Hermione Granger was a sensible girl. She didn’t tease her hair into new fashionable attitudes with every issue of Witch Weekly. She did not hunt through makeup to find a quill to lend another. She didn’t live off of gossip, and she most definitely did not do things to generate it. She wore clothes that were not flashy or drab, just plain that suited her everyday appearance. Hermione sometimes wondered why she was so…different from everyone else. She once heard Lavender Brown ask a friend if Hermione even owned scrunchie. Hermione did, but it she considered it something to be worn when one put one’s hair up. Which Hermione rarely did.

It was this same Hermione Granger who woke up one morning wide eyed and hysteric. The sun was shining in through her window in the Head Girl’s room, much too high for it to be early morning. If Hermione Granger was one thing, she was dedicated to school above all else. Cursing under her breath, Hermione flung herself out of bed and began haphazardly dressing and collecting books and parchments. She had probably missed Potions and, she gauged the sun’s position, half of Charms, but the day was still salvageable. Missing Potions, while mentally distressing for the fact that she’d missed class, was not too bad, it was double again this year, with the Slytherins as usual.

“Gra-a-an-ger,” a voice lilted from the couch in the Common Room as she dashed through it, trailing scrolls and quills. Hermione paused as she was pushing open the portrait to send a biting remark at the Head Boy, Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, she knew, was an arrogant pureblood.  He could trace his family lineage back hundreds of years and not find one muggle born wizard or witch in it. Hermione herself was a muggle born. For that simple reason they hated each other. Hermione was born of progressive ideas, she had tried to free house elves, or at least make their lives better, in her fourth year. Draco was born of conservative ideas, women were lower than men, muggle borns were the scum of the earth. And house elves were for working until their deaths.

“What is it, Ferret?” they were both much too old for name calling, but, Hermione reasoned, if he insisted on calling her a mudblood, she would insist on calling him a ferret.

“Guess what day it is today,” he said as he closed the book he had on his chest. Silver eyes met infuriated brown ones as Hermione tried to look at him like he was a bug. A dumb one at that.

“Monday, and I’ve missed half the morning classes, excuse me I have to be going now,” she said as she turned to go.

“Indeed it is Monday, but it’s also the first day of the winter holidays. As Head Boy and Girl we are obligated to stay due to the new rule imposed after that last Weasley Head Boy…Perky or something, left.” Silver eyes crinkled in a smirk as Hermione’s jaw worked angrily. He’d just LET her sleep through the day? When she could have been doing her homework? How dare him! Hermione dropped everything and started quickly toward him in fury.

“Do you know what this is, Granger?” he asked suddenly as he held up the book he’d been reading. Or looking at, she thought uncharitably, he might not be able to read. But she looked at the book nonetheless. She’d never seen it in the library, and surely a book with its binding would have attracted her attention. Yellow, not gold, was the base color of the book, and the writing on it was silver and highly reflective. Hermione decided that she would play his game and responded calmly.

“A Guide to Friendly Hexes by Helga Hufflepuff?” she said sarcastically. He laughed as she crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. It was a good of a guess as any, it was Hufflepuff yellow, and if Draco was reading it, it was probably dark magic. Draco continued to chuckle as he sat up straighter on the couch and indicated for her to join him. Hermione rolled her eyes and sat in an armchair instead.

“No, Granger, although it was written by a Founder,” he said as he opened it.

“Well, I have to g-”

“No you don’t Granger, besides, everyone’s still asleep after that feast last night,” Draco said as he charmed the portrait hole to lock. Hermione glared.

“This book is by Salazar Slytherin. The founder of my house, and my ancestor. Don’t look at me like that Granger, I’m a secondary heir, the Malfoy’s didn’t get the Parseltongue gene so we aren’t entitled to his legacy. Except for this,” he said, waving the thin little book in the air. Hermione began to wish he would just give it to her and let the book tell its story; it would probably be less hurtful.

“Salazar was a pureblood when it didn’t matter quite as much. Although, if you look at it, he was a nobleman and was expected to marry into the nobility, so he was almost guaranteed to marry another pureblood. He, Godric Gryffindor, and Rowena Ravenclaw were all purebloods. They grew up together and learnt magic together until Rowena went to learn the ways of a lady and the two men went to become knights.

“It was many years later when the three came together again as young adults in their early twenties that they broke with Wizarding law and defied the Council. The three fled. Along the way they passed through a muggle town and rented rooms at the King’s Huff inn, run by Hildebran and Taran Hufflepuff, and their daughter Helga. Helga was a nice girl, all blonde curls and blue eyes, it was hard not to like her, and she peppered the travelers with questions. When Godric slipped and called the girl a muggle, Helga’s eyes became wide.

“She leant in closer and whispered, ‘You’re of the People? My parents…they are so scared for us, can they speak to you?’ and Rowena, after slapping Godric and kicking him (The lady lessons had not taken well), said, ‘after you close for the night, young lady,’ as Salazar and Godric looked on warily. Both were ready to grab their friend and flee if the need came for it,” Draco said as he opened the book, which showed the four founders as if by hologram. Hermione listened, captivated. It didn’t matter that this was information coming from Draco Malfoy, it was the most fascinating Founders story she’d ever heard. Most were just about how Hogwarts had been built. It didn’t go into detail about how three purebloods had found a muggle born witch and started a school with her.

