Author's Note: Thanks everyone for all the wonderful feedback on the first chapter! I think I was able to respond to everyone who left a signed review, and to the wonderful guest reviewers, thanks so much for your kind words as well! I really hope you all continue to enjoy and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Thanks to the most lovely LaBelladone x and LittleMissEighty-Sixed for their assistance and their thoughts which helped breathe life into this fic x

Just a quick note on language and dialogue because otherwise someone might mention it: while this is set in the late tenth century, I will NOT be writing the dialogue of the students and professors from this time in the old dialects of the region because 1. I don't know them and it would require significant research, and 2. I can't imagine anyone wants to read my struggles with an old dialect. That said, I will do my best to keep their dialogue from being too modern. Furthermore, there are some things in the first half of this story which are anachronistic - I have done my best to catch them all but some things may slip through so please allow some grace.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.


Once the four people in the corridor had moved on, Malfoy walked away from the door, coiling the Extendable Ears, deep in thought. He took a seat, cross-legged on a nearby table and set the coil down beside himself. Hermione followed, pacing the room as her mind flew into overdrive.

She opened her mouth to speak but Malfoy raised a hand to silence her.

"Granger, don't speak right now," he snipped, "please. You'll give me a migraine." He rested his elbows on his knees, massaging his temples with his fingertips.

Hermione huffed and sat upon the next table, her legs swinging from the edge.

After several minutes Malfoy looked up, scowling.

"I hope you realize this is your fault," he said, although the sentiment lacked any real malice. She glared in return. "Just so we're clear on that. But for the time being, I'm going to attempt to set aside my irritation with you so we can sort this out."

He paused again, looking around the room and Hermione followed suit, knowing better than to rise to an argument for the moment. No matter what else, they had landed in a situation together and that didn't bode well. While the layout of the room was identical, the tables and chairs were somehow different, the hangings on the walls were unfamiliar and the shelves were loaded with coiled scrolls rather than books.

"Here's what we know:" Malfoy began again, "we went down some shady corridor neither of us had seen before and opened a strange door, without inspecting it or doing any of the proper diligence, like a pair of bull-headed Gryffindors."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but he carried on, cutting her off.

"There seems to have been some sort of time shift; how extensive, we aren't sure." He rubbed his temples again and Hermione, despite herself, found it fascinating to see a glimpse of Malfoy's logical Slytherin side. "Where it was night, it is now day. It was the fifteenth of January but now, it may or may not be late August or the first of September. Furthermore," he glanced to Hermione, meeting her eyes. "We may not even be in 1999 any longer. If those were the founders, it could be, what, a thousand years ago?"

"Hogwarts was founded in 993," Hermione supplied, her voice timid.

"Fuck," Malfoy cursed, his fingers sliding through his hair. "We need a find out whether a time shift has actually occurred and if so, what year we've landed in. Then we need to retrace our steps and determine the best way to return."

"I think simply looking at our surroundings would suggest a time shift has indeed occurred," Hermione stated. She felt herself growing warm at his words, her heart pounding in her chest, blood rising as a flush in her cheeks. How would they be able to return? But taking his cue, she forced herself to keep a level head; it would do them no good.

"Fair point," he stated, inspecting the room closer. "But that could be indicative of ten years ago or a hundred. For all we know, there could have been another professor named Sal."

"I really wish I had my copy of Hogwarts: A History," Hermione said wistfully. Malfoy gave her an incredulous look and snorted.

"Yes, Granger, Merlin, how dare you not bring your entire bookbag on prefect patrols with you," he said, shaking his head. Then he looked back up at her. "What else did we seize from those fifth years last night? Anything of use?"

She reached into the interior pocket of her robes, turning out its contents.

"A few nosebleed nougats, a dungbomb, and a fanged frisbee," she commented.

"So that would be a no," Malfoy responded with a huff. "Let's take a look around and see if anything can tell us the year? Then I think our most obvious step would be to attempt to find the door again. It might simply send us back in the same way."

"Then why do we need to know the year?" Hermione asked, even as she stood and walked to the professor's desk.

"We don't," he replied, cocking a brow, "but I'm curious."

