Chapter 2
July 23rd, 1943
Hope
“Oh, how peculiar!” Headmaster Dippet exclaims with genuine enthusiasm. Leaning forward, he clasps his hands together as he studies me.
Sitting in a plush chair in his office, I listen to Dumbledore explain my predicament with far more ease than I could ever muster. He keeps telling me to call him Albus, that we’ve lived together for enough time to be on a first named basis, but it just feels wrong. Despite his kindness, offering to house me during the summers, and taking the lead on this little interview, I still cannot bring myself to call him by his first name. Not yet, at least.
Smiling kindly at his boss, “Yes, it truly is. However, as I mentioned in my letter, I have been assessing her academic prowess. Hope has informed me that she has studied nearly thirteen other magical cultures, and with how quickly she is picking up the new information, I am inclined to believe her.” He glances at me, pride shining in his expression. It’s surprising but not unwelcome.
I know better than to expect a father figure; I’m not delusional. But having someone stand near my corner, even if not fully in it, feels unexpectedly… nice. I’ll need allies to survive here, and Albus Dumbledore is surely a good one.
“Naturally,” he continues, “I will keep tutoring her until the school year begins. However, I am fully confident she will be a welcomed addition to our student body by the time September is upon us.”
Dippet nods enthusiastically, his round glasses slipping down his nose. “Excellent! Well, there still is the matter of your O.W.L.s, Ms. Mikaelson, which I suggest you take in August to give us a clear assessment of your placement. But assuming you do as well as Professor Dumbledore predicts, what do you say? Would you like to attend Hogwarts?”
“Yes, Headmaster. I’d like that very much,” I tell him honestly, allowing my excitement to roam free. A bright smile lights my face, and I see my joy mirrored in the ancient man’s eyes.
Dippet beams, “Splendid! Splendid! I must say, it’s not every day we gain a student of such unique… circumstances. Speaking of which,” he adds, clearing his throat, “there is the matter of your… monthly transformations.”
Right, those. A very unpleasant surprise that came with this world, my transitions came back. My guess is because I don’t actually belong in this world, or maybe something in the original magic the Hollow used for the curse. I was somewhat prepared, warning Dumbledore of the differences between me and the werewolves of this world. Once I felt my transition starting, I ran out of the cottage, making it to the treeline before bones started snapping. Dumbledore was curious about my transitions, stuck between wanting to be there for me and the appeal of me being different from what he’s so used to…he’s no longer interested in them. Once was enough.
The atmosphere in the room shifts slightly. Dumbledore takes the lead again, his voice soft but purposeful. “Hope has been entirely forthcoming about her condition. As I detailed in my letter, she is unable to pass on her curse to other students, and only offers the dangers present from an actual wolf. As such, it’s imperative that we arrange a secure location where she can transform safely without risk to herself or others. After some discussion, we believe we have a suitable solution.”
Dippet nods thoughtfully. “Yes, yes, the abandoned house near Hogsmeade you mentioned. A pity the previous owner left it, but it serves our purpose quite nicely. Fortifying the walls and windows should be a simple matter, I shall ensure it is done before the beginning of term.”
Having known about Remus Lupin and the solution used for his time at Hogwarts, I suggested the same. Dumbledore was fascinated by this revelation, and I’ve been debating on saving the boy from Greyback since. I’m just not sure how much I want to affect this world.
“How will I get there?” I ask, the question having been on my mind for some time. Without the Womping Willow entrance, surely there will have be some other solution.
“I have put some thought into that,” Dumbledore says, making Dippet lean further on his desk. “There’s a walled garden on the eastern side of the grounds, seldom used and easy to ward. We’ll construct a tunnel from there to the house. The magic involved will prevent anyone from discovering it unless they know exactly what to look for. I believe the Chinese Chomping Cabbage patch should serve as the perfect entrance, wouldn’t you agree?”
Dippet lights up like a Christmas Tree, “Yes, yes that should work splendidly! Your innovation and creativity never cease to amaze, Professor Dumbledore.” Then the man turns his wrinkled grin on me, looking a little too much like Shar-pei dog, “And in the meantime, we’ll ensure the house is comfortable and well-maintained. We can’t have you transforming in squalor, can we?”
Suppressing a laugh, my lips thin into a tight smile, “I suppose not. Thank you, sir, for everything.”
“Think nothing of it, my dear,” Dippet says warmly. “We’re thrilled to have you join us. Now, as for the start of term. Are you positive you wish to disclose the details of your situation?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Dumbledore beats me to it, “Actually, it is my request that Ms. Mikaelson is honest about where she’s come from. I felt that both students and other teachers will be more…sympathetic to any mistakes or miscommunications that may result from such a change. Over the last weeks living together in my home, it would be difficult for her to fully stick to a lie, no matter how well crafted.”
Blushing, I focus on my fingers. It isn’t my fault that I’m so bad at picking up the weird social etiquette from a different world. Even is it almost resembles my world, roughly sixty years before I was born. Everything from how informal I speak with others to the way I slouch has made Dumbledore completely forego a clever cover story. It didn’t take him long to talk me into his idea, the less stuffy I have to act, the better.
