Title: Temporal Magicks
Fandom(s): Harry Potter
Categories: AU, het, drama, romance,
Summary: Hermione Granger is a bibliophile and in the course of her excursions she stumbles onto a long lost cache of knowledge. This leads her to an ancient experimental lab where she unwittingly restores Salazar Slytherin to life. And he is very determined to repay her in every way possible.
Characters/Pairing: Hermione Granger/Salazar Slytherin
Rated: NC17, MA
AN: Post B7, EWE. Ron and Hermione? So never happened.
Warnings: Explicit violent sex, BDSM themes
Word Count: ~12600
Disclaimer: Do not own Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, et al, J.K. Rowling does. Not making any money, just playing with the characters.
For: LJ community Hermione_smut Round 6
#77 The true history of the original experiments with time travel was never known, at least not until one of those first experiments permanently delivers _ to the future
Edited: Oct 8, 2012
~ooO Temporal Magicks Ooo~
Hermione Granger bit her lower lip as she cast the last sequence of charms to unravel the protective spells on an ancient wooden chest. It was rather plain looking made of black oak and brass fittings that had somehow lasted through the centuries. Hermione had picked it up for a song in a Muggle estate sale in Northampton.
It had been a surprising find, a magical gem in a jumble of mundane bits-and-bobs. Hermione had strongly suspected it was magical when all the sale attendees ignored the ancient but still solid-looking oak chest. It was rare but it did happen, a bit of magical heritage leaving the enclaves, usually through a squib. Hermione had accumulated a tidy collection of magical devices and grimoires at such estate sales and flea markets, but this was her biggest find to date. The original owner must have really wanted the contents protected to have laid such powerful spells. Usually protection spells needed to be renewed every decade.
She watched as gold sparks floated off the lid and dissipated to reveal almost serpentine looking carvings across the top edges. Warily she observed, to see if the carvings were animated protections. They seemed inanimate so she carefully cast several protection and shielding spells before lifting the lid. It could have been booby-trapped.
She gasped upon seeing the contents. Trays of expensive genuine crystal vials, glass jars, silk pouches, still perfectly intact wax balls, each tagged with still intact parchment rectangles tied secured with raw silk cord. She picked one up at random and examined the script on the tag. In very neat but rather archaic script and spelling was a label and dates. She picked up another to discover it was the same. It was a Potions Masters chest! Carefully she lifted each tray out and set it aside. She could examine them later to see if the ingredients were still viable. She wanted to know if there were any research journals in the chest. If yes it could be a huge windfall for her!
Hermione Granger was a Potions Mistress who specialized in brewing the volatile and expensive potions for Apothecaries, Hospitals and the occasional private client. It was lonely work, mostly done in isolation, but Hermione was content. She had her research, her correspondence. If she wanted intellectual conversation she visited Hogwarts to speak to her old professors. Many had urged her to 'find a nice young wizard and settle down' but Hermione wasn't interested in settling for anything. She'd gone through too much, suffered too much, lost too much.
Finally the chest was nearly emptied and as she had hoped, the bottom was lined with heavy leather bound tomes. The original owner's library and notes she hoped. It was a priceless treasure trove. She had to look up the correct translation spell for Ancient Languages and the results it produced made her nearly faint.
Guide to Field Harvesting by Salazar Slytherin
Advanced Arithmatic Principles for Rituals and Potions by Rowena Ravenclaw
Hybrid Herbology by Helga Hufflepuff
Notes on Ritual Magic by Myrddin
Guide to Blood Magic by Myrddin
Essays on Transcended Concepts by Myrrdin
Notes on the Dark Arts by Salazar Slytherin
Commentary on Creating New Potions by Salazar Slytherin
Translation with Original: Principles of Potions by Lao Tsu
Translation with Original: Notes on Poisons and Healing by Vishanti
Translation with Original: Notes on Dark Arts and Healing by Morgana Le Fey
Translation with Original: Healing and Killing by Maeve Le Fey
Translation with Original: Finding Balance within Chaos by Hsan Fu
There were seven other untitled volumes bound in an oddly sensual feeling textured green-grey hide. They had to be personal journals. She wanted to open and read the books so badly but she resisted could not be rushed. They could fall apart if she tried to open them. Deliberately she repacked the books in the chest hoping the preservative spells were still intact. She had to go see Madame Pince to learn the correct spells before she began reading them. And she had a backlog of orders to get through.
She practically quivered from frustration but held onto her resolve. Her bills needed to be paid and she didn't want her contact in Saint Mungos and Saint Jean dropping by for a visit. Everyone knew Hermione Granger was dependable as the sunrise.
It took five days working at full speed to plough through her backlog. In between she took the time to stop by Hogwarts and visit Madame Pince.
"Hermione, it's lovely to see you."
Hermione hugged the older witch. She looked softer, less stern than from her memories.
"You too Irma. Enjoying the peace and quiet huh."
A sly smile curved the thin lips of the older witch.
"Definitely. Few young ones respect books as you do."
"My parents taught me to respect knowledge. Books and elders are a source of knowledge."
"A very intelligent approach. I assume you have a reason for visiting in person."
"Oh yes. I was quite fortunate in my latest estate sale trip."
"Oh?" Grey eyes sharpened behind oval lenses.
"Quite. I need to learn the correct preservative charms."
"The material? The age? Any Preservative spells?"
"Basilisk bound high-grade parchment. At least eight hundred years old. Very heavy duty Preservative spells. And the pages are treated with some potion I believe. The pages are still flexible. But that could be the spells on chest they were in."
"Eight hundred years?" Irma was sceptical.
"Well maybe I'm being optimistic. But definitely more than five hundred."
"What is it Irma?"
"You may wish to keep your find a secret," the older witch said softly.
"Why? Wouldn't you like to see it?"
"I would. But then I would be bound by oath to share the information with the Headmistress. It is policy to secure such ancient volumes for the Hogwarts library. And if the Ministry of Department of Mysteries find out…" she trailed off with a grim expression.
"I'm not letting anyone take my books! They're mine! I found them!"
"If a Pureblood, even a cadet branch of the original owner's family, finds out, they can make a petition to 'recover ancient family relics and win," Irma said grimly.
Hermione bit her lip. "I don't think there could be any surviving members of the bloodline. I think they all turned squibs long ago and left the magical world for the chest to have turned up in a Muggle estate sale. But I'm not going to take a risk." She leaned across and hugged the older witch. "Thank you for warning me."
"You respect and treasure knowledge as it deserves. You deserve it." Irma hesitated. "But if you choose to share some of the knowledge at some future date the Hogwarts library would appreciate a copy."
Hermione laughed. "Of course. You'll be first on my list."
The old Hermione would not have acted so. She would have wanted to share her find, her discoveries with the world. The new Hermione was not that trusting. Why should she share what she had when they kept their own knowledge secret? Hermione remembered the contracts she had to sign, the oaths she had to make in order to secure her apprenticeship and complete her Mastery. She had essentially been intellectually enslaved until she had wrote and presented her final research paper. All her work and the discoveries made during her apprenticeship had been credited to her Master. Fortunately he had been decent enough to share the benefits with his apprentices. Few masters were as honest. Hermione had seen and heard a great deal in that time and now knew magical society took industrial espionage and patent rights very seriously. And the pureblood families would never share something that gave them an upper hand. Hermione had learnt the hard way that knowledge was power and she had no real kin who would protect her and defend her intellectual efforts. She had to do that herself. She had given up too much for a selfish society when she was a mere child. Now it was her turn to be selfish and put herself first. And she had. All her business contacts learnt the hard way it was not a smart idea to pull one over on Hermione Granger.
