Hermione sits on her window sill, watching the snow drift down.
The sky is a dark gray – not quite black, but as close as it can get with all the snow on the ground reflecting light back up at the clouds. The slowly-falling snow seems half-hearted at best, and as Hermione watches, the clouds slowly blow by, revealing a vast, black sky, polluted with dimly-twinkling stars.
Hermione sit on the window sill, alone, looking out at the sky.
Christmas shouldn't feel so lonely, she reflects. She's surrounded by people who cared for her, invited to spend the holiday at the Burrow. Harry and Ron both have off from their Auror training to spend the holiday with family, and Ginny and Mrs. Weasley are making Hermione feel welcome, helping her to forget her lost family in Australia.
Still, Hermione feels alone.
Harry's brought Luna Lovegood – they started dating shortly after the Final Battle, and Ginny is only too happy to share her room with her friend. Ron's invited Lavender Brown, and she shows up during the days to giggle and flirt with him obnoxiously as they all play Exploding Snap. Even Ginny has someone – she brought Draco Malfoy, of all people, and amazingly, no one has said a word. Lucius Malfoy's conviction of using blood wards and the Imperius on Draco to control his son is legendary, and everyone at the Burrow silently agreed to give him a second chance. Even Fred and George invited Katie and Angelina over the previous day for a pick-up Quidditch match, and they stayed long into the evening, everyone tucked up on comfy couches with their partners, laughing and drinking eggnog and snuggling long into the night.
Hermione had sat in the corner chair, laughing when appropriate, engaging in conversation from time to time, but mostly watching the undeniable happiness of those around her and the love in their eyes when they looked at their significant others. Even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had shared a loving kiss under the mistletoe that sent a pang to Hermione's heart.
She's never felt so alone.
Maybe going back for her 8th year was a mistake. She knows all the material, after all – she'd be able to take her N.E.W.T.'s without going back, if she wanted – but she didn't want to leave her education unfinished. More often than not, though, her teachers are covering things she'd already learned and mastered during the Horcrux hunt, and she's left to her own devices to learn anything new.
Hogwarts just isn't the place it once was.
It doesn't feel like home, anymore.
And thinking that, Hermione feels even more alone.
Everyone's moving on, it seems, but Hermione can't seem to let it go. It's not the horrors she underwent that bother her, or the fact that there are still Death Eaters out there – it's that everyone's moved on, as if the problem's been solved, when they've only scratched the surface. Muggle-born students still face tremendous obstacles, entering a new world, alone and isolated. Misguided pureblood bulwarks still delude themselves and others with their faulty genetic theories, spreading misinformation and hate. And the adults around her still give her advice on how to handle everything, as if they'd been the one there, the one tortured on the floor, the one who felt the silver kiss of Bellatrix's blade as it pressed in.
Despite the heavy, impending fog being blown away, the sky is still dark, only a few glittering stars dim against the inky blackness of space.
Hermione sees a falling star, and she watches it fall, her eyes cool,
She makes a wish.
The wish is impulsive, and not very practical at all. But it comes deep inside of her, deeper than her heart and mind can usually go.
Hermione wishes for an equal, someone to stand at her side as she takes a stand against the world.
As the star falls, Hermione wonders if maybe this is an omen, and if this will be the beginning of her fall too.
¸,ø ¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ ø,¸¸,ø ¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ ø,¸¸,ø ¤º°°º¤¸,ø¤
Hermione wakes up abruptly.
Someone is sitting on top of her, hidden in the dark of the night.
"Hello?" She reaches for her wand. "What's going on?" She finds it. "Lumos."
The tip of her wand flares to life, and the person on her stomach reels back.
Hermione stares.
A man is sitting on top of her, cross-legged. His eyes are a piercing ice blue, his hair long and pitch-black, and his jaw strong. He looks to be older than her – but not by much.
He is staring at her as well, she notices. His stare is one of confusion and anger, and slight flickers of fear.
"Hwá bist þú?" the man demands.
Hermione blinks.
"What?"
"Hwá bist þú?" the man says again, angry. He pauses. "Ic wæs déaþréafes..."
This time, Hermione recognizes a word.
"Ic?" she says. "That's... that's Old English, isn't it? Hang on."
She waves her wand, flicked the end up.
"Vertendumque."
A bolt of deep blue light hits the man in the center of his chest before dissipating. The man looks very surprised, and then, hostile.
"What was that?" he demands. "Who are you?"
"That," Hermione tells him, "was a translation charm. No one speaks Old English anymore."
The man stares.
"Old English?" he repeats. "What language do we speak now?"
"Just English," Hermione says. "After Old English came Middle English, which morphed into English over time."
"Old English?" he asks slowly. His eyes gleam. "How old is Old English?"
"Old English died out in the late eleventh century," she tells him. "No one's spoken Old English for over nine hundred years."
The man's lip curls.
"You transported me 900 years into the future," he says, folding his arms. "You must be a powerful sorceress, to pull off such a ritual."
Hermione looks at him and fights the urge to shrug, and the man's eyes narrow at her indifference.
"You didn't bring me here," he says, his eyes going dark. "Then... how...?"
"I made a wish," Hermione says simply. "It brought you to me."
The man looks at her silently. The moment stretches between them, his eyes dark, penetrating hers.
"Had you known whom Fate would bring, I doubt you would have wished the same," he tells her.
"Who did Fate bring?" Hermione asks. "I don't recognize you."
The man gets up off the bed, his dark robes falling around him, and sweeps her a deep bow.
"I am Salazar Slytherin," he pronounces. His eyes glitter in the darkness, mocking her. "And I am at your service."
¸,ø ¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ ø,¸¸,ø ¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ ø,¸¸,ø ¤º°°º¤¸,ø¤
Hermione explains what happened to Slytherin, who sits silently and listens. Occasionally, he asks questions, which Hermione answers, both of them talking quietly throughout the night as the snow starts to fall. One such question Slytherin asks is why she made such a wish.
This leads to Hermione talking about the War.
Her voice is hard as she tells her story – not hard like Harry's hard voice, which is laden with pent-up anger and rage, or hard like Ron's voice, which is petulant and resentful. Her voice carries undertones of warning, hints of injustices that cannot go unpunished, glimpses of lives yet to be overturned.
She tells the story of the War, of the Boy Who Lived, of the Chosen One. She tells of his accomplices, his Loyal Friend, and the Smart One, who helped pave the way. She tells of the Overseer, who carefully charted out the path for the Light to take against the Dark, sacrificing himself along the way.
She tells of the Loyal Friend's faltering loyalty, of the Chosen One's anger lashing out, of the Overseer's cruel manipulation and denial of conflicting issues. She tells of the anger and loathing she feels, without saying as much in words.
When she has finished her tale, they lapse into silence, Slytherin's eyes looking into hers.
She does not have to explain what she wants to do for him to understand. Nor does he need to use his Legilimency to read her mind.
Her story conveyed her intentions. He could read her determination in every word she spoke, in every sour syllable she spat out, sense her dissatisfaction as she shifted restlessly while telling her story, uneasy with the reconciliation at the end.
Hermione sees recognition in his eyes. She wonders if he was like her, at one time, dissatisfied with the world, and determined to bend it to his will. Slytherin evaluates her silently, his eyes searching hers.
Silently, he offers her his hand.
Hermione regards it for a long moment. Slytherin is a Dark Wizard, she knows – one that kept a pet basilisk for hundreds of years solely to commit future genocide against those he wanted dead. Slytherin is rumored to have created the Unforgivable Curses, she knows, and the dark glint in her eyes tells her that if she accused him of it, he wouldn't try to deny it at all.
She also knows that he built a school of magic that has lasted nearly a millennium. He founded the academic study of ancient runes, and he solidified wand lore to exponentially increase the strength wizards had and the breadth of spells a wizard can control.
Slytherin is a Dark Wizard, she knows.
But he is also one who can get things done.
His hand is cool as she takes it in hers, and his eyes glint in satisfaction. Hermione ignores it.
"The first thing we need to do," she tells him, "is get you a new wand."
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Hermione rejects the idea of buying a new wand for her new companion. The idea is preposterous – that Salazar Slytherin, most powerful wizard in hundreds of years, could be satisfied by a mass-produced wand from a tiny corner shop. She nearly laughs at the farce the image presents. No, they will not be going to Ollivander's to get Slytherin a wand.
They will make him one anew.
