Author Notes: Thank you to aigooism for the beta!

Excerpt from Hogwarts, A History by Professor Earhart Garino.

It is generally agreed that there was a time in the early days of Hogwarts where few, if any, records were kept. Many reasons have been put forward for this unusual silence, including in-fighting between the founders, a plague, and the Great Fire of 1645, which destroyed many of Hogwarts' earliest records.

Rowena ran her hand through her hair, not caring that she left a smudge of blood on her forehead. "This has to end," she said quietly. "We cannot continue to take in so many from the outlying villages."

Under his bushy beard, Godric's mouth was set in a thin line. The long days were taking their toll on him. Looking at him, Rowena could hardly believe that he was merely five-and-twenty; she would have thought him an old man of at least sixty. "We must help," Godric said. "The Muggles cannot hope to fight this by themselves. Our magic is their only hope for survival."

"Our magic is of no use," Rowena said as she wrung out a cloth. Gently, she placed it on the forehead of a young Muggle girl. The girl whimpered in her sleep, but Rowena placed her hand on the girl's shoulder until she quietened. The girl's face was pale, her skin still unmarked by the blisters that would soon emerge. That wasn't the part that frightened Rowena the most though. It was the last few hours that were the worst, when the patients began bleeding from their nose, mouth, even their skin.

"Our magic helps." Godric ran a rough hand over his face to show his still unmarred skin. "We are still well."

"Not all of us," Rowena said quietly.

"No," Godric said, suddenly subdued. She knew that he too was thinking of Helga. Just last night, she had been singing over the cooking pot, but this morning, Rowena found her curled up under her blankets, bright red fever spots already on her cheeks.

Rowena licked her dry lips and walked over to where Helga was lying. They had put all the early cases here. The poor people didn't need to see their fate; indeed, Rowena had never seen a disease move so quickly through a group of people before. Just one moon ago, the small village near their school had been filled with merriment. Then, one night, the village midwife fell sick. She was dead three days later. Since then, for Rowena, it had been like one endless nightmare.

"Where is that fool?" Godric growled suddenly. "He should be up here assisting. Instead, the coward is hiding."

Rowena knew exactly who he was talking about. "This disease is fearful even to the bravest among us," she murmured. All their students who could leave had left. The only ones they had left were too sick to be moved. She couldn't banish the foreboding thought that any of them could fall victim to the disease.

"He blames ..." Godric sighed.

"I know." Rowena knew full well who Salazar blamed for this terrible plague. Some days, she blamed them too, but she did not voice her concerns to Godric. She knew that he did not share them.

Sometimes, Godric was blind.

"Finally," Godric grumbled when Salazar joined them for lunch. His face had regained some of its usual ruddiness. "You expect us to do all of the work?"

Salazar's face was calm as he helped himself to the thin soup and picked up a wooden spoon. "My skills are better applied elsewhere." He took a sip of the soup and wrinkled his nose. "Is there not something we could do to make this more palatable?"

Rowena gave him a meaningful look. They had agreed that while Muggles were in their school, they would not perform unnecessary magic. Most of the Muggles were too delirious to tell the difference, but it was a safety measure that Salazar himself had insisted upon. "We could do much," she murmured. "But unfortunately, we'll have to make do with this. Helga is not well enough to create her wonders."

"I know," Salazar said. His thin lips curved into a smile. "Fortunately, we will not have to fight this dread illness much longer."

"Oh?" Godric growled. His spoon clattered down on the bowl. "I suppose you have a solution?"

Salazar took another mouthful of soup before answering. "I do."

"And?" Rowena prompted. She was not as sceptical of Salazar as Godric was. He was an intelligent man and a skilful wizard. He, perhaps, did not have the heart of Godric, but what man did nowadays? It was difficult to remain stoic in the face of so much death and sickness. "What is this solution of yours?"

"I will tell you later," Salazar said as he gestured towards the other few people sitting in the large room. From the looks on their faces, Rowena doubted they were listening, but it was important – especially now – to be careful. "You will thank me for this."

"I doubt it," Godric muttered.

It was an audacious plan.

Then again, all of Salazar's plans were. He was the first one among them who saw the need for a school for their kind. ("Even the Muggles teach their young in groups," Salazar had said bitingly. "Are we not superior to the Muggles?") He was the first to realise that they could not remain in plain view of the Muggles. At first, Rowena had doubted him. After all, magic was everywhere. Were the Muggles so simple that a charm would blind them to the truth?

But Salazar turned out to be right and Rowena hoped that he would be right again. These were desperate times, and normal measures could not be relied upon.

With trembling fingers, Rowena let her magic flow through her fingertips as she signed her name on the parchment and placed it inside the box. She wished that Helga was awake so that she could also put her mark upon the parchment, but she knew that Helga needed all her strength to fight the illness. "What now?" she asked.