Hermione shrugged; she could admit she was quite curious as well. Idly the thought passed her mind that Malfoy was scholarly enough that he would share in her intrigue with the situation; if this had happened with Harry and Ron, they probably wouldn't have cared. Malfoy started to sift through the tied scrolls on the shelf while Hermione picked up a stack of letters.

"There are a few rudimentary texts here – handwritten and bound. And they read ancient," Malfoy said, a hint of fascination in his otherwise dismayed tone. He carded his fingers through his pale blond hair.

"The voice of these letters feels extremely old as well," Hermione stated as she browsed them, "but no dates."

She skimmed the next letter, feeling an obtrusive lump rise in her throat.

"This one references Helga and Godric," Hermione said. Malfoy glanced over, meeting her eyes, his lips pursed.

"Let me read it," he said, reaching out a hand. His eyes widened as he scanned the letter then his shoulders sank as he exhaled. "Granger, here, at the bottom."

Hermione took the letter back from him, squinting to read the small, ornate text. It said I will arrive at Hogwarts on the last day of August, 999.

"Well, shite," Hermione whispered, cursing despite her usual inclination. "We've gone back a millennium, Malfoy."

"This is so fucked up," he said, then paused, looking apprehensive. His eyes met hers for a moment. "We should at least meet them."

"We can't," Hermione said in an instant. "Messing with time is extremely dangerous. We're lucky no one's seen us yet. I nearly learned the hard way in third year - and that was only traveling back a few hours. I can't imagine the repercussions we could make on the future by existing a thousand years in the past."

"Fine," Malfoy said, raising an eyebrow but he refrained from asking any questions. "Then we ought to go back to the courtyard and see if we can find that passage again."

"Somehow I don't think it will be that simple," Hermione said with a grimace, "but let's try."

Malfoy peered through the crack of the doorway, reaching into a pocket for his wand. He withdrew in surprise, clutching both his wand and a small square of parchment.

"Welcome, traveler," he read, eyes wide, "please be aware your experiences using the tempus portal will be true enough but your existence will not cause undue circumstances to arise in the time from whence you came. Do enjoy your travels. R.R."

"R.R. Rowena Ravenclaw," Hermione breathed, her heart racing. "It was a portal! How on earth did we just so happen to come across a time portal?"

"With abysmal luck," Malfoy stated, frowning. "Well, this solves our problem of creating a ripple effect. But the question begs asking: when exactly did she create this portal, because if it wasn't prior to the year 999, we won't be finding it to return. I'm certain that passage was not always there, otherwise wouldn't students stumble upon it regularly?"

"You would think so. Ravenclaw designed Hogwarts' floor plan prior to the opening of the castle, including all of the eclectic features we know of, like the moving staircases," Hermione said, straining to remember the details."So it may have been built in at the time."

"I'm going to check," he said, the urgency in his voice rising, as he pocketed the slip of parchment and checked the corridor once more. He inched the door open, slipping into the hallway and Hermione followed him across the way into the courtyard, catching her lip between her teeth.

They arrived at the point in the courtyard where the stone passage had emerged and found only a blank wall. They each began attempting spells – unlocking, revealing, opening – but to no avail.

"Malfoy," Hermione whispered and he glanced to her, looking both irritated and disconcerted. "It was almost as if the passage and the portal presented themselves to us, do you think?"

"I don't know, Granger," he said and he sounded fatigued. "Why would it have done that?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted, worrying her lip again, "but it just… doesn't feel like an accident. Like we merely stumbled upon it. More like we were brought here for a reason."

"Well, I can't think of any bloody reason why you and I needed to travel back in time a thousand years," he snapped and Hermione could think of no answer because she didn't have any ideas, either.

She leaned back against the wall, attempting to fight the rush of anxiety that she felt approaching once more. They couldn't possibly be stuck here – could they?"

"There has to be a way to figure it out," she said, whether to herself or to Malfoy, she wasn't certain. "Maybe we could ask Ravenclaw?"

"If she hasn't built it yet, Granger, she won't be able to help us," he said with a sigh. He looked up to the sky. "It looks to be about mid-afternoon. If it truly is the first of September, the new students will be arriving soon. The timing would make this the seventh year of Hogwarts as a school, is that correct?"

"Yes," Hermione said, attempting to follow his line of reasoning.