But now she was done with her routine tasks. She had cleared her backlog of orders and informed her contacts she was going to take a mini-vacation and not to send any owls to her. Then she had gone through the ingredients cache, researching ancient potion formulations that had not been made in centuries because they required rare, extinct ingredients that had fallen into her lap; ingredients that were still viable thanks to the preservative charms. If she was careful she could create some of those long forgotten potions. With a sample perhaps she could determine substitutes. But that was for later!
The next three weeks were her reward to herself, private time to read and study the contents of the chest. She made three trays of sandwiches and cast preservative charms on them. Then she levitated it and a large pot of coffee to her reading room. She had a feeling she would not even want to take a break and cook for the next few weeks.
Making the sandwich trays was the smartest move she made. Hermione resented taking a break for anything, eating, attending her personal needs, or even sleeping. She even skipped bathing, telling herself she wasn't going to have guests who'd be bothered by her body odour. She read like a witch obsessed.
There were so many ideas, long lost theories, spells, rituals. Things that were brand new to her, things that were alluded to in the older books, things that were a different way of how they were done today. She could spend the next decade experimenting and verifying the findings in the reference books. But she resisted temptation. She had saved the best for the last, as it were: the journals.
She chose one at random and chewed her lower lip. What if it was filled with mundane day-to-day observations, or estate records? She straightened herself. Even such a record was a valuable historical record and treasure trove of information. There were so few records about real events from the Founders time. Only rumour and hear-say that was so easily twisted.
The closed book lay before her while she mused over the possibilities. Then the little nagging voice urged her to open it. She did and nearly passed out on reading the first page: Property of Salazar Slytherin.
Without hesitation she began turning the pages, casting the translation charm as she went along. The spell transcribed the contents onto the pile of parchment on the desk before her. Half-way through she stopped and began reading the freshly transcribed pages.
As she had suspected it was a personal journal, to be more precise, Salazar Slytherin's experiment and research journal.
It took her four days to transcribe and carefully read all the journals, saving the incomplete, and presumably last one, for the last. As she went through the entries she could almost see the developing schism, the differences in opinions and views, tearing the Founders apart. And it wasn't for a reason as illogical as blood prejudice.
My current research is pushing limits Godric is not comfortable with. I think it has to do with his Muggleborn Christian-raised mother's teachings. She's a simple hedgewitch who clings to the superstitious beliefs of her childhood too strongly. How can she believe in her religion when the feats described in the Bible can easily be duplicated by any competent wizard?
I've given up on trying to convince Godric to see my point of view and prefer to hold my tongue to keep the peace. If he chooses to believe I'm agreeing with him by being silent then he is a fool. Rowena and Helga know I have not stopped though they too do not tell Godric anything, so he doesn't go off on a rampage.
I don't understand why he is so fixed on the concepts of right and wrong, good and evil. I practice Blood Magic but can't he see I'm not hurting anyone else? The only blood I'm spilling is my own, so how can it be evil? Especially when it enhances my healing spells and potions?
Godric stumbled into my lab and discovered my current research projects. He is angry. He says temporal magic is unnatural. How silly! To a Muggle all magic is unnatural. Does that make us wizards and witches unnatural? Of course not! Even so, who is he to determine what is and isn't natural?
Perhaps five hundred years hence temporal magic will be seen as perfectly natural, and those who say otherwise will be looked upon as insane. Who is to say? I simply wish to push the boundaries of my knowledge, to examine and shape the world around me.
Godric deliberately destabilized my latest efforts and it set off an explosion. He says my work is endangering the students. It hurt when Rowena and Helga agreed with him, but I refuse to stop my research because he is too narrow minded to see the potential.
I'm going to move my experiments to a private lab in the lower dungeon levels. I've already sealed all the entrances so the students can't stumble into it. It will keep Godric out and ignorant and that is always a positive.
I've run several simulations and tested variations of the temporal ritual on various magical and non-magical beings. It has tremendous potential, mainly as an alternative to the stasis spell, because the focus of the ritual will be moved out of time. I cannot proceed any further without testing it on an actual wizard.
Unfortunately it will have to be myself since no one will be willing to assist in one of my experiments. A side-effect of Godric's unjustified slanders. I only hope nothing goes wrong since I don't have a partner to observe, modify the ritual based on the results, and recast it to bring me back.
It was the last entry in the journal.
Hermione closed the volume carefully and leaned back in her chair to consider the unexpected information. To her surprise she was not disturbed by the true nature of Slytherin and Gryffindor's relationship, the real reason for the friction. It was too simple an excuse to claim he hated Muggleborns. Why would he have contributed in creating a school when he knew the other three would insist on including them?
From where Hermione was standing it looked like Slytherin ran an unsanctioned experiment and vanished, leading to the rumours that he left Hogwarts angry and disappointed.
She bit her lip and glanced at the personal notes she had taken, on the temporal ritual Slytherin had created. It was pure genius and honestly Hermione doubted anyone even approached the limits he had reached. Modern time turners were restricted in how far back one could travel and what one could do. Modern stasis spells were powered by the target's magical core or a group of healers throughout the whole process. Slytherin's temporal ritual was designed to move a badly injured victim outside of time. Then the medics could gather the specialists and prepare whatever they needed before bringing the victim back into the regular time flow and treating him or her.
Something might have gone wrong stranding him outside of time. Hermione doubted he was still alive after so long Merlin knew where…But she could bring his body back for a proper internment. The Gryffindor witch felt she owed it to the long dead wizard.
Hermione smiled faintly as a new resolution appeared on her mental list: Recover Salazar Slytherin's body from the ritual's created temporal pocket.
But first she had to get into the Chamber of Secrets. Without letting anyone know. She really didn't fancy explaining the real reason for her desire to explore the long abandoned subterranean levels of Hogwarts.
It was odd, how easy it was to circumvent the famous Hogwarts wards. For centuries no Dark Lord had ever breached the protections, not without allies on the inside. It took Hermione only twenty minutes to gather the necessary ingredients – available at any apothecary – and cast the ritual described in one of Salazar's earlier journals. Hermione had taken the extra step of blood binding the new reusable two-way portkey to only her. She did not want anyone else inadvertently stumbling onto her activities.
It had been a purely theoretical exercise for the wizard, designing a spell that would allow the caster to cross the strongest of wards. It took him two weeks to conceptualize and five months to perfect. Knowing what a potent spell he had crafted, the Founder had not shared his creation with anyone, only his personal journal. The modern portkey spell had been developed three centuries after he vanished. It was based on different principles, and it could not breach wards like Salazar's spell.
Hermione knew she was falling in love with a ghost, a dead wizard, but she couldn't help herself. There was elegance in his script and notations, crisp clear succinctness in his commentary, sheer brilliance in his insights. He had no qualms about recording his failures as well as his successes. In fact he spent a great deal of time analyzing his failures to adjust his subsequent designs. He was a true genius and so very logical, not at all blood-purity prejudiced, only justifiably cautious of revealing too much to Muggleborns raised to be blindly obedient to their Church and their Lords. If she showed the entries to the likes of Draco Malfoy, he would immediately denounce the journal as a fake before trying to steal it from her, for the long lost rare knowledge it contained. So she did as Irma had suggested and kept it secret.
