Woo, had to get this out of me! Hermione/Salazar one-shot, includes minor HBP spoilers.
ABYSSUS ABYSSUM INVOCAT
It was a freak occurrence.
No one knew quite how it happened, or what had happened to Hermione Granger. One moment, she was walking around the Hogwarts lake with her friends, laughing a joke from her boyfriend, Ron Weasley - the group taking the afternoon off from researching about possible Horcruxes. The next moment, the air around her fizzled, like the static on an old television set when a signal is lost. She had flickered, becoming two-dimensional and shaded in blue, static lines passing up through her, like a TV trying to track her image, and failing.
And then she disappeared with a faint buzz.
Her friends stumbled forward, screaming out her name, but there was no answer. One of them, Neville Longbottom, ran to the school to inform the teachers and Order members stationed there of the incident.
But it was of no use. No book in the Hogwarts library or the official Ministry library or the unofficial Ministry library or the Black library could describe the phenomenon. No ransom note came from the Death Eaters or Voldemort – there was no indication, anywhere, as to what had happened, foul play or no, and to where she had disappeared.
Hermione Granger was gone.
Not so far away, but very long ago, a certain Muggle-born witch ended up in the middle of a forest, staring up at a very intimidating wizard. She had initially confused him for a Death Eater, and the fear was evident in her eyes, much to the confusion of the man before her, who had not been expecting a terrified woman.
He attempted to speak to her, and for some odd reason he spoke in Latin. While still unnerved, the wizard did not seem to be threatening her, so Hermione relaxed, though still on her guard. Hermione could catch a few words, and could tell by his tone that he was questioning and polite, but she did not understand, and indicated as much.
Eventually, clearly frustrated, he beckoned her to follow him, and after five minutes of listening to the man chatter at her as they walked, they emerged from the forest to find a castle near a lake. With a start, Hermione recognized it as Hogwarts, but both the castle and the lake were much smaller than they should be.
An hour and a Translanguage Potion later, Hermione found out that not only was it indeed Hogwarts, it was a time nearly a thousand years previous to her birth. She had been accidentally Summoned, apparently - a transportation technique that had predecessed Apparation and portkeys, and with a greater chance for mishap, as was evidenced – in lieu of Hermione Boru of Grange, Ireland.
And Summoned by none other than a young Salazar Slytherin.
It had taken one week after her arrival for Hermione to befriend all the Founders, an occurrence which she could not properly describe to them of the significance or honor it held to her. They had decided, for the betterment of all that the conditions surrounding her arrival had best be kept secret, and thus she took on the pseudonym of Hermione Sophismatio - a surname suggested by Ravenclaw - and the fabricated background that came with. Hermione did not mention to them that she recognized the name from Hogwarts, A History as not only Hogwarts's first graduate, but its first teacher to come to staff after the original four Founders. She did not wish to have any future decisions based on such knowledge, though she hoped fervently that she would be able to return home before then.
It had taken six months after her arrival for Hermione to master Latin, and rejoin the Hogwarts student body. Because of her prior schooling, she knew much more than the others who came to study at the school. There was still much to learn, though - some of which was knowledge that had been long lost by her time, and she happily gobbled it all up, ever pursuant.
It had taken eighteen months after her arrival for the Founders to finally graduate her, the first, as she knew would happen. Nevertheless, Hermione was pleased at her accomplishment. She stayed on at Hogwarts, still researching a way to return to her own time.
It had taken thirty months after her arrival for Hermione to give up on returning to the future. The magical technology simply did not exist for intentional time travel, and nobody could figure out how Salazar had managed it to begin with – though Rowena had secretly confided to Hermione one day that she suspected his runework to be the culprit, as it had always been his greatest fault. The only reason he had done the Summoning to begin with was the fact that he was the only one familiar with Grange, Ireland – an integral component to a successful Summoning. Someone would have to replicate Salazar's mistakes in the future, and would have to be completely knowledgeable about a then archaic ritual. Given, however, the fact that Salazar claimed any mistake to be nonexistent; rather, Hermione's arrival was a magical fluke, and the fact that the ritual was practically taboo knowledge in her time, Hermione doubted her chances that anyone would suddenly pull her back to her time.