"Now we place the box in a safe location," Salazar said calmly. "Help will come soon."

The box was safe in its snug corner inside Hogwarts for over a thousand years.

This was most definitely not Hermione's day. Not only had her first years set the Charms classroom on fire (how, she still wasn't sure!), but her third years had managed to charm one of their cats to have super-hearing. The poor thing had curled up terrified in a corner for over an hour over lunchtime while Hermione had tried to coax it out. Fortunately, the super-hearing had worn off; otherwise, Hermione suspected that she'd still be there whispering, "Here kitty!"

Some days, Hermione enjoyed her job. Other days, Hermione wondered why on earth she had decided to become a professor at Hogwarts. There was nothing like looking at her students and seeing a reflection of herself or her friends ten years ago. Now she realised why Minerva always had that slight twitch at her temple whenever she put her hand up. Hermione sighed. She didn't always enjoy the lessons that came with age.

"Professor! Professor!"

Hermione schooled her face into a friendly smile as she heard the running footsteps of her most enthusiastic student come up behind her. "Caroline," she said, half-turning to acknowledge the girl. "How can I help you?"

"I wanted to talk to you about the essay you assigned," Caroline burbled as she fell into step next to Hermione. "I don't think twelve inches is enough! I have at least twenty-four inches written already on Goblin charms and I don't think I can cut any of it out."

Hermione bit back a sigh.

"This is such an interesting subject!" Caroline exclaimed. "I could write over a hundred inches on it, easily!"

Hermione hoped she wouldn't. "I can understand your enthusiasm," she said carefully. "But conciseness is also very important." She could see Caroline's face visibly fall. "However, I would be happy to receive an essay from you that is less than twenty inches."

Caroline smiled happily. "Oh thank you, Professor Granger!"

Hermione watched as the girl scampered off. What would she be like in five years time? Hermione shuddered and hoped she wouldn't still be teaching at Hogwarts then. At least she was enthusiastic, which was more than could be said about some of her other students in Caroline's class. They were second years and some of them didn't seem to know one end of a wand from the other. Hermione sighed loudly as she rounded the corner to her office.

"I can see you're having a lovely day."

Hermione gave a start as she saw Minerva standing at her office door. That woman was as quiet as a cat sometimes. "No fatalities yet." She could see Minerva's lips twitch. "Did you need to speak to me about something?"

Minerva held out a box. "One of the students must have left this outside your office. I almost tripped on it when I was coming down the stairs."

Hermione frowned as she took the box. "This isn't mine," she said as she turned it around in her fingers. The box was carved out wood; it was richly coloured with intricate designs on the lid. "It's a nice box though. Maybe somebody lost it?"

"Just hope it isn't a love token," Minerva said dryly.

Hermione shuddered. They'd had enough of that the previous year when Harry had decided to try his hand at teaching. "I still have some of the chocolates he was given," she confided. "They're pretty good. Well, the ones that weren't charmed or filled with love potions, anyway."

Minerva snorted. "I trust you'll find its rightful owner."

Hermione nodded as she opened her office door. "Their name is probably written inside the box," she said. "It's probably somebody's quill case." She watched as Minerva rounded the corner before closing the door and setting the box on a small table. There was something about the box that gave her a bad feeling. Despite what she had said to Minerva, Hermione suspected that it wasn't a student's quill case or something that simple. The carvings were too delicate.

She peered at it. In fact, the box looked old. Very old. She could sense layers of charms surrounding the box. Obviously what was inside was tightly protected and probably precious. None of the charms seemed dangerous though, just fire-protection charms, anti-theft charms, that kind of thing.

A shiver ran down her spine, but Hermione shrugged it away. Years of running around Hogwarts with Harry and Ron had given her an overactive imagination. Hogwarts had plenty of wealthy students with countless old family quills, sculptures, paintings and boxes. This box belonged to a student who probably dropped it while juggling textbooks outside of her office.

Nothing more.

As she walked towards the kitchen to make her customary cup of tea that she had at the end of every day, Hermione put the idea of the box out of her mind.

It was a few hours later before Hermione remembered the box again. A little sheepishly, Hermione picked the box up and looked at it again. The easiest way to figure out who the box belonged to would be to open it, but she wasn't sure she wanted to do that. There was something about the box that told her it was bad news, but that was ridiculous, wasn't it?

Hermione pursed her lips. It would have been ridiculous in the Muggle world, but for all she knew, the box could be cursed. Opening it could unleash anything. She could end up dead. Or worse, she could end up singing show tunes on top of the Astronomy Tower. Hermione waved her wand over the top of the box. Other than the layers of protective charms, she couldn't detect anything wrong with it. There probably wasn't any harm in opening it. Just because she was getting a bad feeling from it, there wasn't any reason to ignore logic. The chances of it being cursed or in any way out of the ordinary were so slim as to be almost impossible. If she kept on thinking along those lines, she wouldn't touch anything in the wizarding world. There were still dark wizards out there, but there were always dark wizards out there. For all she knew, the ice-cream she had last Saturday at Hogsmeade was cursed. She certainly had spent the last week craving more ice-cream.