It took three months to fully explore the Chamber of Secrets inbetween her regular paying-the-bills work. Time to explore the long abandoned rooms, to harvest the still intact basilisk (it was too magical and poisonous to be decayed by bacteria), to locate and unward the hidden rooms that had not been breached in a thousand years. Hermione knew because the wards had been still intact when she located them. Tom Riddle had not even suspected their existence. A treasure trove, an ancient personal library, various labs and ritual rooms, and storage chambers for ingredients and ancient magical artefacts Hermione had only read about in old books. She doubted there were any others in existence because no one knew how to make them any more. Only she knew because Salazar was a packrat and artificer who preferred to make his own tools, tweak them to work even better, and document his findings in his journals. But as much as she longed to explore Hermione was interested in one particular ritual room where she found what she was looking for: the temporal runic array in his last few entries. The one he had planned on testing.
It was damaged. The lines carved in stone fractured, the painted glyphs almost indistinct, the outer circles broken by cracks or fallen debris. It took her the better part of two weeks to remove all the debris and fix it without removing any of the original parts and minimizing any new material. It would have been easier to just start from scratch but she couldn't. She had to use this array because they were designed to 'hold' the subject of the ritual. Salazar had made comments about marking the array on thick leather, or even slats of wood, which would be placed under the subject. Once the ritual was cast, and the subject 'pulled' outside of time, the leather or wood could be packed up and transported to the hospital, or a safe place where the subject could be 'pulled' back into regular time.
Hermione stood up from her crouch and stretched to relieve her strained muscles. Then she walked around the repaired and enhanced array. Salazar had begun the ritual centuries ago and she doubted it had worked perfectly. It was an experiment and should have been ended ages ago. Her changes and enhancements were designed to kick-start the array and to complete the ritual. Hermione had little hope he was alive, but she hoped to recover his corpse, or what she could.
She sliced the tips of her left hand fingers and knelt outside the array, to smear her blood over the edge of the array murmuring the words to activate her modified ritual. The carved lines filled up with flickering silvery-blue power and the circle lit up like miniature star.
It was horribly draining but Hermione did not lift her hands away. She was the only one powering the array and she could not falter. If she did the results could be horrific. Just when she thought she would pass out the energy drain stopped and the bright blue light faded. It took a few seconds of blinking to get rid of the multi-coloured blobs in her vision. Then she saw Him.
A large framed black haired man dressed in light brown robes kneeling in the middle of the array. He looked confused and uncertain but the moment his eyes caught sight of Hermione everything else faded away and became unimportant.
He was not beautiful the way Lucius Malfoy or his son Draco were, but there was something compelling about his over-strong features, the sharp lines and defined planes, the hard clefted jaw, thin lips, and his eyes! Draco Malfoy had grey eyes but nothing like this wizard. They were pale almost colourless with darker grey ringing the iris and striations radiating out like spokes on a wheel. They were hypnotic, almost compelling. Hermione could not look away.
It took her several seconds to realize why. Legilimens. And then the mental hooks within her mind dug deeper, uncaring in his savage determination to extract information. Hermione could completely sympathize with Harry right now. She had always thought herself to be a fair Occlumens but this wizard was a Master Legilimens. He was ripping through her barriers as though they were nothing more than wet tissue. There was no keeping him out so Hermione stifled her instinctive response to fight and allowed him in, trying to direct him to more or less 'public' information. He was going to get into her head and she did not want to be throwing up afterwards. Besides she sensed it wasn't a deliberately malicious attack. He was just determined to get information. Keeping that in mind she deliberately relaxed and lowered her shields, keeping her recent experiences at the forefront.
He had lost track of time. He knew a great deal of it had passed but exactly how much he was uncertain. He was only glad he could not starve, being trapped outside of time. But by that same token he could not die either. And all his magic and spells were useless in this place. He could not connect with linear time. He could only exist outside of it with his own thoughts for company. He had never imagined he would ever feel lonely enough to even wish for that fool Godric's company.
So when the world began shifting around him, when he could sense magic condensing around him he was quick to seize onto the insubstantial ribbons, to lend whatever strength he could to them.
It was worse than any transportation spell he had ever created or used. He felt like he was being twisted like wad of wool into skein, into thread. And just when he thought he was going to snap the world snapped into place instead.
The stone beneath his hands and knees were crackled and aged and etched with his array. What? How? Who? He had sensed a great deal of time had passed and it had for the stones in his ritual rooms to have become worn and rounded. But exactly how much time? And who had brought him back? He looked around uncertain and froze when his eyes fell upon an unfamiliar witch with curly brown hair twisted into a messy knot at the back of her head. Her doe brown eyes were soft and gentle looking but he was not deceived. Deftly he slipped into her subconscious mind.
Her name was Hermione Granger. She was a Muggleborn, a graduate of Hogwarts, alumna of Gryffindor House, and a Potions Mistress. She had discovered a cache of potions ingredients and volumes from Salazar Slytherin's private library, including his research journals. She had the intelligence and curiosity to venture into what was still restricted, temporal magics. She did not trust anyone enough to share the information, instead she taught herself what she did not know, deconstructed his notes to understand how his experimental arrays were supposed to work, enough to repair it. She had not expected the subject of the array to be alive. She had only wanted to bring back Salazar Slytherin's body for a proper internment. It had been more than a thousand years since he had vanished.
She was fighting now. She had somehow detected his mental intrusion. Curious. He was a Master of the Mind Arts and she was not even an apprentice. He pushed harder determined to know everything. He needed to know all that happened in the thousand years.
She did not care that Salazar Slytherin was hated by majority of magical society, venerated by a small percentage of inbred bigots. Slytherin House and the purebloods might say the Founder supported blood-purity but she had read his personal journals and he was not a bigot. He was a shrewd far-sighted intelligent brilliant wizard. Godric Gryffindor was a prejudiced idiot to limit intellectual research. If all innovators and researchers were so hampered mankind would have never emerged from the Dark Ages. Yes, there were discoveries that had a great deal of negative effects but restricting oneself from examining and critiquing volatile magicks was not the way to progress and evolve.
He paused in his assault, taken aback by the unexpected information. Something else changed. She was not fighting him any more. Her defences were lowered and her mind was open. He knew he had hurt her so why was she allowing entrance now? Wary, in case it was a baited trap, he slipped deeper with stiletto-sharp precision, targeting her subconscious thoughts and base desires. Only a Master of the Mind Arts could control the unconscious mind and Hermione Granger was an intelligent powerful witch but she was not formally trained in Occlumency.
It was easier now. She was almost pushing information towards him. Facts, figures, observations, commentary. He accepted and skimmed over them, selectively absorbing and rapidly organizing the information for his own use. He did not have a complete understanding of the nuances and vernacular subtleties of the language she spoke –English– but he could speak it precisely as she was taught. He did not have the cultural understanding to use the vernacular –slang– terms.
His lips thinned with faint distaste as he paid close attention to her recent history, her training and experiences in Hogwarts. It was not entirely positive though she managed to turn them into wins. No pureblood bigot can make me feel ashamed of myself, my family, what I am. I am a first generation witch, a Muggleborn. Why should I care about Ministry sycophants when I fought in a genocidal war?
Despite her early experiences – Salazar Slytherin hated Muggleborns and Slytherin House is full of bigots – she had been excited to find out the personal journals belonged to him. Even thrilled to read his real concerns about training Muggleborns. Just like my faith in Professor Snape. He was mean and cruel but he protected us. Even when he killed the Headmaster he never stopped protecting the students. He had been on our side all the time. I only wished I could have helped him in the Shrieking Shack. But Nagini's venom was deadly and it took a whole team of healers to save Mr. Weasley. Besides, we were in the middle of a battlefield and there was no way to get him to St. Mungos.