Hermione leaves the cheery Burrow late in the evening, pleading, telling tales of forgotten gifts to buy and last-minute shopping to do. Her friends laugh and shoo her off, smiling before turning back to their games, their arms winding around the waists of their partners, Hermione's journey already forgotten.
Slytherin meets her outside, a black pillar against the backdrop of white snow. His eyes glitter at her friends' good-byes, but he says nothing aloud.
He takes them to an old Celtic ruin. A Druid grove, now overgrown.
Twenty different trees stand in a circle, around an altar made of stone. Each tree is a different species, and each carries with it a wealth of meaning and symbols.
Hermione watches as Slytherin heads directly for the yew tree, breaking a branch from the tree. Yew, Hermione remembers, calling up old memories of books long since read. Yew is a many-layered symbol.
Power.
Silence.
Mystery.
Illusion.
Victory.
Worship.
Strength.
Longevity.
Leadership.
Death.
Hermione is unsurprised by his choice.
Hermione takes a turn around the grove once herself, her eyes sliding from one tree to the next. She pauses at the alder, the symbol of the hero, before moving on. She is no hero, and she is no Harry – an alder wand will not suit her needs.
She passes the holly as well, the wood her old wand was crafted of. Holly is a symbol of protection, vigilance, and stubborn victories won. Though her old wand suited her well at the time, it is time for Hermione to move on. She has outgrown the holly and supportive roll it plays, and she continues around the grove.
She skips the walnut, the wood of Bellatrix's wand. Walnut stains the hands with a stain that cannot be washed off, and it changes colors in the light, hinting at secrets and power. Though Hermione will do what is necessary, she is not Dark, and walnut wood will not help her in her quest.
Hermione stops before two trees, torn between them.
The ash represents strength and expansion of the mind. The wood of the ash burns with intense heat, even when green, and tells of resurrection through fire and trial. The ash appeals to Hermione, who knows she might have to set the world on fire to help it improve.
The aspen also catches her attention. Aspens represent the ever-changing nature of life and transcendentalism. The aspen is a symbol of awareness, advantage, opportunity, manipulation, and transformation, and it would suit Hermione's plans well.
As she breaks branches from both trees, planning to decide later, her eyes fall on a third tree, and she stops.
The Elder.
Cycles.
Creativity.
Death.
Rebirth and renewal.
Regeneration.
Transformation.
The small, button-like flowers of the tree quiver as she snaps a branch, tucking all three bits of wood into her robes.
"I'm ready," she tells Slytherin, and he bows in acknowledgment.
The next thing she knows, she is being swept across continents, wind whirling around. A brief moment of panic seizes her, and she looks up at Slytherin, whose eyes meet hers, ever unreadable.
The wind rushes in her hair as they fly, and Hermione closes her eyes, letting the cold cut into her, preparing her for what may lie ahead.
¸,ø ¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ ø,¸¸,ø ¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ ø,¸¸,ø ¤º°°º¤¸,ø¤
They land in a magical creature preserve. Slytherin wastes no time breaking into a hut on the property, and Hermione follows in time to see him pull a dragon heartstring from a drying heart on the table. He whispers the necessary spells, there is a flash, and his wand is made, straightened and smoothed by magic, keyed only to his hand.
His wand flashes through the air, and a blast of red sparks fire out. He smirks, satisfied, before turning his eyes to her, one eyebrow rising questioningly.
Hermione looks around.
A unicorn tail hair will not suit her – Hermione is no longer a symbol of loyalty, and she will soon be far from pure. There are dragon heartstrings here, like the cores of her previous wands, which served her well. Hermione is ready to move on, though, and her wand must move with her, she feels.
A phoenix feather is tempting, but their obedience is hard-won. Hermione glances at her empty wand, considering.
She holds her three sticks of wood in her hands. She snapped the extraneous small branches off her tokens, leaving them smoother but still slightly knobbly in her hand. The elder stick is the biggest on purpose, and the other woods will serve as supplemental support. The multiple woods will give the wand a highly-distinctive appearance, and Hermione will take advantage of the power of three the different woods will give her.
She briefly considers taking all three wand cores, to compliment her three-wooded wand: a unicorn tail hair, a dragon heartstring, and a phoenix feather, all in one. She quickly dismisses the notion, though – those three magical elements are too different, and they would react explosively, completely uncontrollable.
She turns her unfinished wand over in her hand, stroking the Elder, and she has a thought.
Turning, she returns to the enclave.
The thestrals are a far corner of the enclosure, and they look up to glance at her as she approaches. Slytherin looks curious at the fact that she can see them, which she dismisses – she already told him about the war. How could she not see the beasts?
One thestral steps forward, bows to her, and tilts it head to the side, offering her its throat. Hermione blinks in surprise, before bowing back and stepping forward, a silver knife glinting in her hand.
The thestral dies silently, and Hermione's hands are covered in blood as she cuts into the creature, severing the ligaments holding the rib cage closed. When she finds what she is looking for, she cuts it loose and brings it outside into the air, slightly breathless, part of her unable to believe she's actually doing this.
A spell cleans her hands and the organ, and Hermione pulls out a tail hair and feather from the tuft of the leathery wing tip before going over to a picnic table, setting her prize down hard. Careful, mimicking her companion earlier, she pulls loose a single thestral heart string, which she joins with her other two cores.
A word plaits the three together, and she says the necessary spells, holding aloft her wooden sticks.
A flash nearly blinds her, and Hermione staggers for several moments, spots swimming in her eyes. When her vision settles, she looks to the table.
Her new wand sits there, quivering, ready for her use.
Feeling slightly nervous, Hermione reaches out and takes her wand.
A sudden rush of power surges through her arm, a wave of force catching her off-guard. The power floods through her body, nearly dizzying to her mind, and instinctively, she flicks the tip of her wand.
An explosion of sparks erupts, bright and flying up into the sky. The sparks themselves explode, sending showers of tinier sparks down like fireworks, white and silver glimmers against the black of the sky. Slytherin looks mildly surprised, and Hermione is stunned – not even Dumbledore could produce such a sight, even when he held the Elder wand.
Hermione looks at the wand in her hand, and her eyes glint.
Dumbledore's is hardly the only Elder wand now.
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Hermione spends the rest of the night playing with her new wand, stroking it as she listens to Harry and Ron argue about the effectiveness of the Wronskei Feint. As she listens, she makes a mental list of what she needs to do.
"Ron!"
Hermione's jolted from her thoughts by Mrs. Weasley, who's looking at Ron indulgently.
"Yeah, mum?"
"Will Lavender be able to make it for Christmas dinner tomorrow night?"
"She thinks so, yeah," Ron says brightly. "Her family dinner is on Christmas day, not Christmas Eve, so we'll be able to go to both."
"Wonderful!" Mrs. Weasley smiles, then turns to Hermione. "Are you going to bring anyone with you tomorrow?"
Her smile is sympathetic, and Hermione feels a flare of anger.
"Actually, yes," Hermione tells her, impulsive. "I met someone yesterday at Diagon Alley, and we quite hit it off. I'll be bringing him around."
There's a burst of chatter at this news.
"You have a date?"
"Hermione's got someone?"
"Ooh, who is it? I need details!"
Hermione smiles benignly. "I'll introduce you tomorrow, I'm sure."
"That's not details!" Ginny admonishes, smirking. "Did he go to Hogwarts?"
He founded Hogwarts, Hermione thinks. Aloud, she says, "In a fashion."
"Ooh, mysterious man, then, is it?" Ginny grins. "I can't wait to meet him. Does he live around here?"
As of now, Salazar Slytherin lives in Hermione's parents' old house, where Hermione set him up with a text translation spell and a gigantic book of wizarding history for the past millennium before Apparating back to the Burrow.
"Pretty close," Hermione says.
Gradually, Harry and Ron return to their conversation, and Ginny listens, chiming in every so often, and Hermione lapses into silence, considering.
She didn't exactly wish for a boyfriend, she knows, but she doubts Slytherin will have a problem with pretending to be so for one night.
If nothing else, his presence will make a wonderful dinner topic, and she won't have to endure another long supper with nothing but Quidditch conversation.
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"I know we haven't known each other for long," Hermione says, determinedly not looking him in the eye, "but I was wondering if you'd come to the Weasley Christmas Party with me. As my... date, really."
Slytherin raises an eyebrow. "As your date?"