Hermione held her breath. With one swift motion, she lifted the lid. Almost immediately, she felt silly. Inside the box was a tightly rolled up sheet of parchment. Putting the box on the table, Hermione picked up the parchment, which crumbled to dust under her fingers.

"That was disappointing," she began to say when she realised that the room seemed to be wavering around her. The world was beginning to look like the old telly set she had as a child. When she turned the wrong knob, it would turn into nothing but wavy lines and static.

"Shit," Hermione muttered. She shut her eyes tightly as the room began to fade around her. There was something to be said for listening to intuition, she thought glumly.

When Hermione opened her eyes again, she found a woman staring at her. Her arms and legs were aching strangely, almost as though she had run a marathon. Hermione blinked several times as she tried to clear her vision, which was oddly blurry. The woman didn't look like a Death Eater, but Hermione couldn't think of any other reason why anybody would want to kidnap her. Unless the woman was just plain crazy.

"Who are you?" Hermione demanded when she found her voice again. Her throat felt scratchy, like she was recovering from a cold. Pushing herself up off the floor, Hermione managed to stand up and lean against the wall behind her. "Why did you leave a box outside of my room? Who do you work for?"

"Please do not be alarmed," the woman said gently. She held a hand up. "We do not want to harm you."

Hermione's first thought was that she had somehow landed in Germany from the accent. She could feel a slight tingle at her throat as her charm activated. The translation charm she'd put on her necklace was great while she was travelling for research purposes, but now she mainly used it on students who thought they could talk during class so long as they spoke in a different language. She squinted. No, it couldn't be Germany. The woman's hair was tied up in a braid that was wrapped around her head and she was wearing very old-fashioned robes. Her vision was clearing as she moved her head. There were two men standing behind the woman. The room she was in looked oddly familiar, but she couldn't seem to place it. "Who are you?" she repeated. "Why did you give me the box? Where am I?"

The woman gave Hermione a serious look. "I believe you're from the future. My name is Rowena Ravenclaw. Welcome to Hogwarts." Her voice was precise, almost as though she had chosen each word very carefully.

Hermione's mouth fell open. Impossible. This was impossible. Her vision had almost returned to normal. This wasn't Hogwarts. Was it? The room she was in did bear a slight resemblance to the Great Hall, but only insofar as it was large. And did the woman say she was Rowena Ravenclaw? Hermione had always thought Rowena looked imposing in her portrait, but in reality her features were much softer. If that was true then the people standing behind her were probably...

Hermione gulped and tried her best not to stare. If the woman was telling the truth, then these people were the founders. Yet, they looked so normal. If they were dressed in more modern robes, she wouldn't have recognised any of them. The man standing to the left of Rowena was probably Godric Gryffindor. She had seen his portrait at Hogwarts many, many times, but the real man standing before her looked nothing like his painting. For one thing, in the painting, he had a magnificent beard; the man in front of her only had a normally bushy one.

She shifted her gaze towards the other man who must have been Salazar Slytherin. For as long as she could remember, he had been a striking figure, almost terrifying. The man standing before her was around her age and if she didn't know better, she would have thought he looked quite friendly. The only similarity to his portrait that Hermione could see was his long fingers, which were currently curled around his wand.

She swallowed. "And Hufflepuff? Helga Hufflepuff?" Her voice came out as a squeak.

Salazar gave her a surprised look. "Helga is otherwise indisposed." His voice was smooth, almost a drawl and incongruous compared to the thinly veiled stress she could detect in Rowena's voice.

"She has fallen victim to this cursed plague as have many others!" Godric burst out. "You must help us! We have been unable to help the people. We have been unable to help Helga!"

"Plague?" Hermione was liking this place less and less by the second. "Did you say a plague?" Then the other part of what Godric said sank in. Were they expecting her to be some kind of mediwitch? She could do many things, but she was pretty positive she wasn't going to be able to solve a plague.

"Many of us are sick," Rowena said quietly. "I will tell you all you need to know later. For now, you should rest. You look tired."

Hermione flexed the muscles in her legs. It was true. She was ridiculously exhausted for somebody who hadn't actually done any exercise. It certainly wasn't like this when she last used a time turner. She had felt a little bit woozy when she used it, but she had attributed that to the amount of studying she did. It seemed like the tiredness was a direct result of time travel. "I would like to rest," she said carefully.

"I will show you to a room that you can use," Rowena said. "Please, come with me."