She was an intellectual, very meticulous and organized. It was not hard to make a quick copy of her knowledge. He would still have to go through it to review and practice the material of course. Creating memory engrams and the magical equivalent of muscle memory and spinal reflexes. He could do that on his own time. Delicately he slipped deeper into her subconscious, trying to find out what drove Hermione Granger.
The horrific aftermath of the war. The slow rebuild. The reflexive denials of the Ministry survivors. The blind indifference of the Wizengamot who had barricaded their families in their warded estates. The wealthy Purebloods returning from their 'vacations' abroad. The hypocrisies of the Ministry and Daily Prophet fawning over Harry and ignoring all the rest who had struggled and fought to ensure Harry got his shot at Voldemort, who had taken out the rest of his followers, those who died and lost and suffered.
She was angry. She was irate. He could feel the full force of her personality, her unrestrained will, forcing her views/experiences through the mental link.
My childhood home being attacked and destroyed. My parents survived because I didn't trusted the Ministry or the Order, I took steps to protect them. Never would forgive the Order for that, for labelling my parents as unimportant because they were 'only Muggles'.
Only Muggles created the fucking atomic bomb and if the fucking Wizarding World didn't get its act together we're at risk of being wiped out by an angry and scared Muggle government. If the new Muggle Prime Minister doesn't accept whatever pap the Ministry was feeding him as gospel truth, if he orders his spy agencies to infiltrate the enclaves for a true picture, if he decides we're loose cannons and not trustworthy, it will be The End.
But no one was willing to see that. Or listen to me. They just pat me on the head and order me to run along like a little child. I'm tired of beating my head against a brick wall because no one is willing to listen. Harry doesn't want to even contemplate the possibility of a another war, one against the Muggles. If that war began in her lifetime I'm going to run to Australia. There's no logic in fighting for a cause I don't believe in, an immature childish society that needed to be collectively spanked and put in the corner for being rude and selfish. Magical Britain maybe ripe for a revolution, a Muggleborn revolution, but I'm too tired and selfish to start one. Tried it before and failed.
Still don't understand why they dislike me. Is it because I'm female, a witch? Muggleborn? Too bossy? I know I'm socially abrasive, with little tolerance for those less capable. That's why I don't teach, I don't want to accept a position at St Mungos. I like working from home from in my own laboratories. I like researching late into the night or early in the morning whenever I feel inspired.
Intrigued he pushed deeper. Did she have a husband? Children? Was she happy with her spouse? Was there something else she wanted? Something personal?
Would like to have someone – doubt I ever will. I do envy Susan who has two babies and another on the way. I've only had two failed relationships. The first was with a callow boy. I loved him but grew to hate him because he never stopped putting me down. The second was a more practical arrangement with a Healer intern during my apprenticeship. It ended when I completed my studies and began working as an independent Potions Mistress and researcher.
I'm mostly content with my life, finding joy in my work. Books and potions and magic don't talk back to me, put me down, label me as unnatural and unfeminine. Many whisper I'm frigid behind my back but I know I'm not. Love and care deeply. Too deeply. Learnt to control myself. Had to ever since I was little. A temper tantrum meant glass would explode and the curtains would catch fire and mean bullies would trip down the stairs. Don't like destroying things or hurting people. Learnt to push down the anger into a little box and ignore it. It worked pretty well. Rarely have an incident nowadays. In fact most of them are sparks of raw magic dancing in my messy hair before lashing out and stinging the targets of my ire.
Didn't she want more? Something for herself alone? Something frivolous? Emotional? Something not related to her work?
Yes. A lover. Not a Ron Weasley though.
Then who? Images and feelings came through.
A faceless broad shouldered man pressing her down into a thick mattress. He was turning her onto her stomach then up on her spread knees, keeping her face pressed against the pillow. He explored the curves of her arse, the cleft between them before cupping her mound, slipping his fingers into the slick slit stroking the wet tissue, abrading the swollen nub with callused fingertips. Then two fingers were up inside her, stroking her from the inside, finding a particular rough spot and making her come, clenching around his fingers, ejaculating fluids against his hand and the sheets below. Then before she even recovered he was pushing into her, forcing her flesh to part and take him. And somehow he did even though there were moments she was afraid he would tear her. The ache of being impossibly stretched around the thick intrusion, being taken on her knees, her face pushed into the pillow, one hand twisted in her hair to control her, to keep her pinned down. And she loved it.
She wanted, no she needed to be dominated. She was so tired of being the strong one. Yes, she had a lot of the answers and was more sensible at reaching a logical and sensible decision but it would be lovely to have someone she could trust to have them as well, to know he would think and weigh the pros and cons before making a choice, to know there was someone who saw Her, who would always take care of Her.
It was a silly and impossible dream.
It still wasn't enough. He wanted to know more.
What do you want from me?
The flood of mingled thoughts and emotions and images overwhelmed him.
Pale grey eyes compelling the truth and baring the essence of her being. No white lies to soften reality or blur the edges. Large broad hands and strong callused fingers holding her down, stroking her in very sensitive places. Fingers skimming over her pulse points before dragging a sharp nail edge over or pinching sensitive flesh. Those same lightly scarred hands twisting in her hair and forcing her onto her knees. A hard thick shaft being thrust past her lips, dominating her mouth. Wetness spilling from between her legs. A twisting knot low in her belly, her muscles clenching, yearning, needing.
She gasped and pulled away breaking the connection. Her cheeks were stained pink and he suspected the blush would extend past the collar of her tunic. She was blushing but she was not looking away. In fact she was meeting his eyes with a defiant challenging look, almost daring him to comment on what he had just seen.
Curious to see how far he could push her he spoke; slowly, building the sentences mentally before speaking. He was unfamiliar with the language and it showed.
"Do you wish to compare fantasy to reality?"
She shuddered and he was pleased to see her unconscious reaction to his question, his voice. The verbal confirmation came several seconds later.
"What will you do?"
Her response this time came faster. "Anything."
He watched and waited, allowing the tension to build. She was too disciplined to give way first. Curious to see how far he could push her he decided to test her limits.
"Strip off all your clothes. I want you on your knees sucking my cock."
He honestly did not expect her to obey his outlandish orders without hesitation. Her robe came off first, was rolled into a bundle and set aside. Underneath she wore mannish clothes; leggings – no trousers – made of a thick blue material, and a woollen knitted top. She wore no shoes, presumably for the ritual. She did something at the front of her waist and shimmed, pushing the trousers down to her ankles before kicking them off. Then she tugged the woollen top over her head.
Hermione knew she was shocking him but she did not care. She did not care that in his world proper ladies did not have sex without being formally betrothed or married. She did not care that he was probably just using her. She was tired of being the good one. She wanted to do what she wanted. And right now she wanted to have sex with the gorgeous brilliant wizard standing before her. Hermione was selective but she wasn't a virgin and she knew damn well that once Wizarding Society found out Salazar Slytherin was alive and well he'd have every single Pureblood witch throwing herself at him. She didn't expect to keep him but she wanted to know what it was like to be with an intelligent wizard who wasn't afraid to shock society and push the limits.