"If we're going to be stuck here, trying to figure this out or, possibly, the portal has re-located or hidden itself, provided it has been built already," he paused at the thought. "I mean, we are students already, so…"

"So we should attend the feast," Hermione closed with a whisper. "We can't just barge in and announce we've come from a thousand years in the future. We'll have to… I don't know, play along or something."

"I agree," Malfoy permitted. "A thousand years ago, things were much different in the wizarding world; Muggles were extremely superstitious of us, convinced we were out there though we hid relatively well. Anything suspicious could cause panic or raise alarm."

"Remove your tie," Hermione said, just realizing they were still clothed in Gryffindor and Slytherin colours. "They won't know us, so it won't make sense for us to act as if we're already students here. Besides, neckties haven't been invented yet. And I can't imagine any part of what we're wearing will be suitable."

"Granger, I hate the situation you've landed us in." Malfoy sighed as he loosened the windsor knot at his throat, "and you're one of the last people on earth I would have chosen to travel back a thousand years and spend extensive time with." He rolled the tie, shrunk it with his wand and pocketed it. "But thank Merlin you've at least got a brain."

"I'm taking that as a compliment," she quipped, stowing her own shrunken tie, a smile playing at her lips. "It's likewise, Malfoy. Look at it this way - at least you'll get to meet the founders."

After spending the rest of the afternoon wandering the empty halls of Hogwarts, theorizing – and bickering – the two made their way up to one of the taller towers facing the grounds to await the arrival of the other students.

Hermione gasped at the first sign of movement on the horizon, glancing at Malfoy. Squinting closer, she realized a large group of students were approaching the castle on broomsticks, their trunks and other possessions casting a cumbersome silhouette.

Others came in upon thestrals and hippogriffs, enchanted carriages and even riding horses, while still more walked in from Hogsmeade, having been Apparated to the village. Malfoy gazed out the windows of the tower, his expression stoic.

"Trains weren't invented until the early nineteenth century," Hermione said aloud, whether to herself or him she wasn't sure, but he looked over at her anyway. "And given that the International Statute of Secrecy wasn't imposed until 1692, restrictions on travel wouldn't have been so severe."

"I suppose not," Malfoy permitted though his lips were pursed.

Hermione didn't think she had ever spent so much time with Malfoy before, and most certainly not of her own volition. While she could tell he was making an honest effort to keep things reasonable between them, the air still felt awkward and tense. She was finding many of his mannerisms to be unreadable.

Beyond that, when he wasn't being an insufferable, bigoted arse, Hermione wasn't exactly sure she knew anything about him. But the imposed silence between her and the blond Slytherin had been prevalent for the entirety of their eighth year so far.

It seemed as if Malfoy had begun to retract into himself, brooding, while they sat and waited in the tower. As if his ability to be social and contend with their circumstances had reached the end of its tether. Their silent watch also reminded Hermione that it had been late at night when they were transported to this time at midday, and now that the immediate adrenaline of the situation had worn off, she realized how fatigued she felt.

As the last of the students trickled onto the Hogwarts grounds, Hermione and Malfoy shared a silent glance and made their way down from the tower towards the gathering commotion of the feast.


Hermione froze upon the threshold of the Great Hall as her breath caught in her throat, her heart racing and gaze transfixed. Malfoy cursed as he nearly collided with her back but he too stopped as he stepped alongside her to pass. When Hermione glanced at him his expression was neutral but his wide eyes betrayed him.

The four Hogwarts founders sat, majestic and spectacular, side by side at the head table. To Hermione, each one looked more regal than the last. A handful of other professors sat to either side in black robes.

Helga Hufflepuff, in robes of yellow and black, her auburn hair in an intricate twist, flashed a bright smile at the assembled students, a twinkle in her eye that reminded Hermione of Dumbledore. Beside her sat Rowena Ravenclaw, her long black hair sleek upon her shoulders, in robes of blue and bronze. There was something austere yet wise about the way she gazed upon the students though her beauty was undeniable. With a start, Hermione realized she wore her famed diadem.

