Salazar Slytherin's bedroom emanated an aura of mystique and scholarly dedication, a sanctuary where the emerald hues of his chosen house manifested in a symphony of greens. The walls, adorned with deep forest green tapestries, whispered tales of ancient magic and family untold secrets. Potted plants and herbs were scattered throughout the room, their verdant leaves reaching for the sunlight that filtered through the windows. The scent of crushed mint and sage lingered in the air, a testament to his fascination with the natural world's intricate connection to magic.
Stacks of books, some meticulously organized while others lay haphazardly open, adorned every available surface. Volumes detailing the arts of potion-making, obscure hexes, and forgotten incantations lay side by side with tomes that explored the intricacies of dark magic and its forbidden allure. Ancient scrolls with elegant calligraphy hinted at spells long lost to time, waiting to be deciphered by Salazar's inquisitive mind.
Amongst the scholarly treasures were relics of a bygone era – a weathered quill and inkwell, a polished dagger with an ornate hilt that whispered tales of battles fought and won.
A threadbare rug beneath the sturdy wooden desk bore faded patterns of serpents and shields, a reflection of his unwavering loyalty to his ideals and the legacy he was forging. In the heart of his room, a canopy bed draped in deep green velvet invited rest and reflection, its carved wooden posts bearing the mark of time's passage. This room, a window into Salazar's complex soul, breathed with the echoes of history, magic, and a young man's dreams entwined with the pursuit of power and knowledge.
He threw a few clothes into his bag. There was a sense of urgency as he looked around, trying to see if there was something else, he could take with him. He decided to add a few herbs and then hurried towards the tall wooden door. He stopped and went back to his desk. He opened the first drawer and reached out for an old looking brooch of a serpentine. A shiver ran down his spine as he held it. His mother's voice echoed in his mind as clear as she had spoken the words that day.
The day he left home.
"Salazar! Salazar please!"
He ignored her as he kept going. He couldn't look back as he feared his resolve would break. She didn't give up and pursued after him, her desperate pleas were a clear painful symphony of love and fear that pierced his heart like shards of glass. He strode forward, determined to distance himself from the hurt he was causing her, but each step felt heavier than the last.
Yet destiny had other plans, as a heart-wrenching cry of distress sliced through the night. He pivoted, his heart lodging itself in his throat, witnessing a sight that seared his very soul. Her tear-streaked face and dishevelled hair painted a portrait of anguish he had never envisioned. The strength that had always defined her seemed fragile now, crumbling in the wake of his departure.
He knelt beside her, the words he had steeled himself to utter catching in his throat. Her arms enveloped him in a tight embrace, her sobs reverberating through his own frame.
After a long moment he mustered the strength to pull away. He wiped his mother tears and she cracked a small sad smile.
"I love you mother… but you have to let me go." He managed to say, trying to keep his bravado up.
She then forced something warm into his hand. He looked down in shock. It was their family brooch. His father had one. Every male of his family held one passed down from their fathers. This one however… it belonged to his grandfather that had sired no sons. Only daughters.
"No matter what your father says… you're a Slytherin. You make me proud. You'd make your grandfather proud. If you ever need help… find my sister Isolde." She said and caressed his cheek. Her gaze filled with a mother's unbreakable love.
He took a deep breath and shoved the brooch into the bag. He left the room without looking back.
The centrepiece of the hall was a stunning chandelier, its intricate design reminiscent of intertwining vines and delicate petals. It hung from the ceiling like a crystalline constellation, refracting light into a mesmerizing cascade of colours that danced across the polished marble floors. Soft strains of music filled the air, carried by the enchanting melodies – the lilting notes of harps, the haunting tune of flutes, and the resonating depth of lutes, blending into a symphony that seemed to caress the senses.
Noblewomen adorned in gowns of rich fabrics – deep velvets, sumptuous silks, and intricate brocades – twirled gracefully on the arms of elegantly clad men. The dance floor was a mosaic of vibrant colours and intricate patterns, their movements fluid and synchronized as they executed dances steeped in tradition and history. The galliard, the pavane, and the branle came to life as couples glided and spun in patterns that echoed centuries of courtly refinement.
Amidst this tableau of revelry, Hermione stood on the outskirts of the dance floor, an observer of an era both enchanting and foreign. The gowns that swept the floor and the grandeur of the event left her in awe, but a weight of unease tugged at her heart.
As the days turned into weeks, Hermione found herself ensnared in a web of unease, the sensation of being constantly under observation nagged at her and made her nervous. Despite having decided to make an appearance, she couldn't find it in her to enjoy herself. Every single nerve of her body was tense with anxiety. Anyone that paid attention to her body language could tell she was discontent.
Discontent is actually not covering what she was really feeling. She was upset. Frustration surged through her veins, a fierce flame that bordered on homicidal anger. The object of her ire? Salazar Slytherin of course. She dreamed of seeing him and then plunging his face with a punch or two. Maybe three who knows. When the letter she wrote and shoved it beneath his door was met with cold silence left her adrift in a sea of confusion. She felt embarrassed of her own emotions. He had become in their short time together someone that she valued and cared for. He knew her secret and she felt alone in this world without him.