Even with the self-pep talk she had to dig deep to unhook her bra and shrug it off. Without giving herself time to panic she hooked her fingers into the elastic waistband of her pants and pushed them down over her hips and towards the floor. She did not meet his eyes. If she did she knew she would break down. Instead she picked up her jeans and folded them as she walked towards him keeping her eyes on the hem of his robes. She tossed the thick material on the floor before him and knelt. She had never had good experience giving blow jobs. Ron had always been too rough and Gary had not been very passionate or demanding; at least not with her.
She pushed his robes apart and blinked. Beneath he only wore a set of soft leather leggings laced closed along the outside of his hips and thighs. Her face was practically even with his pelvis and she could honestly say he was more than generously endowed. Her fingers went to work and by the time the panels had loosened enough to bare his groin he was at 'full-mast' and almost too big given her limited unsatisfactory experience. But Hermione was not the type to give up without trying.
She dug deep to recall nearly forgotten dorm gossip, Cosmo articles, bits from racy novels (her secret indulgence) and came up with a plan. Slowly she reached out and wrapped both her hands around his thick shaft, around the base and middle. Then she leaned forward and enveloped the mushroom head in her mouth. Experimentally she swirled her tongue around the shaft, dipping into the slit to taste the salty pre-cum. Then she enveloped more of his shaft in her mouth, removing one hand to take more than half of him into her before gliding up until her lips were just wrapped around the mushroom head. She repeated the process, up and down, up and down, her hands squeezing the base of his cock. He was thicker now, harder. His hands were cupping the back of her head, urging her closer. He wanted more. She wanted more.
Remembering something Lavender had spilled during a Gryffindor Girls Night, Hermione removed her hands from around him and placed them on his hips to keep her balance. Then she tilted her head and allowed him to penetrate her more deeply, to hit the back of her mouth and slide into her throat. He made a strangled sound and twisted his fingers in her hair as he thrust his hips forward. She had taken almost all of him in, her nose pressed against the dark curls covering his groin. It was a strain holding the position but she liked it, feeling her lips stretched around him, the thickness filling her mouth and throat. He smelled good. For the first time Hermione was aroused while she was giving her partner head. She could feel fluids leaking from her, the slippery wetness between her thighs, the twisty feeling low in her belly. She wanted to smile but she couldn't. She wanted him to come in her mouth, on her. She wanted to come.
She lifted her right hand from his hip and thrust it down towards her thighs. She was so wet her hand slid easily through the curls and into her slit. The coil in her belly tightened when they glided over the protruding throbbing nub and into her opening. She only wished she had one of her toys, something thicker to fill her up. She hummed around the hard flesh between her lips and wished it was penetrating her lower lips. It had been a while since she'd been filled and taken by a living male. Not that her past experience with living wizards had been what one could call satisfactory, but Hermione suspected this one would live up to the moniker of 'Slytherin Sex God'. She hissed when he tugged particularly hard at her hair, forcing her head to tilt back, to meet his eyes. It was uncomfortable in her kneeling position but she complied blushing deeply. She had never looked at Ron or Gary in the face when she gave them head. The heated expression reassured her that she was doing everything right.
It was truly an experience to test his much vaunted control. He knew she was not very experienced and what experience she did have had not been truly pleasurable for her, but given her frank actions and unrestrained enthusiasm Salazar was more than ready to lay blame on fools who hadn't the brains to appreciate a powerful witch. One who needed to be challenged and dominated intellectually as well as physically.
He frowned internally. He did not want her capable of thinking of those idiots when he was claiming her. He wanted her screaming and begging and completely and utterly focused on him, and what was happening between them. He tugged her head back and shifted his hips enjoying the sight of his cock emerging from her wet swollen lips. He would very much enjoy coming in her mouth later on but right now he wanted to see another pair of pink lips stretched around his cock. She was fighting his actions but he was too strong. She cried out in protest when he slipped out of her lips.
It wasn't hard to wandlessly conjure thick padded matting to cover the floor behind her. Something she definitely appreciated when he forcefully pushed her onto her back. He didn't give her a moment to catch her breath before he came down over her, kneeling between her spread out legs, catching the backs of her knees in each hand and placing them over his still clothed shoulders. She cried out when he almost bent her in half to press his groin against the curves of her arse. She was leaking fluids from her gaping hole, the clear fluids trailing down towards the cleft of her arse and onto the conjured matting. Her pupils were blown wide, pale brown irises a thin ring around black. The soft pale curves of her form were quivering from the strain, her breasts… He could not resist pinching one prominent dark pink nipple and rolling the nub between two fingers, coaxing it into swelling, blooming. She gasped when the blood flow only increased her sensitivity. Pleased he repeated the actions on the other hard nub and idly wondered if she could come from just this.
"Please what?" he asked teasingly. He enjoyed making his lovers beg.
He pretended to misunderstand. "But I am."
She made an impatient squealing sound and pressed her knees down lifting her hips towards him. "You aren't!" The damp heat almost broke his control.
"Say it," he told her harshly.
She made an impatient sound and reached up to dig her nails into the back of his neck just above the edge of his robe. "I want you to fuck me!" she screamed.
He smirked and placed his hands on the matting on either side of her head before adjusting the angle before pushing forward. She inhaled sharply through her mouth as he took her, his cock penetrated her tight wet heat inch by inch. She was so narrow it took some effort to breach her depths. She was trembling under him. He could feel her tension, her animal-like fear.
"Hush sweetling," he crooned in one ear. "Almost there."
"You're too big!" she gasped.
"Any wizard would appreciate such a complaint," he teased her before kissing her hard.
She was momentarily distracted and he took full advantage of it, surging in the last few inches. He was seated to the hilt now. He lifted his mouth from her and looked down into dazed honey brown eyes. "Am I still too big?"
"Yes," she said honestly. "I feel like I'm impaled."
He chuckled. "Just lie back and enjoy the experience," he told her. And she did just that.
Each time he pulled back his cock rubbed against a particular spot deep inside that set off sparks. And then when he pushed forward it was like she was being forced open to her inner most depths. And then he was completely embedded within her he was very aware of his pubic bone pressing against her engorged clit. Out: drag, abrade. In: slide, grind. Repeat. She was so aroused it was like gliding through oiled silk.
Her hands had slipped into his robe collar and sharp nails were digging into his shoulders. Her control was slipping. He was pushing her higher, stimulating what probably seemed to her like every erogenous zone in her groin and breasts, testing the limits of her endurance but not allowing her to peak. He wanted her desperate for it.
"Please," she whispered through dry cracked lips.
"Say my name," he ordered.
She inhaled sharply and bit her lower lip, holding back the syllables on the tip of her tongue. He pressed harder against her, his groin flush against hers, rotating his hips. The action, the pressure, the friction, it set off a small explosion within her that nearly broke his control as he felt her flesh clench around his. He hid his smile against her shoulder as she screamed his name to the heavens.
Pleased and proud he lifted his head to meet her eyes and delve into her vulnerable, bared thoughts. Her defences were non-existent, her thoughts scattered and basic and focused on the riot of sensations coursing through her, the tiny quivering spasms in her belly and thighs. Her body was sore and sated and rushing on a natural high. Pale grey eyes stared intently into dilated dark brown eyes, digging deep within her open mind, searching for her true feelings, her heartfelt desires, her secret yearnings.