Biting her lip, Hermione took a few steps forward. There was nothing she could do if these people were Death Eaters or other enemies. The best thing she could do was to go along with them. And if they were telling the truth, well, that would be a whole other story.

Hermione flopped down on the bed and immediately regretted it. Beds had got a lot more comfortable over the last thousand years. What she was currently lying on was only passably a bed. It was slightly more comfortable than the straw lined floor, which she supposed she ought to be grateful for.

On the way to the room, they had passed rooms filled with sick people, mostly Muggles. The stench of illness was in the air and Hermione had tried her best not to breathe too much. There was little doubt in her mind now that Rowena was exactly who she said she was and that she was telling the absolute truth. The scenery outside of the window seemed almost the same as that during her own time. Unless there was some sort of hugely elaborate hoax going on, this was definitely Hogwarts. And if this was Hogwarts, then the people who she had just met were the founders.

They were four of the most powerful wizards of all time. Yet, she wouldn't have known it if she had just met them on the street. They were around her age. She couldn't seem to see them as the great founders of Hogwarts. There were tensions between the three founders she met that were pretty obvious even to her. Not to mention the idiotic plan Salazar had come up with that resulted in her being stuck here. Getting somebody from the future to help sounded sensible, unless you were that person from the future.

Hermione had no clue how to help.

She didn't have more than a basic training on being a mediwitch. She could keep the kids alive long enough to take them to Poppy to be healed, but that was about it. Looking around at all the bodies, she suspected that even St Mungo's would have been out of their depth if they had to deal with something like this.

The only thing Hermione could think of was that perhaps, somewhere in the back of her mind, she had read something about this plague before. She'd certainly read a lot of books. Surely, somewhere in there, somebody would have talked about this plague. Perhaps, they would have also talked about the cure. It was a slim chance, but it really was her only hope. Hermione pursed her lips. She could also tell them about basic medical precautions. She had seen the lack of gloves and face masks in those nursing the sick. She could probably even work up a basic isolation room with a mix of Muggle and magical means.

There was a knock on her room. Hermione sat up. "Come in," she called.

The door opened slowly and Salazar stepped in. "I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said politely.

Hermione shook her head silently.

"Good." Salazar looked around the room. "I'm not sure what you are used to in the future. I hope these accommodations are adequate. This is one of the best rooms in the castle. You have a private privy in the next room."

So that was what that smell was. Hermione tried to not wrinkle her nose. She knew some freshening charms that were definitely going to be used very soon. "The room's fine," she said. "Perfectly comfortable."

Salazar nodded.

There was an awkward silence. Hermione fidgeted with the sleeve of her robes before blurting out, "Why did you do this? Get somebody from the future, I mean. How would you know you got the right person? I mean, just because somebody is from the future doesn't mean that they can help you with this sickness. I ... I just opened the box. Anybody could have opened it."

"The spell called for the person most able to help us in this dire situation," Salazar explained. "The box would have come to you no matter where you were. It would have sought you out and you would have been compelled to open it. And then it drew you back to us. The magic in the box is tied to myself, Rowena and Godric."

"That sounds like dark magic," Hermione said slowly. There was a churning feeling in her stomach. If what he was saying was true then she had no choice in opening the box. All that indecision meant nothing.

Salazar gave her a look of surprise. "It is certainly powerful magic and could be harmful in the wrong hands. You must understand that we were desperate."

"Well your box got the wrong person," Hermione snapped. "I'm no mediwitch or a healer. I'm a professor at Hogwarts, just like you."

To her surprise, Salazar's eyes gleamed. "So Hogwarts still thrives."

"It's still there and we're doing pretty well," Hermione confirmed. "But are you listening to me? You've got the wrong person! I simply don't have any medical training. But if you send me back, I can find you help."

"I have to admit that you didn't look like much when you appeared," Salazar said. Hermione wasn't sure she really liked the way he seemed to be looking at her. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling rather defensive. "But I performed the spell over the box and parchment myself. You are most certainly the right person to help us."

Hermione mentally revised her previous judgement. Salazar Slytherin was exactly what she would have expected. He was an arrogant prick. "I have no doubt I would be able to help you if I had the training," she said acidly. "But as I keep on telling you, I don't have in-depth knowledge. I only know basic medical information from the future."

"And that may be enough," Salazar pointed out, echoing her earlier thoughts. "As ... Godric mentioned earlier, we do need your help."

Hermione suspected that Salazar was going to call Godric by a different word. "I'll try my best." She pressed her lips together. The images of the sick were still clear in her mind. Some of them had been children, either from the village or perhaps those who had been enrolled here at Hogwarts.

Salazar bowed. There was a small smirk playing about his lips. "I can ask no more, my lady."

"Hermione," she said. "My name's Hermione."