The best solution she could contemplate would be to be placed under a Static Charm, which would have to be renewed by an external source every seventy years. It was not at all preferable, though, as she would be dependent on others to not only renew the charm, but also, to protect her vulnerable form while Static. It was not a desirable solution, and so thus, Hermione had given up on ever returning to her time, and rather, tried to make the best of the situation.
It had taken three years after her arrival for Hermione, still living in the castle despite not being a student, to be frustrated enough at her four friends, arguing over qualifications for admissions, to suggest a House system. They had found it to be a brilliant idea, and had created the Sorting Hat – a suggestion which was not Hermione's, much to the relief of her now paranoid and slightly guilty mind, at the idea that she might be altering time.
It had taken five years after her arrival for Hermione to be the first post-founding teacher hired, taking over Charms for Godric, as the influx of new students due to the Housing system had overwhelmed the Founders.
It had taken seven years after her arrival for Hermione to finally give in to five years of Salazar's consistent advances, and allow to be courted. She had been suspicious of him for years, even when she finally agreed, knowing full well of his disdain for Muggle-borns, and the fact that he knew she was one. Again her paranoid mind spoke to her, suspecting that he may be only trying to get close to her in order to use her knowledge of the future to his advantage. It did not help that he continually asked her about such matters, either. But still, she relented, and thoroughly enjoyed being courted by him.
It had taken nine years after her arrival for Hermione to fall in love with him, and to painfully realize that he had fallen for her years before when she had still denied him. Such, she reasoned, might have been the reason he never owned up to his Summoning mistake – he didn't wanted her to leave. She thus forsake the future, content in live in the past, finding her love in the oddest and darkest of places. She knew what he was, a Dark wizard, what he meant to the world of her time, and yet she did not care. Her time with him was the happiest in her life – he forever stimulated her mind and fueled her ambition for magical prowess, teaching her archaic arts. Furthermore, he had such a mischievous, humorous streak to him that she could swear that the Weasley twins were somehow related, and they had a marvelous time when they were out and about. The Slytherin she knew was much different than the man his future House made him out to be. The man she knew loved her, and she could not be happier.
It had taken ten years after her arrival for Hermione and Salazar to be wed. Though it was a joyous occasion, Hermione went through the motions of the ceremony as if in a dream, as if she did not believe this was really happening. As a wedding gift, Salazar gave her a locket with their portraits painted inside, a protective amulet that would ward off most curses, hexes and jinxes. As a wedding gift, Hermione had requisitioned a heavy ring made for him, embossed with his seal, from the most renowned goldsmith in Rome.
She did not see it until it arrived by owl directly to him.
When he opened the sack, and put on the ring, she was startled to recognize it, and belatedly, the locket for what they were, or were to be. Voldemort's Horcruxes. Hermione did not sleep for three days after this realization, yet in the end she kept the locket, and he, unknowing of what it was to become, kept the ring.
It had taken twelve years after her arrival for Hermione to give birth to a son to Slytherin. She already knew what Salazar was going to name him, but still, she hoped to be wrong. Nevertheless, Callidas Slytherin entered the world one late September morning. The day that should have been the happiest in Hermione's life, turned into the beginning of her descent into darkness.
Hermione had not been able to look Salazar in the eye since their son's birth. She spent an inordinate amount of time in Callidas's nursery, preferring to sleep on the hard, cold floor there, instead of the warmth of her husband's bed. Helga and Rowena had excused it as the eccentrics of new motherhood - but in private, they worried for Hermione's health, and her sanity.
She would not confide her troubles to Salazar, or any of the others. And how could she? How could she explain her guilt to anyone? Guilt at being the ancestor and cause of not only a long line of Dark wizards and the many deaths associated, but ultimately Voldemort himself. Failing a confident, Hermione wallowed in her self-pity, cooing to her beautiful, dark-haired son, smothering him in love.
Her dreams were nightmares, full of accusations from friends, the fantasized tortuous deaths of Voldemort's victims – all blaming her - the disastrous effects of a future in which Harry and Ron were dead, and Voldemort ruled – all, her fault, her fault. She had known better, known what it would entail, and yet Hermione had succumbed to her baser desires and married Salazar Slytherin.
Hermione Granger could not forgive herself.
It was with this mentality that Hermione took Callidas, and fled the castle one cold December night, not a week before Yule. She did not leave a word with anyone at Hogwarts, yet she knew that the moment he found his son and - now estranged – wife missing, Salazar would track her magical signature down.