“Later that night,” Hermione didn’t comment on how cliché that would have been in the muggle world, “the three met with the small Hufflepuff family. Hildebran and Taran were too established in the town to flee, besides, they said, they wouldn’t be able to keep pace with the four young people. But as they couldn’t train Helga properly in their rapidly growing village, modern day London, they asked if perhaps they could send their daughter with them.

“The three travelers asked what could the girl who was all smiles most times could bring them. The mother of the girl told them that Helga could identify any plant she was presented with and that she was intensely loyal, and that when the going got tough she wouldn’t quail.

“Salazar, being the calm analytical one of the three, asked how Hildebran knew this to be true. ‘They had us on trial for witchery three years back and she stood by us even though there were no accusations against her. She knew she could be burned to death or drowned or stoned, but she held firm,’ the woman said and the decision was made. Besides, it looked as if they would be traveling far in winter, and they would need to know what to eat when Godric’s traps failed.

“You of course know the story of the Founding, so I needn’t repeat it, but there are parts that were not written for the protection of future persons. One of these parts,” Draco paused for an instant to make sure he had her attention, “was that the Founders were married. Godric to Rowena and Salazar to Helga. Now, since I do not tell it as passionately as he does, I will let you read this book. It is short enough in the interesting parts that you won’t fall asleep and drool on it,” Draco said patronizingly as he tossed the ancient book to Herimone, who glowered at him for the mistreatment of it.




May 1st Anno Domini 1017, Hogwarts Castle

I have written this tome and slaved over its charms for three years today. Soon I hope to complete my other project for Hogwarts Castle. I bounce my son upon my knee as I write; his dark hair shines in the candle light as he watches me with wide silent eyes. It is for him and my infant daughter I have done this.

Three years ago this night I awoke from a terrible dream, that my descendants would have need of my protection when I am dead and mouldered. I racked my mind for a solution, a way to provide for them when their bloodlines fail. I looked at Helga as she rested in our bed, peaceful and happy in her sleep. She was three months along with my first son, Julius. I became lost in the memories of how she’d come into all of our lives. It does not matter so much now, with the life we live and these times, that she is of muggle parentage. As I thought that I became cold inside. A fanatic had nearly taken her life once for her heritage. I knew what I had to do.

I had to build a chamber for my descendants who came to Hogwarts.

This chamber is to be inhabited by a basilisk. I helped her hatch and raised her. Her name is Isthva, and will answer to only my heirs and myself. Julius has become great friends with her, and it takes a great burden off of Helga and I for he will sit for hours learning Parseltongue to a greater degree from her while we get on with teaching.

I must go now and tend to my daughter, Seraphine, who cries loud enough to wake her mother. I leave you to read this book at your leisure.



Salazar Slytherin




Hermione quickly turned the page to begin hungrily reading and growled unconsciously as Draco took it from her.

“I was reading that, Ferret,” she gritted.

“I know that, but I wanted to tell you more of the story before you dove into this,” he tilted his head towards the book.

“Then get on with it,” Hermione said uncharitably. Draco smirked and slid onto the couch again.

“Salazar was no longer concerned with his bloodline, he was filled with so much joy at the children Helga had given him, but he was concerned with when the times would change. When his children would need his protection in harsher times, times not three hundred years ahead of them. He could not have known that that would be how soon they would need it, but he had left both more powerful lines enough of his legacy so they profited from that time. His son, Julius, was the forefather of Voldemort, and his descendants had Parseltongue to their advantage. His daughter, Seraphine, was left with this book. She was married to Godric’s second son, Draco,” Draco of the present smiled evilly as Hermione began to piece things together, “Now Draco was a devious young man, but Godric was blind to that when the man was a boy, but Seraphine had to wait until her father’s untimely death to marry the young Gryffindor, as the older Slytherin did not approve of the young man.

“Draco went mad, or was always just a little weird, only he knows, but as he went about the countryside, dragging poor Seraphine with him, killing muggles and such, Godric wished that he’d never fathered such a man and gave out an edict that Draco was no longer a son of the House of Gryffindor, that he was ‘Malfoy,’ or bad faith to the values of his fathers.

“This no doubt shook the boy to the core and he appeared at the gates of Hogwarts begging entrance so he could beseech forgiveness of his father. Godric went to the gates to meet his son, saying to Rowena that he did not want such scum inside of the castle. There stood Draco, his dark brown hair pasted to his head, riveting blue eyes full of worry. As Godric came closer, he saw that his son supported the daughter of his best friend, heavily pregnant and ill looking.

“Godric picked up his pace as he had spotted the young girl, barely seventeen, and, ignoring his son’s pleas, whatever they had been, led Seraphine into the school. Draco followed him asking exoneration until in the middle of the Great Hall Godric stopped dead and turned to face his estranged son.