I want to be loved, to be accepted as I am. I want to fit into wizarding society without changing my nature, my appetite for knowledge. I want a husband who will support my desire to keep learning, even encourage it, someone who understands the lure of knowledge. I want a family of my own, children who will accept the affection I want to give. I doubt I'll ever find a wizard who will love me as I wish but I'm not ready to settle to have the family I yearn for. Mummy insisted, made me promise to not settle without at least trying to find love. I promised but deep inside I doubt it will never happen. I'm not what wizards looked for in a wife. I'm not pretty or social or good at running a household. I'm too easily distracted by my work and research. More than one blind date fell through because they were too easily offended by my brutal honesty and uncompromising ways. Only Harry never turned away because he's my little brother. I love him so much but now he's old enough to not need my constant presence and guidance. So I'm alone. Crookshanks tolerates my attentions but he's a kneazle-hybrid and very independent. I want a baby, a little one who I can love without restraint. Wizards might come and go but a child will always be mine.
"Do you desire offspring?"
She blinked blearily, dilated pupils shrinking a fraction as she struggled to focus on his face rather than the sensations coursing through her body.
He was secretly amused by the unsophisticated response. She was the type to have a quick response to any situation. He gripped her chin, forcing her gaze up to meet his eyes squarely. "Do you desire offspring?"
Her eyes were sharp and intent now, almost wary as she cautiously responded, "Yes."
He was pleased by her confession. Yes, he had already extracted the desire from her subconscious but having verbal confirmation was better. He kissed her hard, almost bruising her lips against her teeth before forcing them to part and grant him access to her mouth. She raised her hands to his biceps and dug short nails into his flesh, arching against his pelvis, rotating her hips in small circles around his still hard cock. Perfect.
She arched into his kiss, not paying attention to the wandering hand skimming down her side and sliding between them until his fingers were slipping against the thin delicate tissue stretched against him, then up the slick channel to rub against her clit. She came hard when he pinched the engorged flesh between two fingers and twisted.
There was a fire between her legs at the point where her body throbbed, and down below where he was joined to her. She had already come twice and was well on the way to her third orgasm of the evening. What if he didn't really want her? Before the panicked thought could take root he murmured something indistinct against her lips and then she could feel a different sort of fire blooming in her belly. This was not arousal or desire. It was more of a prickling tingling sensation, the type she got after being doused with peppermint extract. His hand was gliding against clit, stroking, circling around the nub. The tissue around it was so engorged each stroke only twisted the knot deep inside.
It was getting harder to breath, to focus on the sensations. She felt like she was on the verge of flying apart. And then she did.
Hermione felt weak, helpless, her muscles limp and unable to tense and stretch as she wanted them to. The stretch in her hamstrings was relaxing. Her legs were being straightened slightly. It took effort to open her eyes and look up at her… lover? He was kneeling now with her legs still over his shoulders. This position was less of a strain though she was very aware of how vulnerable and exposed she was. She leveraged her back off the padding, resting on her elbows with her head up and closer to his.
He smiled down at her and placed one hand over the lower curve of her belly. He said something she could not translate and then the only thing that mattered was the tingling burning sensation inside, twisting her belly into knots, making her flesh clench around his.
She screamed, an impatient angry sound and reached up, digging her fingers into his shoulders and pulling herself up, into a sitting position straddling his thighs, still impaled upon him. He was pressing against that spot inside. She shifted forward minutely, rocking delicately, rolling her hips against him. Perfect. Feeling daring she experimented, lifting herself slightly off before lowering herself down upon him. Up, down. Up, down.
His irises were thin silver rings, lips stretched back baring sharp very healthy teeth. Hermione had to appreciate their good condition. His breath was sharp and tingly, just like his hands on her belly, his cock inside her cunt.
He made an angry impatient sound and set both hands on her hips, dragging her down flush against him. She groaned as he hit the very end of her hard and came, flooding her with warm sticky fluid. She could feel it oozing out from where they were joined and it felt wrong. She whimpered.
"Hush," he told her firmly before setting his hands on her waist and lifting her up and off him. This time she did cry out when his cock slid out of her and his cum began trickling out of her hole and sliding down her thighs. He settled her on the padding on her side facing away from him. When he lifted her thigh and slid into her from behind it was almost a relief. It felt wrong… not being stretched around him.
It did not take long for her to come gently around him. He also came filling her with more sticky fluid, only this time he did not leave her. He stayed pressed against her back, plugging her hole with his semi-erect cock. She moaned as large scarred hands ran over her torso, cupping her breasts, tweaking her nipples before skimming down, over her belly to pinch and play with her clit and wet heated flesh. She was becoming aroused again. When she came this time it was almost painful, straining around the thick hard shaft. His callused pads were stroking over her clit, arousing her to almost painful heights. Then when he ran the edge of a nail over the engorged nodule she came almost helplessly. He pressed his palms against the lower curve of her belly to press her against his front, to keep her impaled on his cock. She could feel the magic flare in his hands, the sparks penetrating her torso, burning through her veins and into her core. She blacked out.
Salazar hissed and shifted minutely, arranging her limbs to reduce pressure on blood vessels. He was very aware of the warm sticky fluid oozing, almost overflowing from her hole. His cum, his seed, his mark. He stroked her belly. She was slender with little excess weight and he was more than generously endowed. And yet she had taken his entire length without protest. At least none after he'd bottomed out. Idly he skimmed over her lower curve very aware of his cock pressing against her flesh, his fingers from the inside.
Without physical exertions he was suddenly aware of the cool air. Swiftly he conjured sheets and cast a warming charm upon them. They would only last two nights, more than enough time since he had plans that did not include residing in his long unused rooms.
Carefully he shifted behind her, wrapping one arm around her torso to hold her against him, to keep her filled with his cock. Salazar knew he could not stay like this forever but he had every intention of taking full advantage of every opportunity to do so. She made a soft sound of protest but did not fight; instead she pushed back into him, grinding her bum against his groin, impaling herself more firmly on him. He grinned and brushed a kiss against her ear before moving his free hand down to slide over her groin to cup her belly. He found himself falling asleep, assured by the stability of his wards and the knowledge he had gained from the witch in his arms.
Hermione stretched and rolled over, flinging her arm out. She felt uncharacteristically sore and sated. When her hand hit hard flesh Hermione was reminded that she was not alone. Then she remembered and stiffened. She turned to look at her bedmate. He was awake, propped up on one elbow and looking down at her, the sheets around his waist.
"What did you do?"
He arched one brow. "Thoroughly debauched you?"
Well she couldn't argue with that. Then she remembered that was not all that happened last night. She shifted away and sat up, pulling the sheets up and tucking them in her armpits. Unconsciously one hand went to her belly.
"You did something to me," she insisted. "And I don't mean the sex! You touched my stomach and it burned."
Understanding dawned. "Ah."
"Well, what did you do?"
He sat up himself and the sheets pooled low around his hips. Hermione had to struggle to keep her eyes up. They were almost magnetically drawn to his groin. From his smirk he was very aware of her distraction. Then finally he spoke.
"I fulfilled your heart's desire."
She was confused. "What heart's desire?"
"Your desire for a child."
Hermione stiffened. "Wait a sec, you mean I'm pregnant?!" she almost screeched.
That little nugget of information was enough to push her over the edge. She began hyperventilating.
"Why would you do such a thing!"
He was confused. "Did you not say you desired love? A child?"
"Yes! But not until after I found a nice wizard and married him!" Then she calmed down. "But I suppose I'm in a good financial position to be a single mother thanks to the basilisk."
It was his turn to stiffen. "Do you see me as dishonourable? That I would not wed you? That I would not acknowledge my progeny? To leave them with no lineage?"
"No. But you really don't want to marry me. I'm the first witch you met and you feel grateful, like you owe me a debt for what I've done."
"I assure you I have never felt so attracted towards any other female."