After Salazar had left, Hermione had a look around the room. The privy, Hermione discovered, was nothing more than a basket in a small room that was about the size of an ordinary cupboard. She could have sworn they had magical plumbing at this time, but obviously the history books were wrong. She had wanted to freshen up, but she suspected she was already cleaner than most of this place.

Walking back into the bedroom, Hermione sat back down on the bed and cradled her forehead in her hands. Just a few hours ago, she was talking to Minerva. Now, she had no idea whether she would see any of her friends again. There was still the last smidgen of doubt in her mind that perhaps this was some sort of elaborate hoax, but she couldn't think of any reason to perpetrate something like this.

Hermione stood up and stretched. She was still tired, but she didn't want to sleep. On the contrary, she felt almost restless. With one more look around the room, Hermione purposefully strode towards the door and opened it. She couldn't just stay here and do nothing. She had to find out more information.

The last shred of doubt in Hermione's mind disappeared when she saw Helga. Other than the bright red fever spots on her face and the perspiration soaking her blankets, she looked almost exactly like her portraits.

"She is lucid at the moment," Rowena said quietly as Hermione walked up to the bed. "I have told her why you are here."

Hermione swallowed. She didn't want to give Helga false hope, but she couldn't tell her the truth either. As she stepped up next to the bed, Helga slowly and painfully turned her head towards Hermione. "You are most welcome here," she managed to croak out. "Thank you for coming."

Hermione used her sleeve to pat Helga on the shoulder. "I will do my best," she promised. "You will be well again soon." It was true, Hermione told herself. The history books all said that the four founders had lived long lives. It was said that Godric Gryffindor had lived to be at least a hundred years old, an age almost unheard of during that era.

Helga smiled.

Rowena took Hermione's arm and drew her aside. "I am glad that you chose to start immediately," she said in a low voice. "I know that you must be tired."

"I am tired," Hermione agreed and then hesitated. "But please don't think that I can perform miracles."

Rowena gave her a look of surprise. "Salazar told us that you would be the best person to help us. I know that you must have many questions and I will answer them to the best of my ability. However, you must know that we would not have taken this path if there was any other option left to us. When you have helped us, we will use all of our power to send you back to your time."

There was something about her words that made Hermione uncomfortable. What if she got sick from this illness? What if she couldn't help them? What if they couldn't send her back? There was something incredibly arrogant about the way they all decided to meddle with the timelines. Is it any different to what you, Ron and Harry did, a small voice in the back of her mind asked. Hermione pressed her lips together. What they did was very different. They were aiming to change the past.

"You should have come to the future," Hermione pointed out. "We could have helped you much more easily that way."

Rowena spread her hands. "Alas, that is beyond our magic. The future must truly be a wondrous place if you can travel backwards and forwards through time with ease."

"Actually, we can't," Hermione admitted. "We have Time Turners that we can use for time travel less than a week. But they're disassociated from the fabric of space time. We can't change the past or future with them."

"What if you wish to travel more?" Rowena asked.

"Further than a week?" Hermione frowned. "That kind of travel needs to be sanctioned by the highest levels of the Ministry. I have not yet heard of anybody being allowed to travel more than a few weeks into the future. I think they are afraid that people may gain an unfair advantage."

Rowena nodded. "They are also afraid that it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy," she said softly. "If somebody sees something bad happen and they seek to avoid it, they may end up causing the very event they were seeking to avoid."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, somewhat surprised. Rowena was every bit as intelligent as her reputation. "I suppose that's why you haven't asked me about what your fate is."

Rowena smiled faintly. "I admit that I am curious. But I have to assume that whatever our fates are, we can aim to avert it."

Hermione closed her eyes. Changing the past was serious. It wasn't something to be done on a whim. The problem was that she didn't know whether she was actually changing the past. Harry and Ron would have been surprised to know that Hogwarts, A History wasn't nearly as comprehensive as they would have imagined. There were glaring omissions, such as the slavery of the house elves, but there were also entire decades that were glossed over in a few paragraphs. For all she knew, what she was doing was going to have serious ramifications for the futures. Or perhaps, it was always supposed to be this way. Perhaps she had always been here.

"Try not to think about it too much," Rowena advised. "It can make your head hurt."

Hermione shook her head. "You shouldn't have brought me here," she muttered.

"Perhaps not," Rowena said surprisingly candidly. "But you're here now so you might as well help us."

Helping the founders was easier said than done.

There were some protests when Hermione suggested that they all don face masks. Without knowing what the illness was, it was the first precaution that Hermione thought they should take. From what Rowena told her, the illness seemed airborne.

"It will scare some of the patients," Godric said gruffly, when she explained it to them.

"Not if we explain why we're doing this," Hermione countered. "And it'll slow the spread of the illness." She mentally crossed her fingers. She didn't actually know if that was true, but it certainly couldn't hurt.

