Coming Through Age
Jul. 12th, 2006 12:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foudebassanPairing: Hermione/Salazar. Sort of. Mostly gen, though.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mary-Sueism, silliness, omniscient narrator.
Length: 2600 words
Coming Through Age
In her seventh year at Hogwarts, Hermione made several discoveries.
The first was that being a witch, and a Muggleborn, were too severe a handicap, even for the brightest pupil of her generation: unlike Harry, she was not formally admitted into the Order; and no one seemed to accept even her offer of help, to the difference of Ron, who took great pride in staying by Harry’s side in all circumstances.
She was therefore relegated to the old castle where she had learned everything about magic, among frightened professors and terrified students; and this prompted the second important discovery.
She had always assumed that knowledge was a vast universe with indistinct shapes and fuzzy edges, a place you could explore for a lifetime without ever reaching its limits. Again, she found out she was wrong, at least as far as magical theory and practise were concerned – she was always a year or so in advance on the curriculum, and before Halloween the bare truth stood naked and desolate before her. After seventh year, there was no more academia to be learned by a student absorbed enough to do some side research along with each apprehended topic.
There had been no innovations in Charms since the Lubricare spell, back in 1955; and that one she had mastered long ago, just in case - one did come across useful tidbits of information in the library. Transfigurations stopped altogether, everything being covered by the seventh year book; short of Animageri, there were no other routes to explore once that had been learned. Potions did leave loads of interesting possibilities open, but that required intuition, and months spend over a smoking cauldron, and that she found frustrating, and, quite frankly, not all that interesting, not when there was a Dark Lord about that needed bringing down. There were plenty of poisons already available, after all, no need to waste precious time trying to devise some more. Herbology and Astronomy were no more than observation of magical Nature; Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, though fascinating, offered little practical outlets to her frustration.
This was the stage, she supposed, where Tom Riddle had chosen the path of the Dark Arts. Defence had taught her that they were compelling, and that they offered another alley of knowledge, of research, of spells and incantations and charms and rare, blood-covered ingredients; but, bored as she was, she did in all honesty not wish the world harm. She lacked the ambition, or malice, that was needed to cast Dark curses, the inner sadistic wish to hurt someone for the joy of hurting them; and thus she did not try to procure herself any Dark Texts.
And thus did the boredom install itself over her, boredom and a feeling of uselessness that hung around her like a menace, more threatening to her than the Dark Lord had ever been. She had nothing worthwhile to do, no friends left in Hogwarts, and nowhere else to go, nowhere she was welcome.
That was when she started to prowl around and inside the castle, easing the pent-up frustration in long, menacing strides. She went through corridors and staircases, explored the dungeons and climbed on the towers; she scowled at the sneering portraits, ignored the suits of armour, and generally tried to escape the monotony of the school routine.
It was during such an escapade that she made the third, most important discovery.
It looked mundane enough in the beginning – a normal disappearing corridor that only revealed itself when asked to do so – the spellwork was definitely not hard to guess, the magic governing Hogwarts was like a system, once you had understood how it worked, you knew it all.
She entered, half-intrigued, and what she saw was to change the course of her life forever.
Truth be told, she didn’t see it at first, she had to cast a disillusionment spell, then a more advanced one, and then the one she had found in the Restricted Section six months ago.
But there it was – a simple, small hook of stone on what otherwise seemed to be a blank wall in a forgotten dead-end corridor.
It was a testament to how bored Hermione was that she did not hesitate long before touching the unusual piece of stone. The normal procedure was to cast all the spells she knew, and she did know a lot of them; wait for a response; and, should the response not arrive, dismiss the offending object as either devoid of magic of too infused with dark spells to be tampered with.
This was not mundane. She felt magic humming around her in the entire corridor – maybe it was what had attracted her in the first place. This hook in the wall was no anomaly, it was there on a purpose, she knew it; if her spells didn’t work on it, then no spells could uncover the mystery it hid, except perhaps those that involved fresh baby’s blood, and those she refused to try – some ingredients were just too expensive to waste on stone walls, however compelling they felt. She would have to touch it, to feel it directly; it might be dangerous, but that was a risk she was prepared to take. Not experimenting with the Dark Arts oneself did not mean one couldn’t come into contact with them at all, not when it happened on a purely accidental basis.