Dippet nods, scribbling a note on some parchment before continuing, “Understood. Unfortunately, I cannot permit a sixteen year old to take the boats in with the first years. However, after taking the carriages in with the other students, we will need to separate you before entering the Great Hall…"
Dippet trails off in thought before Dumbledore adds an idea or two. Smiling politely, I nod along while the two men begin discussing the logistics of how I’ll arrive at the castle, the supplies I’ll surely need, and other mundane topics that need to be discussed. My stomach drops when the conversation inevitably turns to when I’ll be sorted.
“You’ll be sorted after the first years during the opening feast,” he announces, as if that’s a treat. Having the entire school watch me, the one person clearly older than the rest.
“Seeing as you plan to be honest on your…origin, I believe it will be prudent to inform the student body myself. Students will be less likely to concoct fanciful stories on their own, will help the them understand your situation, and, I daresay, may make friends with you more easily.”
Friends? My lips twitch in something close to amusement. If only it were that simple. But, our meeting concludes soon after. My first impression of Hogwarts is that it looks surprisingly similar to the castle in the movies.
High ceilings, rounded arches, beautifully kept stone work, and more magical portraits and tapestries than one could ever imagine. Going back to Dumbledore’s office, we floo out just as we flooed in. Only, the cottage isn’t our destination.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Dumbledore asks once we are safely in Diagon Alley.
With all the cool shops, interesting architecture, and robed people milling about, Diagon Alley always makes reality feel…real. Like I truly am in this world that I grew up thinking and talking about.
Dumbledore has already shown me around a few times, leading me to his favorite areas, introducing me to various witches and wizards he’s familiar with. Thankfully, outside of Dippet, he keeps the extent of my problems to himself. People will be gossiping about me enough as is, and Albus has made it clear that I can start telling people when I feel like it.
Sighing, I glance up at him before responding, “No, Headmaster Dippet was just as you described. I’m just happy that all our hard work won’t be wasted. Do you really think I’ll be up to date on everything before the school year?”
That makes him chuckle as he steers me into Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlour, opening the door and waiting for me to enter first. We order, he pays, and sit in some of the out door seating. Being summer, Diagon Alley is bustling with people flitting to and fro, and I watch the busy street for a while before Dumbledore answers me.
“I am sure you will fair just fine. There may be a few hiccups here or there, but you are more than welcome to ask me or any other professor for extra help when needed,” he explains with ease.
“Now, we do have one other matter to discuss. There is a reason we are back in Diagon Alley rather than at the cottage. I do expect some discomfort on your end, but it is unavoidable.”
Narrowing my eyes, I take in his jolly expression and tone. We’ve been living together for a few months now, and it’s clear to me that his exterior jolliness does not necessarily translate to his actual emotions.
Yes, the man enjoys word games and puzzles, but I also can tell there are no time limits or boundaries to his games. To be completely honest, I’m surprised that future Harry Potter trusts Dumbledore as implicitly as he does. But, granted, I am both incredibly jaded already and not eleven years old.
“Go on,” I prompt when he doesn’t continue.
Putting his empty ice cream cup down, finished with his lemon sherbet surprise, he continues with his cheeriness, “Once you are finished, we will be going to Ollivander’s to purchase you a wand. One you will be using while at Hogwarts.”
The pointed look he gives makes me scowl. I don’t need a wand, I can do magic on my own. Why do I need to carry around a stick that doesn’t mean or do anything for me?
Scrunching my nose, I ask, “Do I have to use one?”
Dumbledore sighs, but his expression softens, “I understand that you are able to influence wild magic without a conduit and that this will likely feel awkward to use. However, a large part of the Hogwart’s curriculum includes wand movements, the history of wands, how different inner cores might react with different types of wood.
“Not to mention, if you want to conceal how powerful you are, then you will have to use a wand. All of your classmates will be expecting you to be comfortable with one, and you are already so anxious over sticking out. This will help you to fit in.”
He’s right, I know he’s right. That doesn’t change my general attitude on the matter, though. We’ve already gone over mostly every subject, and besides the magical history of this world, I picked up everything quickly.
Between most spells being based in Latin (I will never get over my luck in ending up in a world with nearly identical languages) and my enthusiastic work ethic, the topics were practically easy to master.
Magic has always come naturally to me. Even when I had to wear that stupid bracelet that dampened my powers as a child, magic has always felt like another limb. An intrinsic part of me. Thankfully, that hasn’t changed as much as my surroundings have.
Learning that Dumbledore is actually a great teacher was fun, even better when I realized how rewarding it is for him. Pouring over books was pretty much all I did at the Salvatore school, but the lack of danger makes it supremely more enjoyable.
But, using a wand? It would be like putting training wheels on a motorcycle! Even so, I do see his point. I am worried about fitting in, and I am trying to make the smallest waves possible. Maybe it won’t be as bad as I’m making it out to be?