She didn't even know if the disease was Muggle or magical, although she suspected the former given that everybody was displaying identical symptoms. Magical illnesses tended to affect the Muggle population differently. A part of her wondered if she ought to be trying to recreate Muggle drugs like penicillin. Unfortunately, she didn't know the first thing about how to create penicillin. She knew it came from a filtrate of mould broth, but that was about it. If she tried to boil mouldy vegetables together, she suspected the resulting liquid would probably kill rather than heal.

"We also should isolate those who are still healthy," Hermione added. At this point, it made more sense than isolating the sick, since there were more sick people than healthy people. "Healthy people who are not tending the sick shouldn't be near them."

Godric looked even less pleased at this advice. "You're just the kind of person Salazar would have chosen," he grumbled.

Hermione blinked rapidly. "What?"

"Nothing," Godric said as he gathered up his stuff and walked away.

Hermione watched until he disappeared around a corner. She was nothing like Salazar, was she? She had spent more time with him than anybody else since she had been here, but that was just because he was the person who had come up with the plan to bring her here. Besides, while Godric and Rowena spent most of their time working to make the sick people more comfortable, Salazar spent his time looking for a cure. It only made sense that she would help him.

It definitely didn't mean they were in any way similar.

"Not bad," Salazar conceded when Hermione flicked her wand and the potion swirled around. "Of course, for all I know, this kind of skill in brewing is commonplace where you come from."

Hermione pursed her lips. There was really nothing she could say to that. "Your box said that I was the best person for the job," she pointed out.

Salazar smirked. Somehow, Hermione had a feeling that he saw right through her. "We're close," he said as he examined the mixture. It was brown and had the consistency of thin oatmeal. "I know we're close."

"You said that for the last two times as well."

"This time I'm positive," Salazar drawled.

Hermione leaned over and grabbed the ladle from his fingers. Salazar quickly moved his hand away. "What?" she said, arching an eyebrow as she stirred the cauldron. "Don't tell me you're suddenly scared of me?" She lifted the ladle out and placed it down on the table.

There was an odd look in Salazar's eyes. Hermione felt a strange feeling all the way down in her stomach. They'd been working together very closely in the last few days. She swallowed and resisted the urge to take a step backwards.

"I know nothing of your life in the future," he said softly.

"Nothing much to tell," Hermione said tartly. She suddenly felt rather defensive. "I led a normal life. My parents were Muggles." She held her breath, expecting something, but Salazar simply gave her a quizzical look.

"Did you expect me to be surprised?" Salazar asked.

Hermione floundered. After all, she had expected him to react badly. The history books said that there was a rift between him and the other founders on this very issue. For Merlin's sake, he had hidden a basilisk in Hogwarts because of his fanaticism! Of course, he had always been polite and attentive, if a bit terse sometimes, while they had been working together, but the issue had never come up. "No," she said quickly. "Of course not."

"You were expecting some sort of reaction," Salazar pressed as he took a step closer. "I did not provide it."

Hermione inhaled sharply. "I was just stating a fact."

Salazar tilted his head to one side and stared at her. "I believe you may have been speaking to Godric," he said. His eyes narrowed. "No, that's not it, is it?" He shook his head. "I find myself beginning to wonder what the history books say about me."

She opened her mouth to reply, but he held up a hand.

"Don't tell me. I may wonder, but I prefer not to know. All I want you to know is that not everything Godric says about me is entirely correct." Salazar looked off into the distance. "There are many types of people in this world and I'm afraid that our kind – the world of magic – may die out without some kind of intervention." He waved a hand in the air. "Godric brings Muggles here into the castle without a second thought for security."

"Yet here you are helping to save their lives," Hermione pointed out.

"I'm also helping to save wizarding lives." Salazar had a pensive look on his face. "You must think me cruel. I do want to save the Muggle lives, if possible, but not at the sake of our own."

Hermione frowned. "What'd you mean?"

Salazar shrugged. "I have seen many of our kind killed by Muggles. I have seen Muggle-borns betray us in the hope that it would save their soul. I have seen those betrayers burn at the stake at the hands of their own families. They would not use their magic even to save themselves."

Hermione bit her bottom lip. She had to admit that he was right. There were definitely some dark spots in Muggle history. "So you don't like Muggles."

"I don't like what some Muggles do," Salazar corrected. He took another step closer to her. Hermione could almost feel his breath on her face. "You think that I must hate you for your heritage."

Hermione was silent.

"I don't," Salazar said simply. "No more than I hate or wish to harm those Muggles who we are helping in this castle. We are merely different."

There was something intense in his gaze that made Hermione want to both step forward and look away at the same time. His words were wrong. They were against everything she believed in, but yet, there was a kind of incessant logic behind his words. "We should get back to work," she said briskly.

Salazar looked away and suddenly, she felt like she could breathe again. "Very well," he said.

