hermione's eyes fluttered open and she sat straight on her bed, suffocating and sweating her way out of the bad dream.
"I'm sorry," she croaked out, wiping her forehead and neck with the sleeve of her nightgown.
"Was it fire again?" Melinda asked curiously.
No, it wasn't. This time it was Slytherin who managed to slither his was in her nightmare and participate in the main events. Hermione shuddered, but gave Melinda a curt nod.
"Merlin help me to understand the joy of self-immolation!" Melinda muttered getting out of bed. "I'm going to use the chamber pot and then take my time in the washroom. Care to join?"
Hermione shook her head.
"No, I think I will stay in bed for a little longer."
It was Sunday and she had a plan for her unoccupied morning.
"Alright." Melinda grabbed her night pot from under the bed and hid behind a tapestry to tend to her needs.
Hermione fell back onto her pillow and closed her eyes. The events of the previous day nudged scolding rush of tears to her eyelids, but she refused to let them out. She was not a weakling!
She rubbed her eyes roughly, afraid that Melinda might notice her distress. That girl was highly perceptive. She was also right about her nightmares. Hermione had to do something about it. She couldn't continue waking the castle with her shrieks every night. Could she risk brewing a Dreamless potion? She tried to remember when the remedy was invented but was too stressed to think. She heard Melinda fussing for some time and then she left, the squeak of the door hinges as ominous as everything was at that time.
Hermione rubbed her face warily. She felt tired and not at all happy with the zero development on her "back to future" plan. She fumbled with her hand under the bed, grabbed her night pot and dragged herself behind the tapestry. She couldn't help but notice that Melinda's pot was stark clean. She envied Melinda's wandless abilities and hated walking all the way to the washing room in broad light only to clean her night pot. Life in the eleventh century was terribly exhausting, all kinds of embarrassments accosting her from every corner.
Hermione hurried and completed her morning routine promptly by 5am and soon afterwards, was on her way to inspect the hills' territory. Her thin cloak flapped behind her back as she climbed the steepy ground, all the time looking around cautiously and trying to backtrack the route Salazar had taken a month ago while bringing her to the castle.
To her relief, there was no one in the vicinity and she took a minute to marvel at the glistering mist over the silver waters of the lake. The orange blicks of the rising sun shone on the covered-in-hoar-specks wilted grass. The Hogwarts' lonely tower on the other side grimly reminded her of the task and she forced her freezing body into motion again.
She searched the ground carefully, trying to resurrect her "landing spot" in her evading memory. She thought she found it a short time later but to her chagrin, there was not a sight of her wand nearby.
Hermione heaved a sigh, suppressing the threatening-to-break-out emotions of sorrow and fear. Her steel-like resistance to succumb in misery, rapidly resulted in her head pounding and she slumped down on the crispy frosty grass in a defeated stoop.
She was left optionless. She had to study wandless magic. But how? Everyone seemed to have no trouble brandishing their powers around the castle. Hermione on the other hand felt powerless and incapable, although she wasn't, except that in this century, she could probably be considered a squib.
"The brightest witch of her age," Hermione scoffed and stared around. There must be something. Anything, that bears a hint of her arrival. Suddenly, a colorful glitter caught her eye. Hermione sprang to her feet and sprinted toward the bright light. When she spotted the object she dropped on her knees and almost wept in relief.
Her fingers shook as they clutched her beaded bag. She rummaged inside and pulled out a long crooked wand.
"Oh thank you, Belatrix," she thought grimly, clutching the enemy's wand to her chest. It felt foreign and wrong. But she was grateful nonetheless. She savored the merry feeling of security that immediately overtook her and then started making the necessary adjustments.
Hermione charmed the cloak and the soles of her shoes to thicken and have some ever-lasting warming padding. She trimmed her dress robes shortening the hem and narrowing the width, so it lay snugly on her frame.
Her last triumphal achievement was the warm knee-length set of pantalets she wore above the thin lace knickers she salvaged from her bag.
Utterly relieved and happy, Hermione didn't notice another wizard's presence when she paused at the feet of the castle to conjure the thin strap upholster around her left forearm. She sheathed the wand and pulled the tight sleeve back on when the shuffling steps reached her ears. Hermione turned around sharply, her chest heaving, but at least it wasn't Slytherin stalking her.
It turned out to be Adam Malfoy.
"Lady Hermione!" He smiled from afar, walking briskly.
"Sir Adam," the surprise on her face completely concealed the suspicion in her slightly narrowed eyes.
Was he following her?
"My lady," Adam got hold of her hand and brought it to his lips. "It's not safe to have a walk that early in the morning all by yourself. We were informed about the wild werewolves just yesterday. Allow me to escort you to the castle." His lips were lingering on her arm, his warm hand reluctant to relinquish its possession.