To Ravenclaw's left sat Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin, chuckling at a joke shared between them, in their elaborate robes of crimson and gold, and green and silver, respectively. Gryffindor was grinning as Slytherin threw his head back in a deep, unreserved laugh. Gryffindor had an infectious smile; Hermione found the corners of her lips turning upwards as she gazed upon the founder of her house.

Glancing to Malfoy, she realized he was staring at Salazar Slytherin with a sort of starstruck idolatry. Hermione's first impression of her least favourite founder was that of a man carefree and joyful. The unexpected thought rattled her soul; she had always assumed him to be a man solely spiteful and unpleasant.

Malfoy was the first to snap out of the trance they had both fallen into and Hermione followed his lead as he slipped into the line of first years waiting to be sorted. Attempting to mimic his casual nonchalance, Hermione assessed the situation.

With a shock, she realized the hat perched atop Gryffindor's head had yet to be charmed into the Sorting Hat. After some craning, to which she received a dirty look from Malfoy, Hermione settled in to wait and see what sort of procedure they were using to sort the students as the line began to move. It was only once they moved closer that she was able to better see and hear how the students were being sorted.

There lay upon the head table four small crests, one for each house. Through a rapidfire series of questions, some which made sense and some which seemed irrelevant, the four crests would move towards or away from the student. Hermione also suspected the process to be influenced by Legilimency. Eventually, one of the crests would advance further towards the student and that would be the determined house.

Hermione privately thought it to be quite a long, tedious event and decided the creation of the Sorting Hat was a better idea.

Once the last first year student had been sorted, the founders turned appraising looks to Hermione and Malfoy. A tense hush fell over the hall which made Hermione wish she could sink into the floor.

"You aren't first years," Gryffindor stated, an uncertain furrow to his brow. "Are you?"

"Seventh," Hermione found herself saying, her eyes wide. "We've only just transferred here."

"We weren't aware of any transfer students," Slytherin stated, mouth turned into a frown. He glanced down the table at the other founders and they all shook their heads in agreement. "How have you come to be here at Hogwarts?"

"Our apologies, sir," Hermione said, tilting her head. "Perhaps our owls to request a transfer were distracted and they did not arrive. We have only just re-located to this part of the world."

"An unfortunately common event, these days, is it not?" Hufflepuff said, nodding. Hermione stared at her, feeling her heart skip in her chest.

"We've transferred from Durmstrang," Malfoy broke in. At Hermione's subtle shake of the head, he corrected, "Beauxbatons." She shot him a look. "Ilvermorny?" he tried with a grimace.

"Our families move around a lot, due to the nature of their curse-breaking work together, you see," Hermione cut in, recognizing the suspicious looks all around them. "We have been to several academies; the past two years we spent at Castelobruxo. But our families have recently moved here from England and – the renown of Hogwarts has spread, of course – now we have come here."

Malfoy gave her a look that suggested he was unimpressed and she returned with a glare of her own.

"I have visited Castelobruxo myself," Rowena Ravenclaw stated after a long pause that fell heavy across the entire hall. Hermione sagged with relief. "How did you find it?"

"The emphasis on magizoology was scintillating," Hermione said, her voice quiet in the wide expanse of the hall.

"Yes," Malfoy contributed.

"And is this," Slytherin began with a flippant wave of one hand in their direction, "the attire you wore at Castelobruxo?"

"It is," Malfoy stated and Hermione nodded along. Indeed, the uniforms of the students were similar to their robes, but different. "We did not know our uniforms would not be acceptable here."

"Very well," Ravenclaw said, cocking an eyebrow. "I suppose you'll need to be sorted."

Hermione noticed Malfoy gazing at Salazar Slytherin again. She could tell he suspected he would be sorted into Slytherin once more. Hermione glanced to the imposing figure of Godric Gryffindor and found herself feeling intimidated. Rowena Ravenclaw was gazing at her with keen eyes while Helga Hufflepuff was smiling at them both.

It all felt beyond surreal.

Slytherin beckoned Malfoy to step forward and he did, a smirk slipping onto his lips.

"Your name," Hufflepuff stated.

"Draco Malfoy," he answered with a glance at Slytherin; it was clear he expected the founder to be impressed. But the man quirked a brow and continued to stare at him.

"Blood status?" Slytherin asked.

"Pureblood," Malfoy replied, his tone tinged now with uncertainty.