"As like... my consort, to use your terms," she says. "They were making assumptions that I wasn't seeing anymore romantically, and I just got so angry, and- well." She hesitates. "You don't have to come if you don't want to – I don't want anything to be awkward, and it'd just be for pretend, really – I mean, we hardly know each other, really-"
"I will come," Slytherin says abruptly, and Hermione blinks.
"You will?" she says, surprised.
Slytherin nods, and Hermione starts to smile.
"Well, great. That- that's great," she tells him, smiling up at him sillily.
His eyes widen and darken as he looks at her, his gaze holding hers, and abruptly, Hermione realizes that she's been staring at his lips.
"Well, ah- I'll see you tomorrow, then!" she says brightly. "Enjoy your book!"
She Apparates back to the Weasley's back yard quickly, her breath and heart racing, and her cheeks are warm, though not from the chill of the air or snow.
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When Salazar Slytherin arrives to the Burrow Christmas party, Hermione is surprised to see that he's changed his robes. Instead of black, his robes are now a deep scarlet.
They look like liquid blood, suspended in time while oozing and rolling down the fabric.
They remind her of her own blood pooling underneath her as she lay bleeding in Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix screaming at her overhead.
Hermione suppresses the memory, smiles, and tells him he looks nice.
There's a general hubbub of activity in the Burrow as family members, partners, and children Apparate and Floo in, and it's not until they're all seated and eating dinner that someone notices Hermione's date.
"Hermione," Molly Weasley says warmly. "Introduce us to your man friend."
Hermione clears her throat and puts down her fork.
"This is Salazar Slytherin," she tells them.
Slytherin's eyes glitter as he speaks. "A pleasure to meet you all."
The conversation stops.
There's an incredulous silence, and everyone slowly turns to stare at her in astonishment. Hermione ignores the uncomfortable sensation of their eyes staring at her and continues eating her salad. Slytherin's eyes glitter at her, but he follows her lead, cutting up his roast.
Ginny is the first to break the silence.
"The Salazar Slytherin?" she asks. "The one who helped found Hogwarts? Not just someone named after him?"
"The very same."
There's a pause.
"Well, damn," Draco says finally. "I don't know how you managed it, but damn." He turns to Salazar. "A pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm Draco Malfoy."
Hermione watches as Salazar takes his hand and shakes it.
"A pleasure, Draco," he says, his tone one of private amusement. "Were in the House in my name at the school?"
As they talk, the general hum of conversation slowly begins to resume, everybody slowly relaxing.
"I was, sir," Draco tells him, grinning a bit sheepishly. "Ambitious to the end, I'd say."
"An admirable quality in my book." Slytherin smiles, and the smile looks predatory, like a snake's. "Tell me, Draco – will you be part of Hermione's siege on Azkaban as well?"
Conversation comes to a dead stop.
"Siege on Azkaban?" Ron says incredulously. "Blimey, 'Mione, are you mad?"
"No." Hermione holds her chin up high. "The Dementors actively sided with Voldemort during the War, and the Ministry's taken no steps to replace them. Someone needs to get it done."
"You're going to take on the Dementors all by yourself?" Harry goggles at her.
"No," Hermione says. "I've got him."
She nods at Slytherin, whose eyes glitter.
"Hermione and Slytherin versus all of Azkaban?" George says, grinning for the first time. "I'd take those odds."
"You'll get killed!" Harry exclaims, aghast. "You can't take on a hundred dementors, just the two of you!"
"Then come and join us, if you like," Hermione says calmly, eating her potatoes with a supremely unconcerned air.
Ron snorts through a mouthful of potatoes.
"Like Hell we will," he says rudely. "We're not all suicidal loons."
Silently, Hermione mentally adds his name to a list.
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Hermione talks with Slytherin after dinner. They sit in a corner of the attic of the Burrow, talking, their voices quiet.
Hermione explains her rage at the world, and what all she wants to change. She formally asks Slytherin if he will help her, and he agrees without hesitation, even when she mentions she wants equality for all of wizarding kind.
"You don't have a problem with that?" she asks quietly.
Slytherin frowns. "Why would I?"
"Well, you kind of had a problem with Muggle-borns being admitted to Hogwarts, didn't you?" she says. "That's the origin of all the current blood-prejudice – your policy started it. I'm just surprised that you're willing to work with me to now eliminate it."
Slytherin looks at her flatly.
"M'lady," he says, "When, pray tell, was Hogwarts founded?"
"In the eleventh century," Hermione says immediately.
"And how, in the eleventh century, did Muggles react when discovering a person they thought to be a witch?"
Hermione remembers and flinches.
"They... burned them alive."
"They did." Slytherin nods. "That was the primary problem with taking in Muggle-borns at the school. The children would return home and be murdered by their family."
Oh. Aloud, Hermione asks, "Is that all?"
"Is that all?" Slytherin seems angry. "That was everything! Allowing Muggle-borns was a risk to everyone's safety, and marrying Muggles risked it even more – an odd child might be played off as a genetic defect or anomaly, but both a parent and a child?" He scoffed, derisive. "Helga and Godric were fools and had no idea what they were asking for, allowing Muggle-borns into the school without taking the proper precautions."
"The proper precautions?" Hermione repeats. "Like what?"
"The complete obliviation of the parents' memories of their child," Slytherin responds immediately. "It was the only way to ensure the Muggle-borns would not endanger our world."
"Memory-wipe the parents so they forget their child?" Hermione is aghast. "That- that's barbaric!" Memories of her own parents lost in Australia not knowing they have a daughter swim to the surface of her mind, and she fights back tears. "That's completely unethical. Not even just for the parents – think of the children, unable to ever see their parents again, left completely abandoned in a strange world!"
"I agree," Salazar says dryly. "Which is why I campaigned for Muggle-borns to not attend the school. Better to have them live out long, happy, safe lives in ignorance than miserable ones without their parents they may not have wanted at all."
Oh.
His argument makes sense, when Hermione thinks about it. She would probably make the same decision, if she'd been headmistress back then – better to deny one child an education than endanger the lives of hundreds more.
"But now," Slytherin continues, "to my understanding, the Muggles don't even believe in magic anymore. We are practically guaranteed safety, especially when they think they can explain anything away with their science. There is no reason not to educate the Muggle-borns anymore."
His eyes bore into hers, and Hermione squirms under his gaze.
"Well, then," she says briskly. "I daresay we'll get along fine. Help me figure out a way to kill the Dementors, then would you?"
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Developing the spell to kill Dementors is difficult. Hermione has difficulty learning the ancient spells she will modify to her use, and Slytherin has to tutor her along the way.
Slytherin is much more patient than Hermione ever anticipated, even if his voice and eyes do set her on edge. He shows her how to do the wands movements once again, and Hermione mimics him, doing her best, but failing to produce the desired result.
After a time, she protests and collapses into a chair, exhausted.
"It's fine – I'm a failure," she says with a sigh. "I'm too tired. I just can't do it at all. You'll have to figure it out all alone."
At her words, something lights in Slytherin's eyes, and he regards her thoughtfully.
"One more try," he murmurs. "We will try something different this time."
With a heavy sigh, Hermione gets back up.
This time, when she goes to cast the spell, Slytherin stands directly behind her, his chest pressed against her back. His hand is on hers, also touching her wand, and he murmurs the words with her, whispering in her ear.
Hermione shivers and shudders at his hot breath on her ear, and there's a sudden, wrenching feeling, and a blast of red vine-like magic pours out of her wand.
"I- We did it!"
Hermione's aston0ished, and she whips around in surprise to look at Slytherin, who looks pleased.
"How did I do that?" she asks. "I can do it myself now, I can feel it. How did that work?"
His eyes glitter.
"Tandem spell casting," he tells her. "Very rare."
"Tandem casting?" Hermione asks, wrenching her face up. "I've only seen that once before, with Fred and George. Don't our essences have to be in perfect harmony for that sort of thing?"
"Indeed." His eyes are unreadable. "They do."
Hermione shivers at his expression, before turning back to practicing her newly-mastered spell. Casting spells through another person with their magic is very, very rare, she knows, and she wonders if the Fates thought tandem casting would be an important ability she'd need to try.
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On December 30th, Hermione stands at the edge of Azkaban. Her eyes are closed, and she listens to the crash of the waves, feeling the chilly breezes nip at her skin.