She seized the makeshift knob, and, for a millisecond, nothing happened.
And then the world around her crumbled down and disappeared.
*
* *
It was not very different from the tug of a Portkey; only the pull and dizziness seemed to happen to her entire environment, save herself and the piece of stone she had just touched.
An intense burn spread into her hand and forearm – she felt the tingle of magic in her veins, as if drawing into her own resources and turning it into something much more powerful. She hugged her wand-arm a few instants, getting used to the new sensation, not quite painful, yet not quite normal that it was – and then she looked up to her surroundings.
She was in a field. Near a lake.
A cow mooed nearby.
She blinked.
Of all the drastic consequences a hasty encounter with Dark magic could lead to, this was by far the most unexpected.
The cow mooed again.
Come to think of it, if that ruminant happened to be a bull and not a cow, it might be among the most dangerous as well.
Discreetly removing herself from the presence of a cow that might still have its bollocks might thus be better than to end up adorning the horns of a cuckolded bovid.
She looked around and noticed a small stone hut – it did look strong enough to keep a four-legged attacker out. The door was large, wooden, and most of all unlocked. The pane was heavy; the hinges creaked; and she entered the dark room before her.
The hinges squeaked behind her, and the heavy wooden pane fell back into place.
She looked around, her eyes soon adapting to the surrounding darkness. The room was much larger than it should be, based on the outside dimensions of the hut; magic must have been used at some point.
She could still feel the soft thrum of potential charms on her body.
But instead of feeling nervous, it had a soothing effect on her, like a soft massage – she sensed the earth pulsing under her feet, the atmosphere swaying around her, and her own body was part of it all, like it had always been, but she had never before been so aware of it. It was reassuring, and calming, and empowering in a way – nothing in the world could possibly harm her as she was herself part and piece of the universe, channelling its magic in herself, attuning it to her powers to make them increase ten-fold.
She didn’t care about the ongoing war anymore, didn’t care about being left out. She did not care about this strange encounter with Dark Magic – it must have been dark magic – did not care about this strange hut who held her captive.
But she still wanted to learn more about it all.
She lifted her arm as if to cast a spell, but realised half-way through that she did not need her wand to do so any more – gesturing at the roof and walls and ground was enough, and already she learned what she needed to know: the walls had indeed been enlarged, the roof was almost devoid of magic, and there was a hidden chamber under the ground. She started to wave at it, but that too was not needed, her entire body acted as a wand, and before she knew it she had gone through the ground, and into the hidden room.
It was large, and awe-inspiring; snake motives decorated the walls, and a huge snake was there, asleep, coiled on itself.
And a man stood there, his back to her, facing the wall.
She knew who he was before he turned.
Touching that piece of stone had brought her three thousand years back, before the foundation of Hogwarts. She was standing in what was to become the Chamber of Secrets, face-to-face with one of the Founders.
It would have all been pretty terrifying had she not recently discovered deep recesses of magic within herself; armed with that knowledge, nothing could scare her, ever.
The man – Salazar – turned to her and smiled.
*
* *
In the years to come, Hermione was to think of that smile as the turning-point, as the instant where she knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t turn back any more. Coming into her magic had been exhilarating, true, but it hadn’t been a conscious decision; and her conversation with one of the most prestigious wizards of all times was nothing but a long awakening.
“There you are at last” he had announced, still not turning back. Slytherin knew how to manage his effects.
“How did you know I would come?” she had been surprised at that; after all, she herself would have been hard-pressed to guess she would be catapulted several millennia into the past a mere hour before it took place.
“Can’t you guess why? I arranged for someone to find me. Someone with sufficient powers, of course – are you a Professor?”
He turned at last. The depth of his gaze made her stammer
“N-no, a seventh-year.”
“A seventh-year indeed… well, that does not matter. You must have had sufficient powers for It to work at all; and I suppose you have found your powers to have increased since you arrived here?”
“They have.” Hermione was noncommittal.