“And he said, ‘You disprove every word that comes from your mouth, Malfoy, as I walk your wife to the help and safety of the apothecary witch. I should never have even touched her in her state, yet you do not so I must,’ and with that Godric turned his back on his son and left the room. Figured it out yet, Granger?” Hermione jumped and blinked a few times and nodded to him.

“I always did wonder why your family managed to get that name,” she said scathingly. “What does this have to do with the book?”

“Seraphine went on to have her marriage annulled, from the advice of this book, but her son had to be introduced as Malfoy’s son Antony. That’s how the name stuck, because Antony’s children were introduced as the son or daughter of Antony, son of Malfoy,” Draco shrugged as he looked at the little book he held in his hands.

“The book gives you marriage advice?” Hermione asked, aghast.

“It does in a way, it is the heir’s choice to see it through. Seraphine wrote in the margin next to her name that the book had very nearly begged her to not marry Godric’s son but she ignored it. That has been the basis of the family being so dedicated to what this little thing tells them,” Draco said as he opened it and ran his finger down a page.

“Have a look,” he said suddenly, extending his hand across the gap between the armchair and the couch, offering the book to her.

Hermione took it, beginning to have a bad feeling about what she might find.




The chamber I designed into this school was meant for my children and their children who inherited my ability to speak to snakes, yet I know that not all will inherit this. If I were to have a daughter, she would not have this ability as it passes through the men of the family. The snakes gave us our initial name, Slthr-n as there are fewer vowels in their language than in ours. But if the child that Helga has in her swelling belly is a girl all my work up to this point will be for naught.

For those who do not speak the Parseltongue, I leave them a way to become perhaps even greater than those who do speak to the snakes.

For if one marries well, even my mother would say, one goes up in standing. I am sorry to all who must contend with my offspring who use this book, for the name that they carry will bring awe and more with them.

As such, I have charmed this work to show each new heir’s name, as well as those who preceded him or her.


Salazar Slytherin to Helga Hufflepuff

Julius Slytherin to Llorna of the Loch
Seraphine Slytherin to Draco Gawain Malfoy



Hermione looked at the long list that began on that page and frustratedly started turning the pages to find the end, where, logically, Draco would be. She heard him chuckle at her antics.



Draco Severus Malfoy to (?) Hermione Granger



Hermione glared at the words shining off the page in a glossy ink. The book thought she should marry him? Draco Malfoy?

“It’s been like that since you turned evil in fourth year,” she heard his voice through her haze.

“Gra-an-ger,” he singsonged, “it’s not about falling madly in love with the person the book tells you to marry, as my family found out from Seraphine, it is about who is powerful—magically, mentally, etc. That book has been shuddering every time its around—”

“What? It has a personality?”

“You try being a magical object in the possession of one family for ten centuries, Granger, and then you can ask questions about it.”

“Do I have to marry you now or something? Is that why you’re bringing this up?”

“Not this instant, but yes, that is why I’m telling you now. As I’m just barely seventeen, like Seraphine.”

“What will happen if I don’t?” Hermione asked, testing the waters.

“Oh you don’t have to rush into things, Granger, we have until I turn twenty. After that I either go Voldemort or I just blow my mind out with a good memory charm or something.”

“You’ll go insane?”

“Yes, Granger. Why are you being so stupid about this, you’re supposed to be so smart,” he said in only a half-teasing voice. Hermione looked at him sharply and the laughter in his eyes ceased.

“You really don’t have to you know, I’ve made my peace with going insane Granger,” he said suddenly, leaning back into the couch he was seated on. Hermione flinched at how calm he was.

“So I have to find it in my heart to marry you? What do I get out of saving your life? Oh this is terrible,” Hermione cried suddenly. It just wasn’t fair! Stupid Salazar Slytherin. Stupid Helga Hufflepuff! Why did you have to have a second child?!?
“Oh, a very nice library to yourself, money to fling at various charities, house elves to free, the ability to keep me in line, ammunition for the mockery of my values, the works,” Draco lilted from his seat across from her. There was a slow kind of half-hearted silence which hung in the air for a moment or three between them before Hermione made a gesture of pure frustration and stood up. Draco’s eyes tracked her as she paced angrily on the carpet in front of the hearth.

“I can’t do it. Bugger. No matter how much I hate you I can’t just stand by and let you go mad! Aargh!” Draco smirked as Hermione sat down and stared into the fireplace, the picture of demoralization as she mumbled about “stupid founders children,” and other such admirable topics of conversation. After the curses became much more colorful, Draco deigned to get up from his seat on the couch and squat on his haunches next to Hermione, not looking at her but at her object of focus—something in the back of the fireplace.

“I need time to think it through and come up with a logical plan,” she said eventually in a low tone, her eyes fixed forward with a steely determination in them, “and I need to break the news somehow to my parents. And my friends.” She fell silent and refused to remove her death-glare from the bricks of the fireplace.

“You’ve too kind a heart…Hermione,” Draco said in a soft tone as he shifted to sit Indian-style next to her. He didn’t miss the woeful twist of a smile she gave him in response.