"I am not familiar with the surname," Slytherin said with a frown. Despite herself, Hermione fought a smile at the scandalized look on Malfoy's face. "How far back can you trace your lineage?"

"Mid-seventh century," he replied, his tone haughty. He added, "The line is of French origin." The crests inched forward as one, Slytherin's continuing just past the rest. Which made sense, Hermione thought, given that Slytherin was the one most concerned with blood status.

"How do you prefer your eggs?" Gryffindor asked, his expression entirely serious.

"I… what?" he asked, blinking. "Poached, I guess."

"You guess? Ravenclaw inquired, not familiar with the phrase.

"Poached," Malfoy affirmed. The Hufflepuff crest crept closer and Hermione saw him eye it with disdain. She suspected the movement of the crests was indicative of how that particular founder took a given answer, and was simply correspondent to their thoughts.

"Very well," Ravenclaw said, "your favourite magical creature?"

They continued in this manner for nearly ten minutes, Hermione surmised, before the founders sat back, satisfied and the crests danced back and forth on the table. Finally, with an audible exhale of relief from Malfoy, the green and silver crest of Slytherin moved forward with confidence.

Malfoy walked toward the Slytherin table and took a seat next to a tall, dark-haired boy who looked to be about the same age.

"Come forward, please," Ravenclaw said, her gaze now turning to Hermione. Steeling her nerves, Hermione did as she was asked. "Your name?"

"Hermione Granger," she responded, feeling timid and anxious at once. Something about the intense gazes of the four founders made her nervous.

"Blood status?" Gryffindor asked and while Hermione was of a mind to be affronted, it seemed as if this was a standard question asked of every student.

"Half-blood," she murmured, with a subtle glance to Malfoy who smirked at her, offering an almost imperceptible nod. She wasn't entirely certain how Muggle-borns would be treated in this time, and there was a certain appeal to being known by something other than her Muggle heritage.

"What is your favourite time of the year?" Slytherin asked, his words polite, as if he were inquiring about the weather.

"Spring, I should suppose, or early summer," Hermione answered in the same manner. She wondered how this could possibly determine her character but the crests shifted in response even so.

"If a troll were to attack, would you run or fight?" Gryffindor asked and Hermione stared at him, trying to fight a smile at the memories of her own run-in with a troll in her first year.

"Well," she began, pondering the question. "That would depend on quite a few additional circumstances including the size of the troll, the location, whether I was alone or with others… is the troll armed? Am I armed? I'm afraid I simply don't have enough information."

In her peripheral vision she saw Malfoy roll his eyes. But Ravenclaw was eyeing her with something akin to amusement.

"A very good answer," the woman murmured and the blue and bronze badge jumped forward, as did the green and silver one, presumably due to the self-preserving sentiment. Gryffindor must have been hoping her response would be something more courageous.

For the first time, the thought that she might not be in Gryffindor house in this particular time and reality truly hit her. The alternatives made her heart jump with nerves. She had never identified with Hufflepuff house, and the thought of being in Slytherin made her sick. Beyond that, she didn't think Salazar Slytherin would take her, half-blood that she had claimed to be.

So when the crests ceased their dance – a competition of sorts – signifying the end of her questions some time later, Hermione's heart sunk to see the blue and bronze crest ahead of the rest. She looked to Rowena Ravenclaw, who permitted a small smile and Hermione gave her what she hoped was a sincere smile in return. She had almost been sorted into Ravenclaw the first time, she supposed; maybe it would be an interesting experience.

She walked to the Ravenclaw table, which felt foreign and unfamiliar, and sat beside a girl with long, dark brown hair.

"Hello," the girl said, turning to Hermione with a warm smile.

"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger," she said, offering the girl her brightest attempt at a smile.

"I'm Helena," the girl said. "Helena Ravenclaw."

Hermione's eyes widened as the pieces clicked together, bits of a story Harry had told her. Her eyes swept across the hall to Malfoy but he was deep in conversation with the dark-haired boy he had sat beside and a pretty black-haired girl.

"Helena Ravenclaw," Hermione repeated, memories of a beautiful but unhappy ghost in grey drifting past through many years of school tumbling through her mind. Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "It's wonderful to meet you."