Hermione didn't like the feeling one bit. She was getting exceedingly distraught because of men's attention. To her relief, he let her go at her slightest pull.
"I assure you, sir, I was perfectly safe on my own. Besides, it's not the full moon yet. We are quite safe."
Adam paid no attention to her words. In fact she wondered if he heard her at all.
"Actually, I must admit. I was hoping to find you alone," Malfoy deadpanned.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. He did? He was following her after all.
"Lady Hermione…" there was no hesitation in his voice and immediately it put her on guard. "I have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you. I hope you shall find it interesting."
Overflowed with doubt and suspicion Hermione reluctantly followed the young man's purposeful stride. They walked down the narrow path stretching around the Hogwarts and leading to the bank of the Black Lake.
Hermione frowned, impatient to hear his request and eager to leave. But Adam wasn't in a hurry; walking silently, intentionally keeping to her pace and making sure she didn't stumble on protruding roots on the path by keeping his hand on her elbow. By the time they reached the Black lake she was confident that his knightly gallantness was nothing but a ploy to use the opportunity and touch her.
She found it irritating and bothering.
"Hermione," he finally stopped to face her. "I've been thinking for a while," he stared directly into her perturbed eyes. "Considering options so to say. And I've made a decision."
Hermione stared at him in complete bewilderment and realized that she couldn't relax in his presence. She never liked facing unknown unprepared and he was annoyingly falling into that description.
"You are a worthy girl Hermione," Adam's voice was raspy and soft and it rubbed her in the wrong way. "I've written to my father, and he's made some inquiries on your background," his cool grey eyes pinned her to the spot. Hermione raised her eyebrows. "There is no household under the name of Granger. Apparently you were in need to hide your heritage or… you are mudblood. The latter proved wrong yesterday."
Hermione's mouth refused to form a sound. She couldn't believe they've been digging a grave behind her back!
"What are you running from, Hermione?" Adam asked with the strange intensity in his eyes and stepped closer, intentionally invading her personal space. "Whatever or whomever you are hiding from, I can protect you. My family is ready to give you a name, power and security. There's nothing we cannot deal with and no one can challenge us."
Hermione's mouth felt dry.
"Is that…" she uttered. "Are you proposing to me?"
"Proposing?" Adam looked puzzled and Hermione stared. "I intend to marry you."
If a lightning was to strike at that moment, Hermione wouldn't have noticed. If a troll was to attack her with its swaying club, she would have been killed on the spot.
Tentatively, she licked her lips then cast her eyes on the bumpy ground.
"Sir Adam," she hesitated, not knowing how to proceed. "I hardly feel worthy to… accept your… intention to marry me. I think if you consider other… ladies, it might be more beneficial to your family. I, given the recent circumstances, have nothing to replenish your welfare with."
He waved her off nonchalantly.
"Malfoys require neither your name nor your gold," he informed. "Your powers would be a sufficient contribution."
"My powers?" Hermione asked, perplexed and confused. That wasn't something any Malfoy she knew from the future would say.
Adam looked surprised by her ignorance.
"You don't know?" he asked in return and then comprehension lightened his features. "But of course you don't," he said smiling and taking her hand.
His warm callused-from-sword-practice fingers started drawing patterns on her palm, sending warning jolts through her tensed body.
"You've probably noticed that the majority of Hogwarts' inhabitants are wizards?" he paused and continued when she nodded. "Available witches are not easy to come by. And even if a family does encounter one, it has to fight for the right to claim her."
Hermione's eyes went impossibly wide.
"Inter-family marriages are the common practice and a required measure to keep the powers and magic within the family. Witches are kept well hidden until the time comes for them to be given to a brother, uncle or any other member of the same family."
Hermione tried to mask her abject horror by an expression of sad understanding. She wasn't sure she succeeded though. She inclined her head for him to proceed, as she found herself speechless.
Adam shrugged.
"That's why there aren't many witches outside of the family's protection walls. You never know if a certain family has one, until it's too late. No one likes to be challenged."
Hermione could hardly believe her ears.
"As to mudbloods… they get burnt before we manage to rescue them. Usually those are kid-girls, proclaimed to be possessed by an evil force. If you manage to acquire a mudblood though, a law of honor is to be abided by everyone. A family to rescue a mudblood witch is to claim her. No one can challenge the honor."
Hermione pulled her hand out of his grasp and stepped away. Her mind was reeling.
A wizard to rescue a mudblood had all the rights to claim her? And no one could challenge him?
She knew she had to say something – Adam was waiting and watching her closely - but she felt shaken to the core and unable to think about anything at all.
"What about… what about mudb-blood boys?" somehow she knew she shouldn't ask. But she still did, and regretted it the next instant.