She has prepared for this day, the beginning of her War against the Wizarding World. Slytherin has taught her the necessary spells for destroying Dementors, and she has long since mastered the ability to control large amounts of power.
Her new wand is in her hand. It twitches, eager, and Hermione takes a deep breath.
She is ready.
Slytherin stands beside her, at her side. He, too, is ready, his wand at his side.
Behind him stand Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley, both shivering in the cold.
"Can we start this already?" Draco complains. "I agreed to come here and help because you made a compelling argument, but damn is it cold out!"
Slytherin rolls his eyes in disgust, and Hermione flicks her wand at them.
"Caldor."
They both stop shivering, suddenly and unexpectedly warm.
"You both remember the charms, I trust?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Patronuses have no power to destroy, mind you. You must be prepared to fight the Dark with Dark."
Draco and Ginny exchange a glance before both turning back to her and nodding, resolute.
"It might be Dark magic, but it's right," Ginny says fiercely. "It's like you said – the Dementors are stains on this world. We're ready, Hermione. Just tell us what to do."
Hermione looks to Slytherin. He smiles, his lips curling up at the sides.
"We follow you, m'lady," he tells her, bowing slightly and inclining his head. "You need only give the word."
"Right." Hermione takes a deep breath. "Let's go."
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The siege of Azkaban is a hard battle, but when morning dawns on New Year's Day, Hermione has won.
The Dementors are now gone from the world.
Ginny and Draco are exhausted, dirty and scarred and bloody and beaten, but they both wear an expression of fierce pride at having helped. The hold each other loosely, watching the sun slowly rise.
The prisoners watch, too. Newly freed from their captors, they venture outside in their curiosity, and are struck silent by the long-lost sight of the sun.
Hermione wonders if they remember what it is. The sun is a happy memory, after all.
Tears trickle down the cheeks of many of the inmates, and Hermione turns away.
Next to her, standing on the highest rock, is Salazar Slytherin, who stands facing the dawning sun. The light illuminates his features, and his expression is peaceful, despite the injuries he's sustained.
He looks beautiful in the sun like that, Hermione thinks suddenly. He looks like an avenging warrior, satisfied with a job well done.
Slytherin's lips quirk and his eyes reopen, and Hermione hastily realizes that he'd been using a general Legilimency and picked up on her thoughts. His eyes meet hers, and his lips curl into a small smile.
"If I am a warrior, you are an avenging angel," he tells her, closing her eyes. "You were a sight to behold, doling out your wrath on the unjust of this world."
Hermione doesn't know what to say to that, so she just looks out and watches the sun.
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Harry and Ron stop by her house shortly thereafter, angry and demanding answers they don't deserve.
"You actually went?" Harry yells at her, storming through the doorway without bothering to ask. "You could have been killed!"
"I wasn't, though," Hermione points out. "And it doesn't matter. It was a cause worth dying for."
"Worth dying so a bunch of worthless criminals can keep their happy memories?" Ron says incredulously. "Are you out of your mind?"
"No," Hermione informs him, "though I wonder if you're out of yours."
"You could have been hurt, you could have been Kissed- Hell, Hermione, you could have been killed!" Harry exclaims. "Why didn't you come to us for help?!"
Hermione's voice and eyes are cool.
"I did," she reminds him. "Repeatedly."
Harry and Ron stare at her blankly, and she suppresses a sigh.
"Ever since third year, I've been saying that the Dementors are evil," she tells them, "and after Voldemort returned at the end of fourth, I've been insisting that they ought to be destroyed. They were merciless and inhuman, and they didn't listen to reason – mere shadows of souls violently torn from the world. They tortured the Muggle-borns locked up in there during Umbridge's reign, and they feed off of everyone they can only so they can inflict more harm." She pauses, for emphasis, her eyes narrowing to a glare. "I've told you that they could be killed, but you, Harry, you kept insisting that a Patronus would be enough, and that there was no need to eliminate enemies that clearly could do nothing good."
Harry gapes at her.
"But- a Patronus is enough, Hermione," he objects weakly. "If you drive the Dementors away, they can't harm you-"
"And what of those of us who can't conjure a Patronus anymore?" Hermione challenges. "What of those of us for whom the memories of the War are too hard to forget?"
Harry falls silent, his eyes wide, and Ron draws himself up, brandishing his wand like a child brandishing a twig.
"Now see here, Hermione! We're proper Aurors, and you can't go around obliterating legal security just because you think they're evil!" he tells her, and Hermione barely refrains from rolling her eyes. "How are we going to handle things, now that you've gone and killed all the Dementors? Who's going to control the prison? What are we supposed to do now?"
"You hire guards," Hermione says curtly. "Or you do nothing. By the time we left, the prisoners had set up a rough form of anarchistic government to rule and govern themselves."
"Hire guards?" Ron gapes at her. "Do you have any idea how much that will cost-?"
Hermione's temper flares.
"No, and quite frankly, I don't care," she snaps. "The Wizarding World has relied on slave labor for too long. The Dementors were one thing, but the continued practice of House-Elf slavery is quite another, and I plan to abolish it soon."
"Oh Merlin, not the House Elves again," Ron groans. "'Mione, can't just drop it?"
Hermione opens her mouth to retort, but she's cut off by a deep, dark voice coming down the hall.
"No, she cannot. You would be better off raging against the sky for the rain."
They all turn to see Slytherin coming down the hall, his eyes inscrutable, his robes a pitch black.
"Hermione is a warrior set on righting the world, and one of the most powerful sorceresses the world has ever seen," Slytherin informs them. "If she deems something unjust, she will fix it, and any effort you make against her will be ultimately futile."
The boys gape at him.
"What do you mean, she's a sorceress?" Harry says finally. "Is that different than a witch?"
Slytherin scoffs.
"Any witch or wizard can do magic," he tells them. He turns to Hermione, something akin to respect in his eyes. "A sorceress can make her own."
There's a pause.
"You mean Hermione can create spells?" Ron says finally, and Hermione rolls her eyes.
"Honestly, Ron, haven't you been paying attention?" she tells him. "I created my first one in our fifth year."
"The curse you put on Marietta Edgecombe," Harry says slowly. "Yeah, I remember."
Hermione holds her head high. "She deserved it. She broke our confidence and her word."
"Yeah, but still," Ron objects. "That's hardly sorceress-tier material, that. I mean, it was a clever jinx, sure, but-"
"And what of her spell that destroyed the Dementors?" Slytherin challenges. "A new curse that simultaneously strips them of their being and power while healing the world of their wound. Would you call this spell, too, a trivial jinx?"
"You did what?" Harry says, aghast. "Hermione, you made that spell...?"
"Well, there wasn't one already," Hermione says, folding her arms. "I looked. Slytherin helped me a lot with the theory and the history of Dementors, but in the end, yes – someone had to make a spell to make them go away."
"And you created it?" Ron says, astonished. "Blimey, 'Mione, that's... not even Dumbledore could create spells, I don't think..."
"I did," Hermione says succinctly. "And I took on the Dementors in Azkaban, and now they're all gone. Well," she amends, "at least until someone uses the Killing Curse again. I have to figure out a way to recycle the leftover lost energies to prevent new Dementors from appearing."
"A general energy-dispersal spell on Azkaban might work if you tie it to the metaphysical realms," Slytherin suggest.
Hermione considers this, then frowns. "No, that won't work – the Dementors are more the antithesis of energy and soul, really, so a ward like that wouldn't be able to sense them. Maybe if I reversed the runes it would work, possibly..."
Harry and Ron exchange bewildered glances, which Hermione ignores.
"Well, we'll just be going then, I guess," says Ron. "Nice talking to you."
"But honestly, Hermione," Harry says, running a hand through his hair in aggravation. "Next time, go through the proper channels, okay? No taking on Dementor hordes alone, alright?"
"And no freeing the House Elves!" Ron adds as he leaves. "Got it?"
Hermione lifts her chin, defiant. "No promises," she says, "but I'll consider it."
"Good," Harry mutters. "You do that."
The door closes behind them, and Hermione rolls her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose tightly.
"They seem dim," Slytherin says, raising an eyebrow. "You were comrades in school?"
"Best of friends," she tells him tiredly. "Now, help me get the phrasing on this press statement just right."
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Two days later, when highly-classified news from the Auror's office has leaked out enough that the Daily Prophet's gotten wind that the Dementors are completely and utterly gone, reporters come out in droves to the Minister's office, who glares at them angrily.