“Alright,” I tell him with a begrudging smile. “Let’s go to Ollivander’s.”
**************
Update; it’s exactly as bad as I thought.
“Hmmmm, perhaps this here. Let’s try cherry wood and dragon heartstring,” Ollivander says while handing me the next wand.
The wildly experienced wand seller has managed to keep any anger or irritation out of his countenance, but even a saint can’t have that much patience. Once the wand is in my hand, Ollivander fully ducks behind the counter, having learned from the first five wands I tried waving about.
The first one caused a medium explosion of his inventory, the next two wands shattered into a million splinters, and the last two sent various pointy objects flying for Ollivander’s head. I fully understand that everyone has a weird experience getting their first wand, but even Dumbledore has admitted that this is beyond the norm.
“Please don’t hurt anyone,” I whisper to this wand before giving it a flick.
This time, the wand completely explodes in my hand, making me cry out in pain. Waving away the smoke, I make sure to clench my burned fist before Dumbledore can see the damage.
I’ve explained why I need to die, the fact that I’m a different kind of werewolf than he’s used to, and why he shouldn’t be worried about me. But, fully explaining my magical blood is just too much too soon.
Coughing a little, “Hope, are you hurt? Let me see your hands.”
He is adorably troubled right now, his eyes wide with a worried frown. I wait a moment before showing him both palms, both absent of any damage. Dumbledore gives me a look, like he’s fully aware I should be burned, but doesn’t say anything. I give him a cheeky smile, which he returns with a wink.
“By the sounds of it,” Ollivander says before popping back up into view. “I don’t believe that one will work…hmmm perhaps? I might have an idea, hold on.”
I can hear him muttering to himself as he searches the back. Something about having this one forever and not expecting to lighten his inventory so much for just one student. I shoot a look at Dumbledore, but either he’s ignoring the words or blissfully unaware that we have irked the poor shop owner.
“Yes! Here it is,” Ollivander announces, bounding back to the counter. “Here you are, give it a go.”
I nearly chuckle when he disappears from view again, the elderly wizard is surprisingly agile. With a quick glance towards Dumbledore to make sure he’s prepared, I give this wand a little flourish.
This time, nothing bad happens. A light breeze sweeps around me, making a little one person tornado, only slightly ruffling nearby objects and papers. After a moment, the wind dissipates, and Ollivander’s head peaks up.
Once he’s confident its safe, he fully emerges from the counter with a curious expression, “Well, I’ll be. That wand has a phoenix feather core and made of elder wood. Very powerful, that wand, although I’m surprised it had such a…tame reaction to being chosen.”
Given how afraid he’s been, I’m surprised that he seems almost disappointed that something grander didn’t happen.
****************
July 25th, 1943
“Dumbledore, I don’t care. Seriously,” I say, exasperation clear in my voice.
I don’t even bother looking up from the letter I’m reading, one of many that Freya and Rebekah have sent. Mainly, they’ve sent birthday wishes and questions about this new world. Once I told them about Dumbledore, I think they both laughed themselves silly before crying in relief.
Today might be my new birthday, but that doesn’t mean I want to celebrate. It’s just another day, one where all I want is to prepare for the school year. Assimilating into a new world is hard work, after all. Especially after being given an impossible task.
“I understand you don’t consider this your true birthday, it has no emotional attachments yet,” he sounds just as over this conversation as I feel. “At least allow me to prepare a special dinner in lieu of a gift, how does that sound.”
Sighing, I turn my expression toward the ceiling. We are having tea, floral British stuff instead of the delicious sweet tea I grew up with. This argument has spanned weeks at this point, and I only recently convinced Dumbledore that his birthday gift to me should be everything he has been already doing.
He put up a good fight, but I put my foot down. Being his ward, he has already bought me an entire wardrobe, a big trunk, and will soon be paying for all my school supplies. There really is no need for me to ask for more, if anything this day makes me feel sick. I have one year left to live as a mortal, and Landon only has that long to live.
“Fine,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “But until then, I need to get used to this damn wand! For the O.W.L.s, do you think Dippet will be okay if I do the magic myself and separately show him the wand movements? It’s almost impossible to not break the thing, let alone convince it to do complicated magic.”
Honestly, using the wand almost hurts. It’s like my magic is a thriving ocean just waiting for direction, but the wand only allows the smallest stream through. Putting too much oomph into a spell will just make the thing explode, overwhelming it with too much magic.
Dumbledore sighs but takes my question seriously, “We may be able to work something like that out, but first you must make a serious effort with the wand, like I know you are doing.
“If in six months, the wand is still an impossible feat, then I will request an exception in your testing. You will still likely be tested on wand movements, but only as far as information goes instead of execution.”
My face breaks out into a huge grin and I jump up from the table. Nearly knocking him and the chair down, I give Dumbledore a bear hug.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I shout. “I’m going to go practice right now!”
He laughs, shaking his head, “Alright, you go practice. I will see to our dinner.”