"I used the fertility spell because I have every intention of marrying you."
She gave him a stern look. "I'm not going to marry you simply because you knocked me up!"
He leaned forward and cupped the back of her neck, drawing her face to his.
"Then will you marry me because you clearly adore me?"
"I don't know you from Job! I respect your work! Your mind!"
"And my body," he murmured against her lips just before he thoroughly kissed her. When he finally ended the kiss she was soft, breathless, and panting. "So tell me Hermione, will you marry me?"
Her answer was immediate, without conscious thought. "Yes." Then the dazed look faded. "You tricked me!" she howled.
"I did nothing of the sort," he demurred. "You answered from your heart."
And she couldn't argue with that. Because even when her mind raged and insisted this was folly, that she should run and hide and deny, her heart urged her to do otherwise. After much struggle she came down in favour of her heart.
"How are we going to explain this? It's not like you can go around introducing yourself as Salazar Slytherin. The name died out centuries ago and the last one claiming to be the Heir of Slytherin was an insane Dark Lord. The ministry will try to arrest you if you do the same."
He thought for a few minutes. Then lip lips curled into a small smile. "Then I will introduce myself as Salazar Tamysyn. My mother's clan."
Hermione thought hard. "The name is extinct," she said slowly. "There will be no one refuting your claim. But it is best if you make the claim through Gringotts. Once the goblins confirm the validity and process the transfers the Ministry can't do a thing."
"When do you want to do this?"
"Not in Britain," Hermione decided. "We should say that you were raised abroad. On the continent."
"Iberia. Spain." Salazar decided. "From your memories it still has a tradition of home-schooling and unregistered apprenticeships."
"We met at one of my Potions conferences and started a correspondence," Hermione added. Then her lips began moving soundlessly as she worked through the mental logistics. "Pack what you want to take with you and store the rest," she told him. "I'll use your spell to create a portkey to my aunt's home in Marseilles. She's visiting my parents in Australia so we'll have the house to ourselves, to get our stories straight. Then we can travel to Spain and make the claim in Gringotts Castile."
When Harry Potter received the invitation he had dismissed it as a prank. Yes, Hermione went to Spain on a long-delayed vacation. But to marry a wizard she met there on holiday? Never! But now it was impossible to deny the proof standing right before his eyes. Hermione, looking happier than he had ever seen her, a tall wizard with blue-black hair and very light grey eyes by her side. His arm was around her back, resting almost possessively over her hip, drawing Hermione close. And what shocked Harry was Hermione's reaction; she wasn't pulling away, like she did with Ron, in fact she was leaning into his embrace.
"Harry, I want you to meet my husband, Salazar Tamysyn. Zar, this is Harry Potter, my best friend ever since he saved me from a troll."
Salazar Tamysyn's cool eyes warmed fractionally. "Then I must thank you." His voice was rich and deep with a faint exotic sounding accent. "For saving Hermione. Because she is the light of my life."
The pale-eyed wizard held his hand out and Harry responded, reaching out and gripping it for a quick handshake, a nice dry firm handshake. He was not in awe or nervous about meeting The-Man-Who-Won. It was kinda nice, meeting a stranger who was comfortable and confident enough to treat him as just Harry. And he was a pretty romantic bloke. Most of the guys Harry knew never saw Hermione as a 'girl'. Only Ron had. After being hit over the head by the sight of Hermione all dressed up and dancing with Viktor Krum. If Salazar Tamysyn saw Hermione as a 'girl' and Hermione liked him who was Harry to interfere? Even if he was named after Salazar Slytherin.
"Nice meeting you. Well anyone important to Hermione," Harry grinned openly. "I like to think she has discriminating taste."
It was worth the whallop and the hissed "Harry!"
He gave her a wounded, puppy-dog look. "Well it's true." Then he turned to the other wizard. "Just a word of warning, your name is going to freak people out."
Salazar smirked. "What Tamysyn?"
"No, I mean your first name."
The smirk smoothened out. "I am attached to my first name and quite unwilling to give it up. Especially after I gave up my old family name for Tamysyn."
Harry looked confused. "Wha? Guys can change family names?"
"If they are making claim to an Old Family estate. It happens, sometimes a cadet branch of a newly extinct family may choose to claim the name as well, so it doesn't die out. Salazar's mother was from the Tamysyn family which is now extinct. He wasn't interested in claiming the name and vaults until we met." She blushed faintly. "For our family." She touched her waist tugging her robe down.
Harry saw the faint curve bulging outwards and he goggled. He glared at his best friend's husband. "When exactly did you marry? And how did you meet?" he asked harshly.
"Harry! You're not my father!"
"But you're my best friend! And I protect all my friends!"
"I do not vet all your girlfriends and I expect you to grant me the same courtesy!"
Salazar made a soft sound and interrupted, to break up the building fight. "We corresponded with each other for several months. Hermione wanted a second opinion on some of her experimental work. At first it was purely professional but we became close. When she mentioned needing a break and privacy I suggested she travel to Spain. We met in person and well…The attraction was instantaneous. We already knew each other from our correspondence, what kind of people we are, so we didn't see much point in waiting."
The hot words on Harry's tongue faded. This was no holiday romance, falling for a stranger met in an exotic land. They knew each other. Both of them were intellectuals with similar interests. Hermione was much more affectionate and free with him than she had ever been with Ron who she'd known for years.
"Ron isn't going to take this well," Harry warned.
To his surprise, Hermione just lifted her chin and sniffed. "I don't care. I love Zar, we're married and we're going to have a baby. If he can't handle it then it's his problem not mine."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. In his work as an Auror he'd had to work with people he disliked, make compromises for a long-term goal. If Ron was so inflexible he was unwilling to adjust for a friend then he wasn't a good friend. But still…Harry was worried.
"Isn't it rather fast? Having a baby? You met in person very recently and are still adjusting to being married."
They glanced at each other in unison.
"Not really," Hermione said slowly. "We really connected with each other. We…mesh." Her expression turned more earnest. "Can we expect your support?"
Harry didn't have to think at all for a response. "Of course. You'll always have it."
Hermione smiled brilliantly. "Great!" Then she smirked. "You can help me break it to Molly."
Harry did an about face. "That I didn't sign up for."
"She doesn't like me! Not since I broke up with Ginny."
It was Hermione's turn to use her puppy-dog look. "Please?"
Harry crumbled. "Oh all right." Then he saw Salazar's bemused expression. "Molly Weasley is like a mother to us. She fusses and is really nice but I hate her trying to hook us up with her children," his expression turned sardonic, "so we can be one big happy family," he added in quotation marks. "Ginny isn't right for me."
"Ron, Percy, and Charlie weren't right for me either," Hermione added with an amused look. "But honestly I think she'll be happy that 'I'm settling down' and expecting," she patted her tummy. "She wants grandchildren from all her children, including Harry and me."
Harry's expression brightened. "That's true. Why don't we go tell Arthur first? He can help diffuse Molly's temper."
"Arthur is Molly's husband. He works for the Ministry of Magic," Hermione explained.
As expected Arthur took it very well. And he calm Molly who burst into tears the moment she was informed of Hermione's situation. The weeping fit didn't last long of course. In less than five minutes she was hugging the stuffing out of both Hermione and Salazar in turn.
"You must stay for dinner."
And of course, it was impossible to refuse a dinner invitation from Molly. It was an uncharacteristically small group who sat down for dinner in the Burrow. All of the children had moved out and living their own lives. Of course they all returned for Sunday dinner with their significant others and children (if they had them), making the Burrow as noisy and lively as it was when they were teenagers.