"You want to know what happened to the Dementors? Fine. Go ask Hermione Granger," he tells them sharply. "She's the one responsible."
The throng of reporters reconvene on the lawn of Hermione's parents' house, causing quite a commotion amongst the Muggles. Hermione and Slytherin step out onto the deck.
"I have a statement prepared," Hermione informs them. "If you can all settle down into something approaching a reasonable, quiet group of mature adults, I will read it, and then you may ask questions."
Slytherin says nothing, merely standing behind her, his eyes inscrutable.
The reporters settle down somewhat, and Hermione reads her statement.
"The Dementors of Azkaban are gone," she tells the crowd. "Late Friday night, I took a small group of like-minded individuals with me, and together, we destroyed the Dementors of Azkaban. Early this morning, I finished work on a spell that will prevent any more Dementors from being born. The Wizarding World is finally free from their menace and tyranny."
"A Dementor is the after-image of a soul that has been killed with the Killing Curse," Hermione informs the reporters. "The burned after-image is severed in the violence of the curse. A fraction of a whole, the fragment of the soul is corrupted and becomes a tear on the fabric of reality, taking on physical form and becoming a Dementor. The Dementor seeks the memories and souls of humans in an effort to become whole once more."
"By killing the Dementors, we have freed the vestiges of the souls from their cycle of violence and pain caused by their murder. We have prevented the souls of those murdered with the Killing Curse from becoming fragmented, and those poor people can now rest in peace in entirety. And we have eliminated the threat to our world that the Dementors posed, so that all of Wizarding kind may rest a little easier in their beds at night."
The crowd clamors with questions as she finishes. Deliberately ignoring Rita Skeeter, posed at the front, she picks a male reporter towards the middle.
"So you murdered the Dementors?" the man accuses, and Hermione barely refrains from ripping him a new one in front of all his reporter friends.
Instead, she raises an eyebrow.
"Are you suggesting that Dementors are human?" she inquires. "That the creepy, floaty creatures that suck out people's souls are similar to you?"
The man flushes and squirms and folds in on himself, and Hermione picks another question.
"Who will guard Azkaban, now that the Dementors are gone?" a female reporter asks, and Hermione shrugs.
"No idea," she says. "I suppose the Ministry will have to hire guards, or let the prisoners police themselves. Regardless, it's the Ministry's problem, not mine."
"How did you kill the Dementors?" Rita Skeeter cries out, quill poised. "Tell us, Hermione Granger – how did you manage to kill the creatures that no one else could kill?"
A small smile appears on Hermione's lips.
"I created a spell for that exact purpose."
The crowd roars at that, the reporters suddenly fighting to get in closer, all yelling and shouting and shoving. Whispers of 'sorceress' flutter through the group, and Hermione turns to Slytherin, who nods approvingly at the chaos.
Chaos is good, she thinks to herself, watching the angry journalists jostle each other. It means people are paying attention and shaken up, and to her mind, the Wizarding World is in desperate need of a good shake-up.
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The next step in Hermione's plan is more difficult. The goblins and part-humans will be easy enough, but to liberate the House Elves, she must break the geas written into their genes and trapped in their blood.
Breaking the subjugation curse that morphed their DNA is like slogging through waist-deep mud. Hermione creates potion after potion and administers them to Winky, all to no avail.
Slytherin helps her in the lab, as best he can. His memories about how the House Elves were subjugated in the first place help her piece the process together, and he suggests different reagents and ingredients that might help counter the spell.
Working with Slytherin is odd, to Hermione. It's not that he's a nuisance or anything – it's more the fact that he's not.
Salazar Slytherin is a remarkably helpful person. Sure, he has a bit of a temper, and he glowers whenever his work is interrupted by her cat yowling for food, but Hermione has the same flaw herself. He's insanely intelligent as well, coming up with breakthrough ideas as if listing the uses of dragon's blood, and Hermione can't help but boggle at his brilliance.
And then there's... other things.
Slytherin is not the old man she saw a statue of in the Chamber of Secrets. Fate has changed him on his passage, returning his strength and youth.
Slytherin is only a few years older than she, by the looks of it.
He is also very, very attractive, which makes things difficult for Hermione sometimes.
He doesn't seem aware of it, luckily – Hermione gets nervous when she thinks about what might happen if he knew how attracted to him she is. But sometimes she catches him looking at her or feels his gaze on her, a dark gaze, filled with glittering knowledge and mysterious emotions. It makes her nervous, to see how he looks at her, but it makes her breath catch in her throat and her heart skip at the same time.
She thinks about it sometimes, when she's stirring test potions for long periods of time and her mind wanders. Slytherin is smart and strong, and she imagines what it'd be like to date him, to have him kiss her hand, his eyes holding hers, murmuring sweet nothings she wouldn't be able to understand in Old English.
Then she remembers that Slytherin has mastered general area-level telepathy, her face flames, and she hurriedly returns her focus to her work.
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"You're missing school."
Hermione glances up from her potion to see Slytherin standing in the entry way, his arms folded.
"I am?" she asks. She glances at the calendar on the wall. "Oh. I am."
"Are you not returning?" he asks her, his eyes searching.
"Truthfully, I kind of just forgot," she admits. "But... well, I guess not."
Slytherin raises and eyebrow, and Hermione hurries on.
"I mean, I've already learned everything I can from them, really, so there's really no point in staying to learn anything more, especially when I'm doing so much more important work here. I'll still go back for my N.E.W.T.'s at the end of the term, of course, but..." She shrugs. "I'd rather stay here."
Slytherin eyebrow climbs higher.
"What?" Hermione demands. "Why are you so surprised?"
Slytherin considers, carefully choosing his words.
"I... had thought you would not want to be apart from your classmates," he tells her. "That you would feel too lonely and isolated in your parents' empty house."
"I'm not alone anymore, silly," Hermione says absently as she stirs. "I've got you now, remember?"
Slytherin stills at her words, and Hermione, quickly realizing her presumption, looks up in a hurry, her face aflame.
"I- I didn't mean it like that," she stutters. "I mean, you're staying with me and everything, and we've sort of become friends, but I didn't mean that I take you and your help for granted or anything, and I-"
Slytherin takes three strides toward her and silences her by laying a finger on her lips.
"You do have me," he tells her, his voice a low murmur. "You do have me. You are no longer alone."
Hermione shivers at his words and his gaze, his eyes reading hers.
After a time, Slytherin moves away, returning to his own test cauldron, and Hermione lets out a slow breath of relief, trying to focus on adding her holly leaves at the right time instead of what might have happened if she'd sucked his finger into her mouth.
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A week later, Hermione discovers a mutation in Winky's blood, and she leaps on the development. By the next day, she's developed a new test potion, and that evening, it's ready for testing.
"I think this one might do it, honestly," she tells Slytherin. "I think this might just be it."
"We shall see," Slytherin says, watching as Winky drinks the vial. "We shall see."
As soon as the vial is gone, Winky seizes, contorts, and screams, dropping the vial to shatter on the ground. Hermione moves back quickly, worried, and Winky flails about wildly, shrieking.
Her skin begins to bubble, and Hermione stares.
Winky's skin bubbles and shifts, and at the same time, Winky begins to change. Her ears shorten, and her head elongates somewhat. She grows about a foot, her long limbs coming more into proportion, and when her eyes reopen, they have an intelligent sharpness to them that they did not have before.
"Winky?" Hermione ventures carefully.
Winky flinches.
"Please, don't call me that," she grimaces. "It's embarrassing."
"Fair enough," Hermione says gently. "What would you like to be called?"
Winky rubs her temples, before admitting, "I don't know."
"You did it," Slytherin says softly, and Hermione turns to look at him, surprised. His eyes meet hers, and he nods. "You did it," he repeats, his voice a murmur. "She looks like the elves did before Mordred and Nimue enslaved their race."
Hermione feels a thrill, and she quickly turns back to Winky to confirm it.
"Do you still feel the need to take and accept orders?" Hermione asks Winky, and Winky frowns.
"I don't know," she admits. "Try it?"
It takes Hermione a moment to understand what she wants. "Oh! Um... Winky, come clean this cauldron."
"No!" Winky scowls. "I hate cauldrons. Touching the iron is... eurghh..."
She makes a face, and Hermione beams.