"They are to die," Adam replied with vehemence. "At least they were before Hufflepuff and Gryffindor argued their case and took upon themselves to accept and teach the unworthy ones."
He took a deep breath and confronted her again.
"At first everyone thought you were a mudblood. Your deep knowledge in potion making however proved us wrong and the claim Slytherin was to stake on you became invalid."
Hermione stared at him, terrified of what she was about to hear.
"You are a fair game now, Hermione."
She would have toppled onto the ground but his hands seized her shoulders and he pulled her closer.
"Hermione… Granger. My family heritage goes back a thousand years of pureblood wizards. Our blood holds the power of Great Merlin and I need an heir. You are a worthy girl, Hermione. Do yourself an honor to accept my…" he smirked. "… intentions, or prepare yourself to be conquered. I have no doubt that I will win though. Whoever the challengers are, they are doomed to face death if they decide to fight for your hand. You were born to be mine, and that you shall be."
SSHG
Reeling from shock and fear Hermione barely made it to the Great Hall when she was confronted by the impending silhouette of Salazar Slytherin lurking in the shadows and – she was confident about that part – waiting for her appearance.
No!
She had had enough of men's testosterone for one day!
Turning sharply, she went in the opposite way, deciding that she might appear to be more useful in the infirmatory after all. Her little potion lab was rapidly turning into her sanctuary. Hermione sighed. She would miss a hundred meals if only to avoid Salazar's presence. And as it happened. Adam's as well. She gritted her teeth in annoyance. He actually dared to laugh when she sprinted away from him and his grappling hands.
The infirmatory was void of patients but for one teenage boy lying on the bed after a particularly nasty fire hex. She checked his salve jar, it was still half-full, and proceeded to the potion lab, smiling to herself when she noticed the fresh list of mixtures to brew today.
She brushed her fingers over the hard form of the wand up her sleeve, calculations helping to distract her from much bothering thoughts. She figured that with the wand's help she might be done with the required potions by dinner time instead of the usual thirty-six hours. That elevated her spirits quite a bit.
Choosing to ignore the nagging ominous premonition about the "fair game" thing, she occupied herself by preparing the necessary ingredients. She would hex "the lucky winner of her hand" into the next century, if he decided he had any right to put his claim on her. She already pitied the bloke.
SSHG
Salazar scowled at her retreat. The chit was infuriating. For how long did she think she would manage to avoid him? He smirked and entered the Great Hall to join his colleagues for the meal. The propitious moment would come sooner than he anticipated, he knew as much. Not to mention that there weren't many places where she could hide. Not in Hogwarts anyway. He was always aware of her whereabouts.
Salazar excused himself from the table earlier - there was no point to linger when the object of his evanescent persuasion was currently indisposed – and walked back to his chambers on the second floor. The chest he was thinking about promptly appeared in the sitting room. He opened it with an impatient snap of his fingers, his hand reaching and pulling out the items he knew so well, but over which he still held no recognition.
Salazar palmed the material of the burnt pants, secretly enjoying its cool smoothness. "Jeans" it said at the back of the waistband. What in Merlin name was "Jeans" ? Or better to ask who?
The next piece of Hermione Granger's clothing contained the curious iron closing mechanism as well as "Nike" over the chest. Same irritating "Nike" mocked him from the backs of her strange tiny boots, made of soft white unrecognizable material.
He shoved everything inside the chest and pulled out the garment the purpose of which he thought was to be put on the head. Although what "Victoria's Secret, size S" label meant, he struggled to decipher for a month.
The word 'Secret' though proved her mysterious identity and fueled his suspicions.
Was she a keeper of a secret?
Victoria's secret?
And who were "Nike" and "Jeans" claiming her attire thus?
A pair of incompetent twits more likely, who taught her nothing but pathetic wand moves.
He picked up the broken halves of what used to be a light brown wand. He had found it while searching the area by the pyre, a day after the girl's incineration.
The magic wand was seared, its core burnt out and dead. He was surprised to recognize the dragon heart string used as a base in the middle. Whoever those Victoria, Nike and Jeans were, they certainly could slay dragons.
Salazar pounded over the notion, finding himself not disturbed in the slightest, only mildly curious and annoyed.
Whatever claims they had over his witch, he would break them all and take her for his own, he decided and frowned, surprised at his possessiveness. Shoving the things back into the chest carelessly, he shut and warded it simultaneously. He had a witch to pursue and he could hardly wait.
The three weeks passed tortuously slowly and were quite uneventful if one agrees to call the constant attentions of the male part of the castle unflattering and her daily library researches fruitless. It seemed like everyone's goal became to corner her in the nook and "discuss a matter of utmost importance, she might be curious about." By the end of October, Hermione was almost proud of her evading tactics, but judging by the affronted and angry looks Adam Malfoy and Salazar Slytherin carried around, the same couldn't be said about their dispositions. Hermione couldn't care less. She never attended another Slytherin's class for obvious reasons, and that successfully put Adam at a distance as well, which was fine with her. They both could rot for what she cared.