Hermione took her son to a remote forest in the Scottish countryside, far from any towns, and placed her squalling babe in the snow. But as she pointed her wand at his beautiful face, in preparation to cast the Killing Curse – a curse which she was certain had not been invented yet – she found her resolve leave her. Her heart ached, and she covered her mouth with one hand, choking on her sobs, tears streaming down her face. She felt sick, her stomach twisting and turning. She could not kill Callidas, as much as she knew that she had to, for all that she loved him, and his father.
He wailed at her, cold and not understanding of why she was not keeping him warm, holding him close. She almost picked him up then, but instead, wrapped her other hand around her wand, still pointing. Hermione bit her lower lip until it bled, but still, she could not kill him.
Eventually, she lowered her wand. She could not do the deed herself, but she could not allow him to live. While he shook from the cold, lips and fingers already blue, she removed her locket and placed it around him, his chubby hands grasping at the warm metal links. Perhaps one day they would find his infant body, and identify him – or perhaps not. Either way, he needed it, deserved it, more than she. Biting back another sob, Hermione turned and Apparated away, leaving Callidas to die in the snow.
Hermione Granger hated herself.
Salazar found her - finally, as she knew he would - on the island that would later hold Azkaban. The future Wizarding prison was where she belonged, and so thus she awaited him on the dismal island, hoping against all hope that he would have located and saved Callidas before going to her, but knowing that the boy was too young to have a magical signature strong enough to be tracked.
Salazar Slytherin appeared frightful when he finally realized that Callidas was not with her, and had demanded she reveal his location. Hermione raised her wand, and before he could defend himself – he did not expect it, after all – she cast a Dark curse at him, specifically at his groin. Her husband doubled over in pain while she impassively watched on. A small part of her cried out for him, wanting to go to him and reverse the curse while she still had time, but the rest of her was dead with her son, and merely waited for Salazar to recover. It was a curse which would be developed three hundred years later, in order to neuter freed House Elves from producing free offspring. Fortunately, it worked just as well on humans and Slytherin would have no idea what she did to him.
By the time Slytherin recovered from the pain, it was already too late to be reversed. It was Hermione's guarantee that there would be no more children after Callidas. It was to her greatest regret that she had not thought of it before, or another infertility hex, after marrying him. But she had not been thinking, and it was too late now. He swore at her.
She snapped her wand, casting the pieces at his feet. This action immediately silenced the man, and his eyes glittered strangely at her in the early morning light.
"What did you do with Callidas?" he asked her in a strange voice, and Hermione heard him hold his breath for her answer.
It had been five hours since she left her son in the dead of the night, and so she answered truthfully. "I killed him." Her voice was hollow, distant-sounding, but yet a single tear betrayed her, rolling down her cheek.
Salazar made a strangled noise and fell to his knees before her. "No," he whispered hoarsely, voice full of disbelief.
"Why?" his eyes suddenly took on a new light, full of rage and darkness and…grief. Such a profound sadness that Hermione nearly cried out then, wanting to fall into his arms. But he would not accept her, now. It was too late. Too late. Before, perhaps she could have lied…but not now. Yet another mistake.
"WHY!" he screamed at her, face inches from hers, green eyes flashing dangerously as he grabbed her shoulders and shook until her head whipped listlessly to and fro.
But Hermione did not answer him, would not answer him, could not answer him. She hung her head, unwilling to look at him any longer.
"You…you…Muggle bitch…how could you? Your very own flesh and blood, your firstborn son! I always knew…I always knew one could never trust a Muggle…but I thought you were different, you were not of our time, you were more intelligent than any of them, all of them combined! But you're all just the same, aren't you? It's in your blood, to back-stab, to bite the hand that nurtures you? Like a wild beast that does not know any better!"
Hermione felt her heart stop, and a slow, cold realization dawn on her. He had never before spoken of Muggles in such a fashion – he disliked them, yes, but he had never before expressed such harsh sentiments about them. Oh no, she thought, oh no...
"What did you curse me with? What was that?" he asked abruptly, his voice with a steely edge to it. He was as dead to her as she to him, and their son to them both.
"An infertility hex," she replied, sullenly. He slapped her viciously in response.