Rowena's attempts to pacify her, to offer explanations for his absence, felt hollow against the tide of her emotions. His involvement in Arvain's recovery was one excuse, but even that proved insufficient when Hermione glimpsed Arvain attending classes. The pretext shifted, weaving a new narrative of Salazar's pursuit of truth about whatever hid in the forbidden forest.
Arvain's cryptic words and Salazar's enigmatic caution lingered like shadows in her thoughts. The weight of their implications was a heavy burden that she bore alone. Her mind spun scenarios that ranged from the plausible to the fantastical, each as troubling as the next. The very reason for her presence in this time, the preservation of time delicate tapestry, seemed to hang by a thread. The words he had spoken, the weight of his unspoken truths, echoed in her mind like a haunting refrain.
"You understand of the consequences of being here, do you not?" His words reverberated in her mind, a question that lingered like an unanswered riddle. With every passing day, Hermione's determination solidified – to uncover the truth, to bridge the gap that divided them, and find out why she was bound to this time.
The music, once a harmonious backdrop to the ball, halted abruptly, its sudden cessation snapping Hermione out of her reverie. Startled, she turned to face the unexpected grasp on her arm, Ichabod's urgency cutting through her clouded thoughts. His grip, firm yet not unkind, compelled her to follow as he guided her through the crowd. Questions bubbled at the tip of her tongue, her heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.
"What is it?" she inquired, her voice lacedp with a mixture of concern and bewilderment. The path he led her down bypassed the vibrant festivities, instead leading her to the unassuming route that would take them down to the bustling kitchens. The sights and sounds of house elves and servants working in harmony blurred around them as they ascended a staircase, the tension in the air palpable.
As they ascended further, Ichabod's enigmatic words hung between them "You need to leave. I am afraid the new arrivals are here and now is the best time to disappear." His words, delivered with a knowing smirk, only deepened the enigma.
Their journey through the castle's labyrinthine hallways came to an unexpected end as they emerged outside, the cool night air washing over her in contrast to the heat of the ballroom. A figure stood before her, his presence immediately calmed her confused heart. All her earlier frustrations and anger evaporated, replaced by a surge of emotion that left her feeling both relieved and overwhelmed.
Without a moment's hesitation, she ran toward him, her feet carrying her faster than her racing thoughts. The hug she enveloped him in was more than an embrace – it was a lifeline, a connection to a time and place that she didn't belong. The force of her hug nearly toppled them both, but in that moment, neither cared.
Ichabod cleared his throat watching as the two of them awkwardly pulled away from each other, "I must go back inside. I do not wish to miss all the fun."
Hermione turned her gaze toward Salazar, her eyes still carrying a spark of frustration. Her voice held a mixture of exasperation and vulnerability as she confronted him. "I'm still quite upset,"
"I know," he admitted.
Her frustration bubbled forth, an undercurrent of anger surfacing. "Are you not going to apologize?" she demanded, her words a reflection of the hurt and confusion she had carried during their time apart.
"No." he said and snorted. Couldn't she see that he all he had tried to do was to protect her?
Her incredulity spilled out, the intensity of her emotions propelling her forward. "What do you mean no? You brought me here and practically abandoned me!"
Salazar's gaze remained steady; his own emotions veiled behind a facade of calm. "We need to go," he redirected the conversation, his smile a stark contrast to her glare. "The order is coming and they're also wanting to see and talk to you."
Her brows furrowed, her thoughts racing to catch up to the unexpected turn of events. "What... why?"
"Because Godric doesn't believe our story," he explained, his tone carrying a mixture of frustration and resignation. "He will never accept your existence in this time."
Hermione's disbelief gave way to a surge of realization. "Surely you don't mean to tell me that... he would get rid of me..."
The silence that followed confirmed her fears, Salazar's expression spoke volumes, a reflection of the harsh reality they faced. Hermione's heart clenched, a mixture of anger and hurt swirling within her. As the echoes of the ball faded into the background, the gravity of the situation crystallized before her eyes. The bond that had brought her to this era was now a double-edged sword, thrusting her into a world where her very existence hung in the balance.
Hermione's question hung in the air, a reflection of her uncertainty and the weight of the situation that now enveloped them. "What now?" she queried, her voice carrying a mix of resignation and hope, her eyes searching his for guidance. "Are you telling me to leave? On my own?" Her anxiety was palpable, a well of fear and vulnerability she had been carrying since her arrival in this unfamiliar era.
Salazar's response carried a determination that mirrored the strength within him. "No. I'm coming with you," he declared, his raised eyebrows a testament to his resolve.
Her confusion deepened, her brows furrowing. "Where to?"
"Home," he replied simply, the word carrying a significance that resonated between them. The two of them began walking side by side, their steps in sync as they navigated the path before them.
She struggled to match his pace, her shorter legs a stark contrast to his longer strides. Seeking to bridge the gap, she reached out and held his hand, a simple gesture that conveyed a multitude of unspoken emotions. The surprise that flashed across his face did not deter her, her grip firm and her eyes meeting his with a quiet determination.
"Well then... let's keep moving," she suggested, her tone tinged with a mixture of resolution and uncertainty. "Tell me when so I can apparate us both."
She slowly looked back at the castle that had once held the answers on how to send her back, now shrinking in the distance. It was odd, but she no longer cared. In fact, she felt relief. Perhaps… she never wanted to go back in the first place.