“It’s this spot – strong Earth magic. Works better on witches, of course, as they have more raw power to begin with, but still, it will be the perfect spot for our school. Too bad it will run out in a mere few centuries, but then that’s why you’re here.”
Hermione blinked. It did make sense, somehow, and yet… This had not been a Portkey, apparently, but… something else… that brought one through time.
She resisted the urge to pinch herself. If this was a dream, she would enjoy it for all it was worth.
“I’m sorry?”
“Haven’t you guessed it yet? This place is magical; it will serve our purpose well for as long as it lasts, and generations of young witches and wizards will be educated in our ways. Successfully, I take it, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.
“But the Earth magic concentrated in this spot won’t last forever. That’s why we planned to plant that It in its depths – when the time comes, when the magic runs out and when a worthy person – you – touches it, it will bring them – you – back to us, for us to give you instructions.”
“Instructions?”
“Well, yes, tell you how to find another magical spot, to found a new school, of course. It’s not that complicated, but then the others insisted on not putting it into writing – they have strange ideas about its falling into the wrong hands and all. Here’s how to proceed…”
He bent forward and whispered things into her ear for what seemed like an eternity.
She nodded. It was simple, really, she wondered why on earth it had to be such a big secret.
“I can see the magic running out – the wizarding world is having lots of troubles at the time, it must stem from some magical imbalance – but, why me? Surely there are other powerful wizards… Dumbledore knew the castle like the back of his hand in his time, he must have encountered It, and today Harry…”
He cut her off.
“Nonsense. The wizard doesn’t pick It; It picks the witch. You are infinitely more powerful than any wizard, myself included – you only can bring the next generation of magical creatures to the world. It must have picked you because you have learned how to use this magic; to be honest, I would have thought it would choose a Professor, or at least someone with more experience. But you were chosen all the same; it must mean you’re worthy.”
Hermione blinked. He was grandiloquent indeed, even for a dream.
“But this is not all. This is in fact only the beginning. I have another, more… personal query for you.
“I do not wish to die, not right now at least. That’s why I made a Horcrux – a statue of myself.
“I do not wish to re-appear in just any boring time, though. I need excitement, tasks to accomplish, futures to plan.
“So my Horcrux is asleep. I tied it to a key – this key. I want you to activate it when you feel the time is right. I can help you with founding the new school. Or just keep you company. You will find me most entertaining.
“But we have discussed long enough, and It is not made for lengthy visits. Off you go.”
He shoved a small silver snake shaped like a key in her hand, and the world suddenly started to spin around her… and around… and around…
*
* *
Hermione woke up lying on the stone floor of the corridor, feeling confused. She should never have touched that piece of stone, it had clearly knocked her out and given her a very strange dream indeed.
She sat up to stretch herself – and a small metallic key fell from her.
It was the ornate silver serpent from her dream – nay, from her adventure.
And before she could reach down for it, it swept into her hand.
Oops – she would have to learn how to control her newly-found powers, it seemed.
Come to think of it, there were other things she could see herself doing with them.
The first might be to use them to end the war. If she so chose.
And then, she would have to scour the world for appropriate spots, and found a wizarding school. It would be the work of a lifetime.
She smiled.
A world of opportunities opened before her.
She would never be bored again.
Down in the Chamber of Secrets, Salazar’s statue smiled as well. She would not be able to resist the temptation of coming down here very long. Between her powers and the key she bore, the place would certainly let her in; and she’d unlock the Horcrux at long last.
He would make sure he’d accompany her in her quest. She would never be able to find a wizard whose powers and abilities matched hers, he knew that – so she might be convinced to consort with a magicked statue.
He smiled.
A world of new opportunities would open before him.
He couldn’t be any happier.
THE BEGINNING
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mary-Sueism, silliness, omniscient narrator.
Length: 2600 words
In her seventh year at Hogwarts, Hermione made several discoveries.
The first was that being a witch, and a Muggleborn, were too severe a handicap, even for the brightest pupil of her generation: unlike Harry, she was not formally admitted into the Order; and no one seemed to accept even her offer of help, to the difference of Ron, who took great pride in staying by Harry’s side in all circumstances.