"You bitch, you Muggle bitch…" he said softly, the anger was gone from his voice. A sudden sob betrayed him and he cried out, "I loved you! I let myself fall for you...I wanted nothing more in the world than you…"
She did not reply, and with ferocity he struck her again and again, wanting a response from her: anger, fear, vindication, anything. Yet she remained silent.
In the end, his anger rose up again, and he stood, towering above her. It was then, in the moment before he killed her, with his wand pointed at her forehead, did Hermione finally allow herself to feel again. But it was not fear; rather, it was ironic humor, as some remote part of her mind recognized their positions as the exact same as when they had first met. She realised with satisfaction that it was fitting.
She did not hear him utter any words, and yet a light flared out from his wand and struck her square in the forehead, killing her instantly.
It had been a green light.
In a different time, in a different place, Harry had finally garnered permission from the Ministry to visit Mundungus in Azkaban. It had been a year since Hermione's disappearance, and not a day didn't go by where Harry didn't think about her. Yet he knew he had to continue to find and destroy the Horcruxes in order to end the war and kill Voldemort. He found the strength to go on.
They had finally realized, after finding some old papers, that the handwriting on the note from the fake locket belonged to Regulus Black, and that the old locket they had been unable to open at Grimmauld Place had been the missing Horcrux, all along. Harry knew that Sirius would have been proud to know that his brother had betrayed Voldemort in the end, and Harry would make sure that the rest of the Wizarding world knew about the Black family heroics when it was all said and done.
But after a fruitless search of No. 12 Grimmauld Place, what they feared to be the worst had been apparently true – Mundungus had sold the locket on the black market before being incarcerated for his illegal activities. So thus Harry was here today in Azkaban with Kingsley Shacklebolt to question the former Order member.
It turned out that Mundungus had a cell in-between Lucius Malfoy and the Lestrange brothers, a fact that made Harry more nervous than anything. Mundungus could have betrayed them all by now. He shared a look with Kingsley, and knew that after they had gotten all the information they could - possibly a memory or two - Mundungus would be heavily Oblivated. And probably his nearby cellmates, as well.
Azkaban, despite the lack of its old dementor guardians, was still a cold and dreary place. It did not need soul-sucking demons to whisk the happiness out of a person, and Harry had had a very bad feeling about the place the moment he stepped on the island.
In the middle of questioning Mundungus, a ghost passed through Harry – which was in and of itself not an unusual occurrence, as many roamed the hallways of the prison. What surprised Harry when he turned to look at the specter, it bore striking resemblance to…
"Hermione?"
The ghost paused, as it had apparently not noticed him as it passed by, and turned to him, looking at him oddly for a moment.
"Sal?" the ghost asked. But not a second after it asked, its eyes lingered on his forehead.
"Harry!" the ghost of Hermione launched herself at him, as if forgetting her condition, but stopped short of touching him again.
"Hermione…what…how…how did you die?" Harry stuttered, his heart breaking. He had known it would be foolish to hope that she was alive after all this time, and yet, he had still hung onto the belief that she could be out there, trying to get home. He was puzzled how her ghost had come to reside on Azkaban, and yet he could already guess: Death Eaters.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry, so sorry, it's all my fault," Hermione began to wail piteously, and Harry could only gape at her. What was her fault? The inmates nearby could not help but listen to the ghost lament, throwing her curious, though slightly bored, glances.
"What, Hermione? What's your fault?"
"Everything, Harry, everything. Years of wars and persecution. Centuries of Muggle hate. Generations of Dark wizards. I've watched them come through here, all claiming to be doing his work. Even Voldemort is my fault," she bit out, as if she did not want to admit it.
"What?" Hermione now had the full attention of everyone around them. Lucius Malfoy narrowed his eyes at the ghost.
"It's all my fault, my poor baby, my poor sweet baby. I'm a horrid woman, Harry, a horrid woman. He killed me, he killed me, and I deserved it."
"What! Who killed you, Hermione?" Harry's blood was pounding in his ears. He would get revenge for Hermione, if it was the last thing he did. Hermione did not deserve death, ever.
"I should have known," she continued to wail, not answering him. A confused, almost thoughtful look passed over her ghastly face. "I don't understand, though, how his line continued. He must have adopted a Parselmouth, or somehow found a way to reverse the hex."
Now Harry was thoroughly confused. "What?" he repeated.