"I did it!" she exclaims, ecstatic. She turns around, beaming at Slytherin. "I did it! I broke the spell! The House Elves will be free, now! Oh, this is the best day ever!"
She laughs, nearly giddy with glee, then, on an impulse, throws herself at Slytherin.
"Spin me around?" she asks, laughing. "I'm so happy, I feel like dancing!"
Slytherin's eyes widen in surprise, then, to her surprise, his lips twitch upward in a smile, and he lifts her and spins her around.
"I did it!" Hermione laughs aloud, spinning with him. "I did it, Salazar! I did it!"
"You did it," Slytherin murmurs. "You did."
When he sets her down, he seems reluctant to let go of her waist, but Hermione is too excited to care.
"Will you help me free the others?" Hermione asks Winky, crouching down to look her in the eyes. "You're free now, so of course you don't have to, but I thought you might want to take part in the freeing of your race..."
Winky's eyes flash with danger.
"The other elves are still enslaved, many to masters who abuse them regularly," she says, and her tone is venomous. "To give them back their power and freedom, while they still remain at their masters' sides?" She smiles, and pointy, needle-like teeth glint in the light. "I would like that very much, Miss Hermione."
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Because it's coming up and she thinks it's appropriate, Hermione designates that Martin Luther King Jr. Day will become Magical Equality Day as well. Winky is ready with an aerosol form of the freeing potion to free House Elves bound to families with, and Neville and Luna are ready with massive charmed hoses to free the vast numbers of elves at Hogwarts and at the Ministry.
Draco and Ginny are ready with massive amounts of the potion in more capped vials. These will be given to newly-freed House Elves who wish to help free the rest of their brethren. Hermione hopes that most of them will help – she hasn't the slightest idea where to begin freeing House Elves in other countries, but the House Elves' magic should be able to guide them to their kin.
The House Elves are being dealt with admirably. Hermione has decided to talk to the goblins on her own.
Slytherin has opted to come along as back up, though Hermione didn't ask.
Hermione's knees shake as she strides through Gringotts, determined to look powerful and confident. There's an interested murmur as people see her coming – her reputation's grown, these past few weeks. People think of her as someone to look up to, now, as the first sorceress of the modern age.
Hermione stops in front of a a goblin at random, and she offers him a business-like smile.
"I've come to free the goblins from Wizarding oppression," she tells him. "Might I speak with your boss?"
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Hermione is quickly whisked off to an office in Gringotts three floors up. A panel of twelve goblins look down at her from above, pointy faces looking at her sharply.
Hermione waits for one of them to say something and resists the urge to tap her foot. She has the odd urge to do the Muggle hobgoblin dance, just for the sheer bizarreness of it, and next to her, Slytherin smirks and suppresses a snicker, and Hermione starts, not realizing he was using Legilimency.
Well. Good thing her thoughts were on topic then, she thinks.
One of the goblins speak.
"Toeclaw has told us that you claim to have a way to free the goblins from Wizarding oppression," the goblin says. "Is this true?"
Hermione inclines her head. "It is."
"And why would a witch offer us this freedom?" another goblin sneers. "Witches and Wizards only benefit from our oppression. Why would a witch want to change the status quo?"
"I do not speak for the Wizarding World," Hermione says firmly. "I speak only for myself and my own wishes. I believe the Wizarding World is injust, and I am doing my best to make it right."
One of the goblins peers down at her, then straightens in surprise.
"You're the sorceress that killed the Dementors," he exclaims.
"I am."
A murmur goes through the goblin panel, and Hermione exchanges a glance with Slytherin.
"As we speak, the House Elves are being freed," Hermione proclaims, spreading her arms wide. "Their blood bonds are being dissolved, and their stripped powers are being returned. Others are with the centaurs, offering them gestures of goodwill, as are others with the merfolk and the werewolves. Today is a day of restoring equality. It is up to you if you want to seize this day."
The goblins converse rapidly amongst themselves, before returning to their seats, somewhat skeptical.
"And how will you accomplish our liberation?" the head goblin asks with a sneer. "We have no wild magic like the elves, and we have attempted insurrection before. What means do we have but your word of achieving equality?"
Hermione turns to Slytherin, who bows and steps forward, holding a large box.
"Gentlemen," Hermione says, turning back to the goblins and gesturing. "I bring you a gift as a token of apology for your continued mistreatment at the hand of my kind. I bring you a staple of wizarding society, but altered and crafted by me personally to respond to your hands and inherent magic, only able to be used by you." She pauses. "Today, I bring you wands."
Slytherin opens the box, revealing thousands of small wooden rods, all containing strands of narwhal horn, Jabberwocky feathers, or crystallized kelpie fur. The cores have been carefully researched by Hermione to resonate best with the goblins' inherent magic, and the woods chosen from the trees the goblins most revere.
The goblins look at the wands, astonished. An astonished goblin is an odd sight, Hermione thinks to herself, amused. She watches as one goblin comes forward slowly and takes a wand. He holds it for a moment, before returning it and taking another. More satisfied, he swings it through the air as he has seen wizards do.
A shower of sparks erupt from the tip, and the goblins gasp, a collective breath of disbelief, and rapid mutterings break out.
When their discussion stops, the head goblin comes down to the floor and bows deeply to Hermione, his eyes reverent.
"The goblins are deeply indebted to you and your companion, Hermione Granger," he tells her. "You and your kin will be marked as a hero to goblin kind. Need you any favor from us, you need only ask."
Hermione offers him a smile.
"Time enough later for that, I think," she assures him, offering him a wand. "For now, let's attempt a rebellion, shall we?"
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After Hermione finally helps the last goblin choose a wand and gives over the box for safe keeping, she and Slytherin leave to walk the streets, only to come to an abrupt halt in the doorway.
Diagon Alley is in utter pandemonium.
It's a wonderful sight.
Goblins and elves are dueling in the streets with flustered shop keepers, demanding to be let into shops to buy their wares. Old, prejudiced wizards attempt to strike down goblins just on premise, only to be monumentally surprised when the goblins manage to cast stunning spells and hit them. Pureblooded families cower in corners, shrieking and shirking from angry elves pelting food and cookware and furniture at them, demanding retribution for years and years of abuse.
Hermione turns to Slytherin and grins happily. A small smile twists his mouth, and he takes her arm, Apparating them to the Ministry.
At the Ministry, things are even worse – centaurs are stampeding the Atrium, sending shrieking witches running for cover, and goblins and elves are chanting in the streets, holding large signs demanding equality. A group of tired, exhausted looking witches and wizards are with them, helping make signs, and Hermione recognizes them as the werewolves that Draco was going to talk to.
Hermione makes her way through the Atrium unimpeded, Slytherin following along behind. No one stops her, and Hermione wonders if they're all too preoccupied with the siege of the Ministry occurring, or if it's just that no one would dare.
She arrives at the Minister's office, knocks smartly, and steps in, the wards dismissed with a wordless wave of her hand.
The crowd of huddled wizards around the Minister's desk stop talking abruptly as she strides in, and she catches many glares.
"Hermione!" Ron says, angry. "You're the one responsible for this?"
"The one responsible for oppressed people lashing out against their oppressors?" Hermione says, raising an eyebrow. "I daresay they're not mad at me."
"You know what I mean!"
Ron's turning a ridiculous shade of enraged purple, and Hermione wonders if he'll manage to pop like a blueberry.
"Miss Granger, you're under arrest," an Auror says, stepping forward, holding out iron shackles. "I'm afraid I'll have to take you into custody."
"For what?" she asks incredulously. She looks at the shackles and thinks several words, and the chains begin to melt in the man's hand. "It's not illegal to give goblins sticks – what I gave them don't count as wands under the legal definition, and no one ever said that reversing centuries-old binding spells was to be frowned upon."
"Goddamnit, Hermione," Harry Potter groans. "Couldn't you have given us a bit of warning?"
"Miss Granger!"
Hermione turns to Kingsley Shacklebolt, who looks dismayed.
"You did all this?" he asks her. "You freed the house elves? You gave the goblins wands?"
Hermione inclines her head. "I did."
"Good god, woman! Why?"
"Because it needed to be done." Hermione's eyes are like steel. "For too long has the Wizarding World stagnated, becoming a closed, prejudiced group of old men bossing others around. With Voldemort's defeat, those times have changed. Magical Britain will represent equality and fairness, now, and it will be extended to all out magical kin."
Kingsley looks at her, astonished.
