Author's note: This story was written based on a prompt from the "Ten Names Game" topic at the Harry Potter Next-Gen Fanatics forum. The premise of the thread is that each poster leaves the names of ten characters, which the next poster has to play matchmaker for and pair them up with others on the list, leaving a short summary behind for each pairing. A Salazar/Luna prompt caught my eye: thanks to TheInvisiblePrincess for leaving both those characters on the list, and justalittle l o o n y for coming up with the prompt.

So here it is-but I'll warn you now, this is not the most romantic premise (I'd say it's one of the least romantic on the list), and the story will be darker/creepier than my normal fare, so the squeamish might want to turn back before we get very far. I'd quote the prompt here but it'll spoil the entire thing-feel free to look it up if you're curious. (I won't be using the entire thing verbatim, but nod to different bits and pieces of the premise throughout. Enjoy, if you can! Updates will probably be weekly.)

Salazar pulled his robe tighter around him as he walked outside, vaguely noticing that it was actually quite a warm day. It was impossible to feel comfortable, though, after another argument.

He made his way down to the lake and knelt in the sand, going through pebble after pebble. Probably more than were necessary. He wasn't quite sure himself whether he really wanted to use the pebbles or just have something to do in seeking them out. Godric's voice, so arrogant and full of plans, still rang through his head.

One pebble, large and speckled—the type that would sink with a satisfying thunk. Another, black and ridged, that scratched his finger when he picked it up. He sifted and sifted, almost but not quite falling into enough of a trance to forget the angry words hissed inside. Finally, a forgettably small white rock, near-translucent.

After clenching them in his hand for a moment and muttering spellwork under his breath, Salazar stared into the lake.

Friendships will rise and fall as they may, he admitted to—himself? Or the cold magic circling him? I seek not my own future—but let Hogwarts itself endure!

Then, quickly, he cast each stone into the lake in turn.

Salazar was not a Seer, nor did his Scrying amount to much on a good day. Yet where some acknowledged their weaknesses with bows of their heads and honed other skills, Salazar tried to compensate by casting more magic at anything he could. If he could not duplicate something, he would seize it, distort it, make it somehow work in another way.

Hogwarts must live on. Let it be so. Show me...

He watched intently as the circles spread out and overlapped. What were they supposed to mean, again? Tall wave, short wave, calm water, bubble...

And then the surface of the lake itself seemed to shimmer with a magical light.

Salazar took a step back, but kept his eye on it. No, the mist meant him no harm, he thought. But how to be sure?

The light seemed to rise above the lake, shifting and turning. Instead of a flat film, it looked more like the figure of a ghost. A figure growing stabler, fuller—

and then, after a flash so bright he winced, a child stood in the shallows of the lake.

She seemed more frightened than he was, racing out before realizing she was not in too deep. She opened her mouth and began to speak, but it was not in a language Salazar recognized.

"Can you hear me?" he said. She looked up at him and shrugged, not seeming to comprehend.

He glanced around—there was no one nearby. "What about now?"

At the Parseltongue she recoiled, although not very much—she was still on the edge of the lake.

Show me what will come to pass...

Was she a visitor from the future, then, someone from so far gone even her words had changed? Salazar did not know what to make of her—but he thought he knew someone who could.

"Stay here," he said, and cast a Full Body-Bind on her for good measure. She was probably scared, the poor thing. Wouldn't want her to run off.

Ignoring the students' glances as he walked outside—he ought to have made sure none of them went out, but too late—he made his way to Rowena's chambers. "Rowena? I need your help."

"You and Godric have made up again?" she said, irritated.

"Er, yes." He'd have to work on that. "I need your help."

"So I've heard."

"There's a—a visitor here, who doesn't seem to speak our language. And I'm not quite sure what language she does speak. Can you show me some of your translation charms?"

"If you don't know what language she speaks, that'll be difficult. Very...she's not a Muggle or anything, is she?"

"Of course not!" Dimly he realized he was not sure, but she'd come from Hogwarts, it seemed. Even if he was horribly wrong, Rowena would not need to know he'd been associating with Muggles.

"It'll be hard," Rowena repeated, running her fingers through the edges of the book she was reading. Slowly, she stood up and rummaged through her shelves, eventually settling on a page with large runes.

"This is your best bet, I think. The only trouble will be if she wants to cast spells—I'd probably have to take it off and put it on again."

"Oh, no, I can cast runes," Salazar said, trying to sound cool and distant. Rowena believed him, of course—trust her to assume everyone else assumed she was judging their magical knowledge.

He had other reasons, of course. Rowena was a busy witch—no need to trouble her with dealing with the child. The visitor was his responsibility. He would handle her.

Once he'd reread the runic inscription, he made his way back down to the lake. The child was still there, and did not seem to have been disturbed. Salazar lifted the incantation, then quickly cast the runic spell.

"Can you understand me?" he repeated.

She nodded.

"Speak. This charm ought to have allowed you to speak to me."

"Hello, there," she said quietly.

"Are you a Hogwarts student?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who I am?"

She bit her lip. "I think I have seen pictures of you."

"What year do you come from?"

"Come from? Where am I now?"

"Hogwarts, of course. See." He pointed to the school.

"Oh. What did you do to all the other children?"

Perhaps she had been outside, at the lake, with others..."Your schoolmates are not here. This is a different time."

Her mouth made an "O."

"So you must tell me—what year was it, for you?"

"Er," she stammered. "1993."

He blinked, certain he'd misheard. "One thousand, nine hundred, ninety-three?"

"That's right," she said, nodding as if frightened.

"Anno domini?"

She nodded again. "I must have gone very far back. If you cannot understand me anymore..."

"Clever girl. Do you know who Salazar Slytherin—was?"

She stared into his face. "Was, sir? Or is?"