Her dead eyes fell onto his. Her voice was haunted and quiet.
"I betrayed him, Harry. I betrayed Salazar Slytherin."
Once, long ago, one of the four left forever, after the months of arguing for the removal of Muggle-borns failed. The other three knew why he had suddenly taken up the old flag with a new vigor and thin veneer of hate. They had been as shocked as he to discover the truth about the girl who had entered their lives as abruptly as she left, changing them all profoundly.
They could not agree with Slytherin's stance, though. It was disturbing, yes, but all could not be judged on the actions of one. So he had eventually left and hidden himself away from them all. Six months after his departure, a snake delivered a letter to Gryffindor, a familiar ring attached by a ribbon as proof to what letter's contents claimed.
Slytherin had killed himself.
The three grieved for their friend, for his dead son barely given a chance to live, and yes, even for the woman that had once been in their hearts as much as Salazar had.
It was that day that they decided together that no one would ever know of Slytherin's true tale. All mention of Hermione's marriage to Salazar, and the birth of Callidas, was stricken from the record. Rumor of the truth still spread around the world, mainly by students who had known them, but those who tried to write down what they had heard found themselves unable to scribe it legibly – indeed, all that would appear on the parchment, in lieu of words, would be scribbles. It was the premature form of a Fidellus Charm, and by the time that the last of the Founders had died, the rumor was so disfigured that the actual truth would never be known.
The three were glad of their decision one September morning when, exactly eleven years to the day of his birth, an oddly familiar-looking boy showed up wearing a very familiar locket. He was Scottish, claimed to be Muggle-born and went by the name Wiley, but he spoke Parseltongue and there was no denying the resemblance.
None of the three told the boy of his true heritage during his tutelage at Hogwarts – they did not have the heart. So they doted on him, treating him as a favoured student, to ease their guilty hearts. Like his mother, he stayed on after his graduation to teach. He would become the first Headmaster for the school after the last of the three, Ravenclaw, finally took her death bed.
She left him a scroll and a heavy gold ring, the former of which contained the partial truth of his parentage – she let him know his true name, as the son of Salazar Slytherin – and the latter which secured his claim as Slytherin's heir. She told him nothing else.
Time would tell, however, that it was unfortunate that she choose to do so. With her death, the Charm was broken, and the rumor mill abounded once again, now with written record. The story that Slytherin's son eventually heard would have made the truth pale in comparison.
He forsook his Muggle family, and went by his true name of Callidas Slytherin, claiming his rightful heritage as the lost heir - something many had suspected for a while, but none had had the audacity to inquire about.
It would be Callidas who would build the chamber far beneath the school, and hatch the basilisk to keep the school clean of dirty blood. It would be Callidas who founded the Knights of Walpurgis, training generations of Dark wizards, instilling within them a deep-set hatred of Muggle-borns and all things Muggle. It would eventually be that order that Voldemort would stumble upon, breathing new life into after the fall of Grindelwald, and create his first Death Eaters.
It would be Callidas that drafted the propaganda that would still be in use nine hundred years hence. Centuries of strife and discord, over a tale that was not true – though sadly, the actual truth, had he known, may still have been enough reason, anyway.
And all because of a freak occurrence.
A/N:
A bit of an implied plotline, but in case anyone missed - Callidas was rescued from the snow by Muggles. The area wasn't as deserted as Hermione thought, and the family heard the baby crying in the forest, saving him before he froze to death.
Callidas - corruption of callidus, which is Latin for skillful, cunning, sly, etc. Just the thing for Salazar to name the kid, eh?
Abyssus abyssum invocat – basically, it means, "One mistake leads to another." Or for a more sinister stance, "Evil begets evil." The upshot of it is, by using a Latin phrase instead of titling it in English, I appear to be more clever and insightful than I really am. (Ahahahaha!) But basically, from the very start where Salazar bungles the Summoning, to the very end when Rowena hides the truth from Callidas, this story is one long line of mistakes - and, bleh, you guys got it, no need for me to explain it all.
On a more serious note, there isn't enough Hermione/Salazar fics out there. In fact, I'm the only one I know of writing them. Honestly, folks, she's been paired off with the rest of Slytherin House. Why not put her with THE Slytherin, eh? Eh? Go visit the SCUSA at FictionAlley Park if interested!