She was therefore relegated to the old castle where she had learned everything about magic, among frightened professors and terrified students; and this prompted the second important discovery.
She had always assumed that knowledge was a vast universe with indistinct shapes and fuzzy edges, a place you could explore for a lifetime without ever reaching its limits. Again, she found out she was wrong, at least as far as magical theory and practise were concerned – she was always a year or so in advance on the curriculum, and before Halloween the bare truth stood naked and desolate before her. After seventh year, there was no more academia to be learned by a student absorbed enough to do some side research along with each apprehended topic.
There had been no innovations in Charms since the Lubricare spell, back in 1955; and that one she had mastered long ago, just in case - one did come across useful tidbits of information in the library. Transfigurations stopped altogether, everything being covered by the seventh year book; short of Animageri, there were no other routes to explore once that had been learned. Potions did leave loads of interesting possibilities open, but that required intuition, and months spend over a smoking cauldron, and that she found frustrating, and, quite frankly, not all that interesting, not when there was a Dark Lord about that needed bringing down. There were plenty of poisons already available, after all, no need to waste precious time trying to devise some more. Herbology and Astronomy were no more than observation of magical Nature; Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, though fascinating, offered little practical outlets to her frustration.
This was the stage, she supposed, where Tom Riddle had chosen the path of the Dark Arts. Defence had taught her that they were compelling, and that they offered another alley of knowledge, of research, of spells and incantations and charms and rare, blood-covered ingredients; but, bored as she was, she did in all honesty not wish the world harm. She lacked the ambition, or malice, that was needed to cast Dark curses, the inner sadistic wish to hurt someone for the joy of hurting them; and thus she did not try to procure herself any Dark Texts.
And thus did the boredom install itself over her, boredom and a feeling of uselessness that hung around her like a menace, more threatening to her than the Dark Lord had ever been. She had nothing worthwhile to do, no friends left in Hogwarts, and nowhere else to go, nowhere she was welcome.
That was when she started to prowl around and inside the castle, easing the pent-up frustration in long, menacing strides. She went through corridors and staircases, explored the dungeons and climbed on the towers; she scowled at the sneering portraits, ignored the suits of armour, and generally tried to escape the monotony of the school routine.
It was during such an escapade that she made the third, most important discovery.
It looked mundane enough in the beginning – a normal disappearing corridor that only revealed itself when asked to do so – the spellwork was definitely not hard to guess, the magic governing Hogwarts was like a system, once you had understood how it worked, you knew it all.
She entered, half-intrigued, and what she saw was to change the course of her life forever.
Truth be told, she didn’t see it at first, she had to cast a disillusionment spell, then a more advanced one, and then the one she had found in the Restricted Section six months ago.
But there it was – a simple, small hook of stone on what otherwise seemed to be a blank wall in a forgotten dead-end corridor.
It was a testament to how bored Hermione was that she did not hesitate long before touching the unusual piece of stone. The normal procedure was to cast all the spells she knew, and she did know a lot of them; wait for a response; and, should the response not arrive, dismiss the offending object as either devoid of magic of too infused with dark spells to be tampered with.
This was not mundane. She felt magic humming around her in the entire corridor – maybe it was what had attracted her in the first place. This hook in the wall was no anomaly, it was there on a purpose, she knew it; if her spells didn’t work on it, then no spells could uncover the mystery it hid, except perhaps those that involved fresh baby’s blood, and those she refused to try – some ingredients were just too expensive to waste on stone walls, however compelling they felt. She would have to touch it, to feel it directly; it might be dangerous, but that was a risk she was prepared to take. Not experimenting with the Dark Arts oneself did not mean one couldn’t come into contact with them at all, not when it happened on a purely accidental basis.
She seized the makeshift knob, and, for a millisecond, nothing happened.
And then the world around her crumbled down and disappeared.
* *
It was not very different from the tug of a Portkey; only the pull and dizziness seemed to happen to her entire environment, save herself and the piece of stone she had just touched.