"Hermione," he says. "There is rioting in the streets."
"Yes," Hermione says, nodding. "I expected that."
"People are being attacked by their House Elves."
"Well, they're hardly their House Elves anymore, are they?"
"The goblins are demanding equality under the law."
"As they should."
"There are centaurs trampling through the court rooms!"
Hermione raises an eyebrow. "So?"
Kingsley sighs and slumps in his chair, the energy going out of him at her apathy.
"I have chaos on my hands, Miss Granger, and people are going to get hurt," he says, rubbing his temples. "Since you seem to have planned this whole thing out, please, tell me: what should I do?"
Hermione gives him a scroll of paper.
"Sign this," she tells him. "It's an executive order immediately mandating the equality of all wizards, witches, and humanoid magical creatures, regardless of species, bloodline, or heritage, with disobedience punishable by stints in Azkaban."
"Mandating equality?" Kingsley says, scanning the document. "It includes Muggle-borns and sex discrimination in here."
"As it well should," Hermione says, her voice warning. "Or do you rank women and Muggle-borns as less than human as well?"
"Hermione!"
Ron is marching towards her, angry, and Hermione raises an eyebrow ironically.
"I get that you're mad, that you think we stole all your glory, but this is not the way to go about it!" he tells her, jabbing her sharply in the chest. "You've nearly ruined the entire Wizarding World with this stunt! Don't you understand anything?"
Hermione grabs his poking finger, twists it sharply, and with a snap, breaks it, leaving Ron yelping, tears in his eyes.
"Ron, you're the one who doesn't understand," she informs him. "Times are changing now, and they're not going back."
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Kingsley, his back against a wall (almost literally – the goblins nearly broke into his office, after all), signs the document, and loudly proclaims the order off of the ministry balcony to the masses of elves and goblins below.
There's a loud cheer at his words, and elves turn to embrace each other, goblins sending up celebratory sparks with their new wands. The cheering continues, going on and on, and Kingsley turns to Hermione, exhausted.
"There," he says, the bags beneath his eyes drooping. "Are you happy now?"
"No," Hermione tells him. "Now you have to push it through the Wizengamot."
Kingsley's shoulders sag even further, and Hermione's pressed not to laugh.
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The pushing of equal rights legislation through the Wizengamot is slow going, and Hermione knows a lot of the delay is probably her own fault. The Wizengamot was livid when she disposed of the Dementors without asking if she could, and they're no more pleased now.
The Wizengamot is composed of very old wizards and witches, the heads of long-standing pureblooded families. They rule over Wizarding England like a corrupt House of Lords, and as Hermione witnesses more and more hearings day after day, she grows more and more frustrated with the entire governing body.
After a particularly long day of arguments, where the Wizengamot interrogated a child goblin to see if he poses a danger to baby humans, Hermione goes to the Hog's Head for a stiff drink, and Slytherin follows after her.
"Hermione!"
She turns.
Neville greets her enthusiastically, hugging her hard. "Brilliant victory yesterday, with the Muggle DNA proof of our common ancestor," he tells her happily. "We're all celebrating it now – the Wizengamot's can't ignore evidence like that!"
Hermione glances around. The bar is full with happy elves and wizards, with a handful of goblins thrown in the mix. Everyone is dancing and drinking, and Aberforth looks pleased with the unexpected rush of gold.
Slytherin looks at her and raises an eyebrow.
"Are you wanting to celebrate?" he asks. "Or would you rather de-stress at home?"
Hermione bites her lip, considering.
"Oh, hell, I'll drink here. I might as well."
She orders a butter gin, and Slytherin orders firewhiskey. Aberforth returns with their drinks shortly thereafter, and Hermione clinks her glass against her companion's.
"Cheers," she says, saluting him. "To our continued success."
Slytherin's eyes glitter. "Indeed."
Her gin is good – very good, in fact, so Hermione orders another. She sips her drink, relaxing slowly, watching the rest of the bar dance around.
Several times throughout the night, elves, goblins, and wizards alike come up to her to thank her, expressing their limitless gratitude for what she has done. Hermione is surprised and touched by their remarks, and she finds herself cheering at their kind words.
Eventually, Neville cajoles her into dancing, and reluctantly, Hermione gets to her feet.
The music isn't typical wizarding songs, Hermione discovers. It's almost muggle, with a strong bass beat and techno overtones. It's easy to move to, and Hermione finds herself closing her eyes and losing herself in the dance.
"May I?"
Hermione blinks, opening her eyes to Slytherin, who looks down at her, his eyes unreadable, the dark pupils glittering in the darkness of the bar.
"Of course." Her reply is near breathless, but Hermione's had enough alcohol not to care.
Taking care, Slytherin takes her hand, and they begin to dance.
If asked, Hermione wouldn't have expected Slytherin to know how to dance – he'd been born and raised in a time 500 years before the waltz, for Merlin's sake. But he does – he moves like a snake, his moves fluid and liquid as they dance together to the beat. He rolls his head, and the move travels down his arms and his chest, rolling into his hips and legs and feet, like one big wave. Hermione idly wonders where he learned how to dance as she moves her hips, dancing.
His eyes fly to her hips and widen, and when they move back up to her eyes, Hermione catches a glimpse of a smolder.
Does he...?
Emboldened by the alcohol, Hermione turns in front of him and dances closer, her rear dangerously close to his front.
Slytherin's hands slide around her waist, and they dance together, close-but-not-quite-touching. Hermione can feel his breath in her hair and the heat of his body on her own, and soon, she's near dizzy with desire, desperately wanting to turn around and kiss him full on the lips.
Abruptly, Slytherin sucks in his breath sharply, staggering backwards, an shocked expression on his face. Hermione's face instantly reddens – she hasn't been keeping her Occlumency shields up, after all, as she's drunk – and she hurries over to apologize.
Then Slytherin's lips sweep down and capture hers, and Hermione promptly loses the ability to think.
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Slytherin managed to Apparate them back to the House, though decidedly off-kilter and nearly a foot up.
They fall together in a tangle of limbs, lips nipping and biting and tongues tangling frantically as Hermione pushes her clothes off. Slytherin moans into her mouth and flips her, pinning her back against the door, and the door knob jams into her back.
"Fuck!"
"Sorry, sorry-"
Then he's kissing her again, desperate, trying to get out of his own robes as fast humanly possible.
"I didn't even know you wanted me," Hermione tells him as she helps him with the modern zipper fly of his trousers. "You never gave me any indication you were interested."
"I what-? Hermione, I've been courting you the entire time I've been here."
He kisses her again, needy and wanting and oh, and Hermione moans against him, her knees weak.
"You were courting me-?" she manages to gasp out.
Slytherin's hands find her breasts, and Hermione's eyes flutter as her thoughts fly from her mind.
"Why else would I stay at your side, if not to prove I was worthy and pay you court?" he demands, and Hermione moans as his fingers tease her nipples relentlessly. "I have shared with you my power, I have given you my wand. I have stood with you in battle, I have taught you ancient magics once lost. I have done your bidding, shown my ability, and proven myself to you as a worthy consort."
"Because of my wish," Hermione gasps out, writhing against his thigh as he pleasures her. "I wished for someone – for you – and Fate sent you to me."
"I thought a consort was your wish," Slytherin says, his eyes dark. "You wanted someone with you at your side, as an equal. Who else did you mean if not an oopenereas?"
The word doesn't translate through her spell, and through her pleasure, Hermione blinks, confused.
"A what?"
He pauses, fingers stilling on her nipples, and Hermione keenly feels the loss.
"An oopenereas," Slytherin says again. "More than a lover, more than a husband – one who fits you perfectly, matches your essence and your magic as if they were a part of you – your fated mate, your destined equal, your perfect counterpart..."
Hermione's heart clenches.
"Soul mate," she tells him. "The word in English is soul mate."
"Soul mate," Slytherin tests. He looks at her, his eyes dark with lust and more emotion, Hermione can see now, emotions she didn't realize he could feel. "Yes. That is the word."
Hermione bites her lip, and Slytherin leans in to capture her lips with his own.
"I don't know if I wished for a soul mate," Hermione warns him. "I've never been in a romantic relationship before, really – I think I just wanted a really good friend who was smart and understood me perfectly. Don't get me wrong – I want you, desperately – but I'm not sure I'll make a very good consort."
Slytherin laughs against her breast.