Checking the potion lab supplies, she in time spotted that they were running out of yellow sinew leaves. That magic flower was used in replenishing potion, but could be easily substituted, what couldn't be said about her Cutting Cycle potion. A panic hit her when she realized that there were scarcely any sinew flowers at the end of October. That's how she found herself joining the herb-searching team, led by Rowena Ravenclaw the next day.
They stopped at the beginning of the dense forest and Hermione eyed the thicket suspiciously. They were reassured by the Gryffindor's team that the werewolves relocated. She was a firsthand witness of the results of one particular negotiation, as she was the one who mended the bones and broken skulls. Those werewolves were wild. She wasn't sure what it meant, and she didn't want to discover.
Hermione put her basket on the plush moss carpet and started picking the struggling-to-survive–in-the-cold sturdy little flowers. The basket was made to preserve the herbs by drying them without additional magical interference, which was good because Hermione still hadn't managed to grasp the concept of wandless magic and didn't want to brandish her wand.
Her basket was half full when she moved to another slope but froze mid-promenade. She turned around sharply but saw not a shadow of a person whose voice she likely imagined.
Hermione carefully cut the next stem when it happened again, this time more clearly.
"Hermiiiiioneee…"
She straightened. A few young boys gave her bewildered looks and turned their faces over the knoll ahead.
"HERMIONEEEEE!"
The flowers slipped from her lax fingers, her hands lifting the skirts instead and she rushed past the surprised students toward the bare slope of the hill.
"We are to stay together, girl!" Rowena informed her crisply, but Hermione didn't hear her.
She climbed the hill, tripping over the hem of her dress in haste and halted when she reached the top, gazing at the smooth contours of wilted meadow stretching for miles ahead. That would be the future Hogsmeade ahead, she thought vaguely.
"Hermiiioneeee!"
She turned left, her eyes sharpening on two distant male figures, standing lengths apart and looking around.
The closest to her wore an emerald jacket or… sweater… which reminded her of…
"Harry…" she whispered dumbfounded.
The figures were walking away, but then the second man abruptly turned and went still.
Hermione stared, her legs slowly starting to move on their own accord. From the other side, Ron Weasley broke into a run.
"Mione!" she heard him shouting desperately and finally got control over her body, willing it to move faster. "Run to me! Run, Mione! RUN!"
Hermione dashed toward her friends, comprehending nothing, her dazed and panicked mind shutting down and focusing solely on Ron's voice. She screamed when her dress got caught and she fell, her lungs seizing from sudden lack of air. She raised her head and saw her two friends crossing the meadow at the lightning speed, running toward her.
"Harry! Grab her!" Ron shouted as Harry ran at his utmost speed. "Hermione! RUN! Take his hand! TAKE HIS HAND!"
Hermione scrambled to her feet half-running through it. Tears obscured her vision, turning the world into a blurred mass of light and color. But she saw Harry… and Ron behind him, and pushed forward as if her life depended on it. And it certainly did.
"Get her, Harry!" Ron's desperation couldn't nudge them further. Dashing through the knee-length grass, Harry was almost there. She saw his hand shooting out to grasp her outstretched palm and…
Hermione lunged forward, throwing herself into his arms… but went right through him. She stumbled, her heart nearly stopping. In frenzy, she hurled herself back on her feet and turned, only to catch a wisp of thin mist where Harry was standing. He was gone.
Wide-eyed, Hermione spun around, frantically searching and hoping to catch a glimpse of another dear face, but Ron too was gone.
"Ron? Harry?" Hermione called out, running helter-skelter searching and crying out at the top of her lungs. "Where are you?!"
Trees rustling and the wind howling through the Black forest were the only replies she got until the sun set and she was left on her own.
A thick fog came down on Highland, concealing Hogwarts in its mysterious cloak, and still she sat there waiting, feeling desolate and heartbroken.
Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and cautiously lifted her from the ground. Hermione dropped her chin and bit her trembling lip; her eyes burning but still painfully dry. She resisted the hold, shoving hard at the intruder, but was pulled into his warm chest instead, familiar scent hitting her nose and strong arms curling around her waist in a vice grip. Still she struggled, refusing to give in, reluctant to expose her weakness, but was subdued by his strength and silky serpentine murmur.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, her fisted arms trembling at her sides, silent tears finally breaking out and pouring down her cheeks, as her bleeding heart wept. And he still held her. Through the misery and dejection, the one and only witness of her crumbling and surrendering to pain.
Salazar Slytherin.