An intense burn spread into her hand and forearm – she felt the tingle of magic in her veins, as if drawing into her own resources and turning it into something much more powerful. She hugged her wand-arm a few instants, getting used to the new sensation, not quite painful, yet not quite normal that it was – and then she looked up to her surroundings.
She was in a field. Near a lake.
A cow mooed nearby.
She blinked.
Of all the drastic consequences a hasty encounter with Dark magic could lead to, this was by far the most unexpected.
The cow mooed again.
Come to think of it, if that ruminant happened to be a bull and not a cow, it might be among the most dangerous as well.
Discreetly removing herself from the presence of a cow that might still have its bollocks might thus be better than to end up adorning the horns of a cuckolded bovid.
She looked around and noticed a small stone hut – it did look strong enough to keep a four-legged attacker out. The door was large, wooden, and most of all unlocked. The pane was heavy; the hinges creaked; and she entered the dark room before her.
The hinges squeaked behind her, and the heavy wooden pane fell back into place.
She looked around, her eyes soon adapting to the surrounding darkness. The room was much larger than it should be, based on the outside dimensions of the hut; magic must have been used at some point.
She could still feel the soft thrum of potential charms on her body.
But instead of feeling nervous, it had a soothing effect on her, like a soft massage – she sensed the earth pulsing under her feet, the atmosphere swaying around her, and her own body was part of it all, like it had always been, but she had never before been so aware of it. It was reassuring, and calming, and empowering in a way – nothing in the world could possibly harm her as she was herself part and piece of the universe, channelling its magic in herself, attuning it to her powers to make them increase ten-fold.
She didn’t care about the ongoing war anymore, didn’t care about being left out. She did not care about this strange encounter with Dark Magic – it must have been dark magic – did not care about this strange hut who held her captive.
But she still wanted to learn more about it all.
She lifted her arm as if to cast a spell, but realised half-way through that she did not need her wand to do so any more – gesturing at the roof and walls and ground was enough, and already she learned what she needed to know: the walls had indeed been enlarged, the roof was almost devoid of magic, and there was a hidden chamber under the ground. She started to wave at it, but that too was not needed, her entire body acted as a wand, and before she knew it she had gone through the ground, and into the hidden room.
It was large, and awe-inspiring; snake motives decorated the walls, and a huge snake was there, asleep, coiled on itself.
And a man stood there, his back to her, facing the wall.
She knew who he was before he turned.
Touching that piece of stone had brought her three thousand years back, before the foundation of Hogwarts. She was standing in what was to become the Chamber of Secrets, face-to-face with one of the Founders.
It would have all been pretty terrifying had she not recently discovered deep recesses of magic within herself; armed with that knowledge, nothing could scare her, ever.
The man – Salazar – turned to her and smiled.
* *
In the years to come, Hermione was to think of that smile as the turning-point, as the instant where she knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t turn back any more. Coming into her magic had been exhilarating, true, but it hadn’t been a conscious decision; and her conversation with one of the most prestigious wizards of all times was nothing but a long awakening.
“There you are at last” he had announced, still not turning back. Slytherin knew how to manage his effects.
“How did you know I would come?” she had been surprised at that; after all, she herself would have been hard-pressed to guess she would be catapulted several millennia into the past a mere hour before it took place.
“Can’t you guess why? I arranged for someone to find me. Someone with sufficient powers, of course – are you a Professor?”
He turned at last. The depth of his gaze made her stammer
“N-no, a seventh-year.”
“A seventh-year indeed… well, that does not matter. You must have had sufficient powers for It to work at all; and I suppose you have found your powers to have increased since you arrived here?”
“They have.” Hermione was noncommittal.
“It’s this spot – strong Earth magic. Works better on witches, of course, as they have more raw power to begin with, but still, it will be the perfect spot for our school. Too bad it will run out in a mere few centuries, but then that’s why you’re here.”
Hermione blinked. It did make sense, somehow, and yet… This had not been a Portkey, apparently, but… something else… that brought one through time.
She resisted the urge to pinch herself. If this was a dream, she would enjoy it for all it was worth.
“I’m sorry?”
“Haven’t you guessed it yet? This place is magical; it will serve our purpose well for as long as it lasts, and generations of young witches and wizards will be educated in our ways. Successfully, I take it, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.