While they tucked into Molly's rice pudding she asked a very practical question.
"When are you going to make a formal announcement?"
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "You mean take an advert in the papers?"
"No! I mean a reception to introduce the two of you as a couple. I can understand you had to have a quick wedding in Spain but you need a reception in Britain."
Salazar nodded thoughtfully. "I see your point. But Hermione and myself will be busy for the next several weeks. Could we impose on your good will, and ask you to organize and host it?"
Molly beamed. "It would be no trouble at all!"
And with that it was very clear Hermione's new husband had Molly's seal of approval. He was such a nice boy, so considerate and thoughtful to accept them as Hermione's family. Oh she did have bloodkin but they were out of the country and Muggles and not familiar with Wizarding ways. Oh, she had asked Minerva, the Headmistress of Hogwarts, to include a Wizarding Studies class, to teach Muggleborns wizarding ways but it's been so hard with conservatives like the Greengrasses and Malfoys controlling the Board of Governors.
"You may count my vote in your favour," Salazar interjected at a pause.
Molly blinked. "I didn't know you were a Hogwarts alumni my dear."
"I am not. But the Tamysyn family has a seat on the Board. It has been on abeyance for decades. Until now when I claimed the vaults."
Molly's mouth pursed in an 'O'. "How exciting. I didn't know you were one of Those Tamysyns." Seeing Harry's confused look she explained. "The Tamysyns were an old respected Pureblood family. One of the few to openly rebuke Grindelwald. He wiped them out in retaliation. I didn't know there was a surviving cadet branch."
"No one did for decades. That's why we survived. When I married Hermione I decided it was time to reclaim the family name."
Molly nodded sipped her tea. And then the conversation turned to less volatile topics until Hermione stood up and said, "It's time we left. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day."
Molly stood up and hugged the younger witch. "Get plenty of rest. Sleep in if you feel tired. If you need any help just Floo-call me," she said in her usual fussing way. "I'll probably be Floo-calling you in the evening with some ideas for the reception."
Hermione just smiled and nodded and repeated her good-byes, to Molly and Arthur. Then she, Salazar, and Harry walked out and towards the boundaries, past the Apparition wards. They walked in comfortable silence that Salazar broke.
"Your foster family is very loving." It wasn't clear who the comment was directed to.
"Oh yes," Hermione said.
"Every Muggleborn or Muggle-raised needs to spend a week or two with a wizarding family like the Weasleys," Harry confided.
"Perhaps we can arrange for something along the lines of an exchange," Salazar murmured. "Muggleborn in wizarding households, and Purebloods in Muggle homes."
"Muggles do that. It's called exchange programs. Usually between students of different countries, or different cities. They usually spend a term at a different school, living a different life, getting to see things from the other side."
"It is a good idea."
"Good luck getting it past the Board," Harry said gloomily. "Malfoy is a slimy bastard who manages to shoot down every proposal we've made."
Salazar smirked. "Just leave it to me."
Draco Malfoy was justifiably wary. He did not know why he received an invite to Granger's reception. A rather shoddy cheap unprofessional affair, too. Her new husband probably couldn't afford better than a Molly Weasley buffet. Salazar Tamysyn. Draco had never heard of him. Rumour was Granger met him in Spain, a vacation romance that needed a quick wedding. Rumour was she was in the family way. He wouldn't have expected it from her, she was so career-minded, so Muggle.
Draco wondered what her new husband saw in her. Then he snorted softly. Tamysyn was an Old Family but Draco doubted he was a Pureblood. The main branches were killed in the Grindelwald war. Where was the poor bastard anyway? Draco was certain Granger had badgered him into marrying her.
"Malfoy! I'm so glad you accepted the invitation." She did have a nice voice, low and throaty and suited to the boudoir. Too bad she was more interested in discussing potions theory than sexual innuendo. Pushing the stray thought away he straightened and turned and blinked.
Draco knew Granger cleaned up well – case point the Fourth Year Yule Ball – but this was something else! She was wearing an odd robe that crossed over her front, enhancing her cleavage in a deep V neckline and secured by a broad strip of silver brocade wrapped around her waist and knotted at the back. The dress itself was made of dark green silk and covered with masses of light blue and grey flowers and lighter green leaves and vines.
It was not the dress, or the sleek hair braided into an elegant coronet, or the discreet make-up. It was her expression, the light in her eyes, the slight flush in her cheeks, the secretive smile curving her mouth. Looking at her now, Draco could understand how she hooked this Salazar Tamysyn bloke.
"Have you met my husband?" she asked politely.
"Not yet," Draco admitted.
"Oh then you must. You do have some points in common," she said just before darting off leaving Draco bewildered. Seconds later she returned holding the forest-green robe sleeve of a not too-tall but very broad shouldered wizard. Draco suddenly felt very self-conscious of his own narrow frame. "Zar, this is Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, meet Salazar Tamysyn, my husband."
Draco shifted his gaze and froze. Salazar Tamysyn was the exact image of the Slytherin House Founder. The Founders true appearance was a House secret, a still portrait hanging in a hidden-room that only the Head of Slytherin, Slytherin alumni and Seventh Years could access. And Granger's husband was his twin, from the gleaming blue-black hair and quicksilver grey eyes to the arresting face consisting of sharp edges, elegant lines and flat planes, to the straight high bridged nose and clefted chin.
He could see Granger's amused knowing look. She knew something. Then her husband spoke rather casually.
"I suppose most do not know Salazar Slytherin's mother was Vivien Tamysyn before she bonded with his father Taliesyn Slytherin."
Draco sniffed and tried to regain control. "All true Pureblood families share common ancestry," he proclaimed.
"But few have the rights and magic of the family lineage," Tamysyn pointed out with stiletto sharp delicacy. "The looks might be a coincidence but I like to think our characters are the same: ambitious, obsessive, morally ambiguous."
Draco huffed. "How dare you make a claim to Salazar Slytherin! You share nothing of his values, his devotion to blood purity."
Tamysyn smiled oddly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Oh but you're mistaken Malfoy," he crooned softly. "Salazar Slytherin didn't hate Muggleborns, just the society they came from."
Draco stared uncertain of what to do. "You're lying."
"I would not make such a claim without proof."
"There are no records."
"Until now. My wife and myself have located and translated several of his private journals. A familial legacy," he added with a razor sharp smile. "Something we have no intention of sharing without some benefit."
Now Draco felt on comfortable, familiar ground. "Such as?"
"Oh, just a few changes, here and there, things Slytherin would have appreciated. Like Wizarding Culture classes." Draco opened his mouth to protest and was cut off. "Are you so ashamed of your heritage that you do not wish to showcase it before all? To teach it to others who are ignorant of our illustrious legacy?"
Draco stiffened. He was suddenly very conscious of the witches and wizards around them. They had stopped and were watching, and listening. He didn't have much of a counter to Tamysyn's argument. "Perhaps," he conceded diffidently but from Tamysyn's slight smile he knew that he had won this round. At the next Hogwarts Governors Board Meeting Draco would not be fighting a recommendation to offer Wizarding Culture classes.
Hermione bottled her laughter as she wrapped her arm around her husband's elbow and allowed him to guide her away. Once she was certain they were out of Draco's earshot she spoke.
"I'm so proud of you," she said softly.
"And it's only the beginning," he vowed. "We will change the world."
"Yes. We will. Together."
And they did.
AN: No prequel, no sequel. Hope you enjoyed.
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