"You are perfect for me," he tells her, his fingers tracing patterns over her skin. "You are incredible."
"I'm not," Hermione objects. "I'm just me."
"You are more than enough," Slytherin tells her, his lips closing over her flesh, and she moans. "You are beautiful and capable. You are loyal to a fault. You are powerful and intelligent, and a stunning sight to behold on the field of battle. You are a sorceress of the first kind, a pinnacle of our collective potential, and I feel honored for the chance to hold your heart."
"But you- you're Salazar Slytherin," Hermione manages to get out.
"And you are Hermione Granger," he tells her. "And when the new songs of history are sung, your name will resonate louder throughout time than mine ever did."
He stops talking then, dropping to his knees in front of her, and Hermione lets out a breathy moan as he touches his lips to her center. His tongue is wet and warm, questing delicately, and Hermione leans back against the wall and gasps, her knees weak.
Suddenly, everything is moving faster – Hermione moaning, clutching at his hair, Salazar groaning and thrusting violently against her leg, everything feeling just too much – and Hermione pulls him back up to kiss him desperately, a kiss he heatedly returns.
"It's not that I doubt your affection," Hermione tells him, biting back a moan. "It's just that – oh, that feels good – ah, it's just that I don't think-"
"Don't think," Slytherin admonishes her. "Feel. We are Fated, Hermione. We fit together perfectly, body and mind and spirit and soul."
He stands up fully, melding his body against hers, and a soft moan escapes her at his touch.
"Look at how well we fit together," Slytherin murmurs, his eyes like fire, holding hers, desire smoldering inside. "Our tandem magic, our love of learning and knowledge. Our ambition, our desires..."
He pushes into her, and Hermione keens.
"Ah-! Salazar!" she cries out. "You – ah – you feel so good-!"
"Of course I do," Slytherin tells her, slowly pulling out and thrusting back in. "I was made for you."
His hardness fits perfectly inside of her, wide and not too long and ever-so-slightly curved, and as he thrusts in and out again, Hermione sees stars before her eyes.
"You're perfect," Slytherin hisses through his teeth, groaning. "You're so hot and wet and tight-!"
He thrusts into her, again and again and again, and Hermione gasps, pressure building.
"I- ohh- I can't hold on much longer," Hermione says, her voice shaky. "You're too- it's too much-"
Salazar reaches down between them, his fingertips ghosting over her clitoris, while the other hand finds and nipple to pinch and twist as he bends down to growl in her ear.
"Then come."
She does, hard, with a needy wail escaping her.
"Salazar," she cries out, clutching his shoulders. "Oh, god...!"
She can feel him thrust into her even harder, ever faster, even as she clenches around him, muscles rippling with her climax. He suddenly stiffens, and a rough cry escapes him as he thrusts into her sporadically.
"Hermione-!" he gasps. "Oh, cwéne!"
They both collapse to the floor, panting, legs too weak to hold them up. Eventually, Salazar carries her into the bedroom for a slower, longer go, and they both fall asleep in an exhausted sleep.
Later that night, when Hermione wakes up to use the loo, she takes a detour to look up 'cwéne', the word he'd called her toward the end. Old English dictionaries are rare and vague, but the meanings she finds make her heart skip a beat.
Woman. Wife. Consort.
Queen.
Hermione closes the book and returns to bed, long-suppressed thoughts and desires nipping at her heels.
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"I have an idea," Hermione announces over breakfast the following morning. "It'll help eliminate the stalling legislation in the Wizengamot. It's a really good idea, I think."
Slytherin looks at her, faintly amused.
"Hermione," he says, his dark eyes glittering.
"So first, we're going to need to call a press conference," Hermione babbles on. "We're going to need to get as much support as we can. Then, we're going to need to come up with some sort of legitimate government document, sort of Constitution-esque, and then we're going to need-"
Slytherin rises from his chair, strides over to Hermione, and captures her lips with his.
After a long minute, during which Hermione's mind has turned to mush, he pulls away, resting his forehead on hers.
"Good morning, cwéne," he murmurs, his eyes glittering.
"Good morning," Hermione says faintly. "Is that my new pet name?"
Slytherin chuckles. "Cwéne? I suppose it is."
"Good. I like it."
Hermione looks at him, and his eyes glitter down at her. She smiles up at him sappily for a moment, before saying, "Well, now that we're past my awkward post-sex rambling, can we say good morning again?"
Slytherin chuckles as he leans forward to kiss her, and Hermione's only too happy to let go of her next set of plans for now.
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Three days later, when Hermione returns to the Wizengamot for the next set of hearings, she doesn't return alone.
"What- what is all this?" Madame Bones demands, blustering. "I say! Who are all these people? Just what is going on?"
"The Wizengamot is henceforth disbanded," Hermione announces, watching as a crowd of wizards and elves work to clear the room. "You have been deemed an invalid form of authority. We thank you for your service, and please have a nice day."
There's a loud cry of objection, and Hermione leaps down from her dais at the first sounds of wands being drawn, her own wand at the ready by the time she lands.
"Eager to duel?" Slytherin murmurs from her side, his tone privately amused.
"Maybe a little," Hermione admits. Louder, she says, "Please leave peacefully. There is no need for violence or bloodshed."
Lannister Prewett, one of the oldest members on the bench, glowers at her and brandishes his wand.
"Upright little Mudblood," he says indignantly. "You can't just come in here and overturn everything! You're trampling on hundreds of years of tradition!"
"I can't?" Hermione's eyes glow. "Just watch me."
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Hermione's next press conference is widely attended by journalists and civilians alike.
"And so," Hermione finishes, "the Wizengamot has been disbanded. The elections for Magical Parliament will be held in two weeks' time here at the Ministry. Be sure to vote for your chosen representatives!"
She leaves the balcony despite the loud clamoring of questions behind her, and Kingsley greets her with a frown.
"Do I still have my job?" he demands. "What about everyone else in the Ministry?"
"I see no reason to fire people who are doing their jobs adequately," Hermione says, shrugging. "However, from this point on, expect to be hiring elves and goblins and werewolves with some regularity. I expect most of them will choose more typical professions for their kind, but there are sure to be some who want to work here."
"I can't imagine why," Kingsley says dryly, arching an eyebrow. "It's not like we're the ones who get anything done."
"Well, if you did, I wouldn't have to," Hermione informs him. "So maybe you'd better get to work."
She strides out of the building, her head held high, and Slytherin follows after her, quietly laughing to himself.
"You could have disposed of him, you know," he tells her as they head towards home. 'You could have thrown him out and made yourself Queen. No one would have objected, and the elves and goblins would have supported you with their lives."
"I don't want to be Queen," Hermione tells him. "I just want things to change."
"And you've changed them," he says, a small smile playing around his lips. "Are you satisfied now, Hermione? Or is there another area of Wizarding England yet to feel your wrath?"
Hermione turns to him incredulously.
"Are you kidding me?" she says. "There's still so much to do! There's the complete education reform that Hogwarts so desperately needs, and the complete overhaul of the corrupt governor's board. I expect I'm going to have to shadow each and every Auror one-on-one to test their competency, and there's still the issue of elven and goblin wand manufacturing to be seen to!"
She breaks off once she sees Slytherin is laughing, and she pauses.
"...Salazar?"
"Foolish me," Slytherin says, shaking his head. He looks at her, his eyes glittering, and he catches her hand, pulling it to his lips for a kiss. "Far be it from me to forget the ambition of my lady, and the drive for success and change she has that rivals my own."
Hermione frowns. "Your lady?" she asks. "Whatever happened to cwéne?"
Slytherin raises an eyebrow but doesn't seem surprised.
"You said you didn't want to be a queen," he says simply.
"Well, no," Hermione equivocates. "But... I'd still like it if you called me it," she admits. "I like you calling me something special, even if I'm not a queen for real."
"To me, you are my Queen," Slytherin says, wrapping his arms around her, "and I will be your dark knight. Only give me the word, my lady, and my wand is yours to command."
"Right now, I'd rather you offer me your other wand," Hermione says bossily, though her face flames at her flagrancy. "It does a knight no good to displease his queen."
Slytherin chuckles and takes her arm, Apparating them to the bedroom with an elegant half-turn.
"As you wish, cwéne. Whatever you desire."
As he slowly disrobes her, his lips capturing hers, Hermione entertains one last, blissful thought: that she'll never be bored or lonely again.