“But the Earth magic concentrated in this spot won’t last forever. That’s why we planned to plant that It in its depths – when the time comes, when the magic runs out and when a worthy person – you – touches it, it will bring them – you – back to us, for us to give you instructions.”
“Instructions?”
“Well, yes, tell you how to find another magical spot, to found a new school, of course. It’s not that complicated, but then the others insisted on not putting it into writing – they have strange ideas about its falling into the wrong hands and all. Here’s how to proceed…”
He bent forward and whispered things into her ear for what seemed like an eternity.
She nodded. It was simple, really, she wondered why on earth it had to be such a big secret.
“I can see the magic running out – the wizarding world is having lots of troubles at the time, it must stem from some magical imbalance – but, why me? Surely there are other powerful wizards… Dumbledore knew the castle like the back of his hand in his time, he must have encountered It, and today Harry…”
He cut her off.
“Nonsense. The wizard doesn’t pick It; It picks the witch. You are infinitely more powerful than any wizard, myself included – you only can bring the next generation of magical creatures to the world. It must have picked you because you have learned how to use this magic; to be honest, I would have thought it would choose a Professor, or at least someone with more experience. But you were chosen all the same; it must mean you’re worthy.”
Hermione blinked. He was grandiloquent indeed, even for a dream.
“But this is not all. This is in fact only the beginning. I have another, more… personal query for you.
“I do not wish to die, not right now at least. That’s why I made a Horcrux – a statue of myself.
“I do not wish to re-appear in just any boring time, though. I need excitement, tasks to accomplish, futures to plan.
“So my Horcrux is asleep. I tied it to a key – this key. I want you to activate it when you feel the time is right. I can help you with founding the new school. Or just keep you company. You will find me most entertaining.
“But we have discussed long enough, and It is not made for lengthy visits. Off you go.”
He shoved a small silver snake shaped like a key in her hand, and the world suddenly started to spin around her… and around… and around…
* *
Hermione woke up lying on the stone floor of the corridor, feeling confused. She should never have touched that piece of stone, it had clearly knocked her out and given her a very strange dream indeed.
She sat up to stretch herself – and a small metallic key fell from her.
It was the ornate silver serpent from her dream – nay, from her adventure.
And before she could reach down for it, it swept into her hand.
Oops – she would have to learn how to control her newly-found powers, it seemed.
Come to think of it, there were other things she could see herself doing with them.
The first might be to use them to end the war. If she so chose.
And then, she would have to scour the world for appropriate spots, and found a wizarding school. It would be the work of a lifetime.
She smiled.
A world of opportunities opened before her.
She would never be bored again.
Down in the Chamber of Secrets, Salazar’s statue smiled as well. She would not be able to resist the temptation of coming down here very long. Between her powers and the key she bore, the place would certainly let her in; and she’d unlock the Horcrux at long last.
He would make sure he’d accompany her in her quest. She would never be able to find a wizard whose powers and abilities matched hers, he knew that – so she might be convinced to consort with a magicked statue.
He smiled.
A world of new opportunities would open before him.
He couldn’t be any happier.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 11:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 11:38 am (UTC)But Salazar knew that without Godric to assist him, he wouldn't be able to compete with the two witches, so he left them build the school on their own - only inserting It in his very own secret Chamber, hoping for someone from the future to come and deliver him. He would have his own way a few millenia afterwards.
This done, he proceeded to bed all the witches that came his way - that's when Imperio was invented, btw - thus securing lots of descendants, who re-wrote history, pretending that Slytherin had indeed participated in founding Hogwarts.
Alas, before his death Gryffindor had also had children; they and their mother (the first Veela? A mermaid? Nimue?) also falsified history in favour of their dear deceased.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 07:25 pm (UTC)Do we think that Hermione will be able to sort him out then? And then go after a more suitable living wizard with nice hair or perhaps would have nice hair if he used the right shampoo.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 08:05 pm (UTC)I think she might resist the temptation and leave him in an abandoned Hogwarts.
And she'll have a string of
minionslovers to occupy her time in-between founding and building.