"No effect," Hermione reported. She bit the inside of her cheek. She didn't want to remember how Helga looked. It looked like she was barely hanging on. Her measures had slowed the spread of the illness, but that wasn't helping those who were already sick. Just this morning, Helga had started coughing up blood. Rowena had murmured to her that was the last stage of the illness. Most who started coughing up blood died within the week.

Salazar frowned. "I was so sure," he muttered. "This should attack the illness at its core."

"Maybe we need another approach?" Hermione suggested, but then stopped. She didn't know what they could do. They had already tried to approximate most of the antibiotic wizarding cures of the future, from what she could remember. They had even tried to grow penicillin. The potion they had just tried on Helga was some sort of approximation of several magical and Muggle medicines she had read about.

"If you have another solution, I'd be glad to hear it."

Hermione didn't like that note of despair in Salazar's voice. He was usually so confident (or arrogant, when she was mad at him). "We've already tried to infuse the potion with our magic," she said slowly.

"Which didn't work," Salazar pointed out. "In fact, it made them worse."

"Maybe that's not the right approach," Hermione muttered. She could feel like she was on the edge of something.

Salazar frowned. "What are you saying?"

"Maybe to cure Helga, we need Helga's magic in the potion?" Hermione turned to Salazar. "A lot of the potions in my time – the most powerful potions – use the magic of the user. Okay, so most of them are dark, but they work. Helga's body is too weak at the moment. Our magic... it seems almost incompatible."

Salazar shrugged. "It could work."

"We need to try it," Hermione said decisively. She grabbed a vial of potion and hurried towards the door. "I'm going to her now."

As she turned around the corner, she heard Salazar's voice drift towards her. "If this works, then what will we do for the Muggles?"

Hermione could feel her blood run cold. He had a point.

Helga swallowed the potion and coughed. A splatter of blood landed on the blanket. Her head fell slowly back onto the pillow and her eyes drifted shut.

Hermione had a brief moment of panic before she saw Helga's chest rising and falling slowly. "Sleep now," she whispered and patted Helga on the shoulder. "Please let this work."

She ignored the churning sensation in her stomach that told her that if this worked, they couldn't help the Muggles. The best they could do would be to let nature take its course. Hermione remembered reading somewhere that natural illnesses tended to run out by themselves, even if they were left alone. They had practically isolated this sickness at Hogwarts. At least it would mean that the Muggles outside of Hogwarts would be safe, Hermione thought bitterly.

Looking back down at Helga, Hermione couldn't help but think that she looked a tiny bit better. Settling back in her chair, Hermione crossed her fingers.

Hermione was in the middle of a dream that she was back in the future and teaching a class on Charms. Her students kept on trying to levitate her, but she would simply turn into a big cat and hiss at them. She was leaping towards one of her students, with claws extended, when her eyes suddenly flew open. There was somebody in her room! Her heart seemed to skip a few beats before she realised who it was.

"Salazar!" she exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing in my room?"

Salazar's eyes were bright. "We've done it," he exclaimed. "Rowena just came and told me. Helga's fever's broken. A few of the children are also getting better."

"That's good," Hermione managed to get out as she struggled to sit up. She pulled the blankets up around her chin.

Salazar sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at her. "That's good? Is that all you have to say? We've just found a cure!"

"A cure for witches and wizards," Hermione said quietly. She had spent a good deal of time thinking about this the night before. "It's obviously not going to help the Muggles, is it? They don't have magic they can direct into the potion."

Salazar waved an impatient hand. "I'm sure that I can work something out for them."

"You..." Hermione said and then trailed off. "Not us?"

Salazar had a strange look on his face, almost as though he wanted to tell her something, but couldn't bring himself to. "I assume you'll want to go home now," he said. "I will help you. We all will. Between us, we'll find a way to repay you for what you've done to help us."

Hermione was silent. She wanted to go home, it was true. But her work here seemed unfinished. Looking up at Salazar, she was suddenly aware of how close he was sitting to her. "I..." she trailed off. "I'm not sure."

Salazar leaned forward. Instinctively, Hermione licked her lips. "What aren't you sure about?" he said softly, his breath caressing her cheek. "Do you want to stay?"

"Yes. No. Maybe." Hermione leaned backwards in frustration and closed her eyes.

"You could stay," Salazar said abruptly as he leaned over to brush a curl away from her face.

"Stay?" Hermione repeated as she opened her eyes. "It doesn't look like I have much of a choice at the moment, do I?" she said lightly. "You don't have a way for me to get back to the future yet, do you?"

Salazar just looked at her.

Hermione's mouth fell open. "You want me to stay... anyway?" she asked. "Even if I can go home?"

"You can make a home here," Salazar murmured. A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "We can even install plumbing for you."

"But why?" Hermione managed to get out. The room suddenly felt too warm. Her cheeks seemed to be burning.

"I like having you around," Salazar said.

Hermione almost stopped breathing as he leaned forward and kissed her lightly. This was Salazar Slytherin, her brain kept on telling her. It was surreal. Yet, this was also the man she had been working closely with for the past few weeks. He was the person who was responsible for her current situation, yet he was the person who had also worked day in day out, almost without sleep to come up with a cure.

"That was surprising," she managed to get out when Salazar began kissing a hot trail down her neck. His hand reached under her nightshirt and he ran a calloused thumb over her nipple, causing it to stiffen.

"Still surprising?" he whispered against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending delicious shivers down her spine.

Hermione surprised herself when she reached over and guided Salazar's mouth back towards her own. This was an insane idea, she thought as she manoeuvred herself so that she was straddling him, her legs entwined around his lower back. She could feel him hardening against her. Insanity, she told herself as she kissed him back, hard.

When Salazar entered her, Hermione forgot almost everything as she lost herself to the feeling of him sliding in and out of her, pinning her to the bed. His fingers were pressed against her wrists, his breath hot on her neck as she thrust up against him, matching him for rhythm. Maybe this wasn't that much of a bad idea, after all, was her last hazy thought before she lost herself completely to the sensation.

Hermione woke up to Salazar tracing his fingers lightly over her body. "Stop it," she said crossly as she brushed his hands away. "That tickles."

Salazar simply raised an eyebrow.

Hermione mentally kicked herself. She really shouldn't have told him that. Knowing Salazar, he'd use every opportunity from now on to tickle her. Of course, Hermione reflected, that could only be a few days. The smile on her face faded away.

"Come on," Salazar said as he swung his legs out of bed. "At least, you should see how Helga is doing. I'm sure she's very grateful to us." His eyes gleamed. "Perhaps before you leave, she'll be well enough to put on one of her feasts. Her recipes are delicious."

Hermione grinned, despite herself. "I've tried them before," she told him smugly. "They still serve her recipes at Hogwarts."

Salazar made a face at her. "Well come along anyway," he insisted.

"Okay," Hermione agreed. She did want to see Helga, after all. She shivered slightly as she put her feet down on the cold floor. The straw stuck to her toes. "You really should do something about the straw."

Salazar shrugged. She could almost see what was going through his mind.

Hermione pulled on her robes slowly. A part of her did want to stay, she had to admit that. She wanted to see a Muggle version of their cure created. She wanted to see Helga well again. And, as much as she hated to admit it, there was always Salazar. As much as the previous night had seemed wrong, it also seemed right. They worked well together. Waking up next to him had felt almost oddly natural. There were no awkward sentences. Salazar had simply acted as though the previous night hadn't happened. Her cheeks turned red. Well, almost. There was the tickling. And the caresses.

"Hurry up," Salazar said impatiently.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I want to stop by the lab later," she said. "We need to find a Muggle cure for this illness."

Salazar slowly turned to look at her. "You mean..." He trailed off. "Of course. We can do that right after breakfast."

Hermione smiled.

Hermione measured out a precise amount of the potion and handed it to Salazar. "I think this is it," she said confidently.

"My, my," he drawled. "Isn't this a change?"

Hermione poked him in the ribs. "It only stands to reason that after all these months I would have picked up some of your bad habits." Especially since they started sharing a room together, she added silently. The first thing she had done was transfigure his bed into something more comfortable. Salazar had spent weeks grumbling that he was sinking down into nothing but softness whenever he slept on it.

"I suppose we should test it," Salazar said.

Hermione nodded. "We should," she agreed. The last few months had been hard. The potion they had used to cure all the witches and wizards only half-worked on the Muggles. It had managed to stop the illness from getting worse, but it wasn't curing them.

"Then, if this works..." Salazar trailed off. He obviously didn't want to say it.

Hermione shrugged. She had spent a lot of time these last few months thinking about this. The future was always going to be there waiting for her. It didn't matter when she went back to it. "There are other illnesses out there," she said quietly. "Many people to cure."

Salazar's eyes widened. "So..."

"I'm staying," Hermione confirmed. "At least for the time being."

Salazar drew her close and kissed her softly. "I'm glad," he said. "I'm very glad."

Excerpt from Hogwarts, A History by Professor Earhart Garino.

It is generally agreed that there was a time in the early days of Hogwarts where few, if any, records were kept. Many reasons have been put forward for this unusual silence, including in-fighting between the founders, a plague, and the Great Fire of 1645, which destroyed many of Hogwarts' earliest records.

One ancient fable spoke of a wise witch who came to help those in need in this time of silence and saved many lives. This author believes that the fable was naught but a story to placate young minds. But whatever the reason for the silent years and the subsequent recovery, this author concludes that nothing too serious could have happened as Hogwarts stands proud today as one of the pinnacles of wizarding education.

-fin