Chapter 3
August 27th, 1943
Hope
After months, and endless amounts of coffee (to Dumbledore’s dismay), I’ve finally filled in all the holes for my future Hogwart’s education. I even did well on all my O.W.L.’s! Got all my O.W.L.’s? I did very well when officially tested. Dippet let me perform the magic without the wand, but I did have to show him the correct motions when asked.
Charms and transfiguration was entertaining enough that I plowed through every book I could find. Dumbledore and I had a lot of fun turning his various bobbles and antiques into silly things, he nearly collapsed from laughing so hard after I turned a trumpet into a goose. The honking didn’t turn out quite right.
Potions was the hardest, but that just means I had to actively concentrate. It’s not how to prepare ingredients or what they do, that is all the same from my world. But this place has so many recipes, and people just memorize them instead of keeping grimoires like cook books.
But even so, I manged to surpass all of Dumbledore’s expectations. Maybe that’s why he’s allowing me to go off on my own for the first time.
Walking into Diagon Alley, I already feel comfortable here. A few days after I arrived, Dumbledore gave me a tour, took me to get dresses that make sense during this era, and we’ve gotten ice cream a few times. But today, he handed me a list of supplies, a pocket full of gold coins, and sent me on my way.
With a cauldron full of stationary, student robes, and more, the only thing left I need are my books. Walking into Flourish and Blotts, I give a contented sigh once the smell of parchment and old leather washes over me. It’s a small comfort, grounding me in this otherwise alien world.
There are other students milling about, animatedly talking about their purchases or the upcoming year, but I don’t want to go around announcing myself yet. That’s a problem for September, when Dippet inevitably announces me as the girl from another world. I can hold off on all the gawking, gossiping, or cruel jokes that are in my future. For now, I’ll savor this moment of relative anonymity.
Scanning the various shelves, I search for whatever area the textbooks are in. Once I spot where the students tend to crowd, I figure following their lead won’t hurt. Guessing which are around my age is difficult, but soon enough I find myself in the right area.
My eyes settle on the first title from my list—naturally, it’s perched on the top shelf, well out of my reach. At least a foot and a half above my head, mocking me from afar. I’m only 5’3, and big heels or platform shoes are not acceptable in the 1940’s, apparently, so this is not exactly a new problem.
With a resigned sigh, I set my things down, and step onto the bottom shelf for leverage. My fingertips graze the spine just as a hand darts out from behind me, plucking the book like it’s nothing.
“Hey!” I shout, dropping down to the floor and turning on whoever is interfering.
Before I can scold the person for being rude and getting into my personal space, my eyes land on curly black hair. Against my wishes, my mind conjures images of Landon, memories of me racking my fingers through his messy curls, him laughing, us cuddling.
Shaking my head and swallowing my emotions, I try my best to stay in the present. This boy isn’t Landon, and after a second look, I realize his hair is the only truly similar characteristic.
He’s tall—six feet at least—with sharp, aristocratic features and eyes like polished coal, making the lines in his iris’ seem almost grey in comparison. His expression is charming, but something about him feels… off. The darkness coiling beneath his perfect exterior makes my instincts hum with unease.
“Here you are,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. The boy extends the book with an easy smile, “I thought I might offer my assistance. The top shelf can be a terribly elusive sight.”
Despite how incredibly handsome, warm, and flirtatious this stranger might be, I narrow my eyes. Studying the boy, there’s the distinct feeling of dark magic hanging around him. Almost like if Dark Josie was masquerading as Light Josie, hiding in plain sight.
Which is completely the opposite impression he seems to be trying to make. Mixed emotions and confused instincts fill me, but my one take away is to be wary of this man. Still, I put on a neutral expression and hope the interaction ends just as fast as it started.
“Err thanks, I guess,” my tone unsure, while taking the book. “Have a nice day.”
Crouching to pick up my things, I try to walk past him further into the store. But he side steps in front of me, blocking my limited path between stacks.
“I couldn’t help noticing your Hogwarts robes,” he says, offering a hand in greeting. “Although, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Please, I’d be honored to make your acquaintance. My name is Tom Riddle, I will be a sixth year come this term, along with a prefect, and who might you be?”
His name slams into me like a freight train, but I stop myself from taking a step back. Right, I’m in the Harry Potter world, but Dumbledore and Dippet aren’t the only people I’ll recognize. Just my luck, of course the first student I meet would be Voldemort himself. All clean-cut charm and barely leashed ambition.
The good news is that Voldemort loses in the end. Maybe if I stay as far away from him as possible, then I won’t interfere with his timeline. I really have no interest in acting as a superhero in this world, I did enough of that in mine.
Clearing my throat, I reply curtly, “Hope Mikaelson, I’ll also be a sixth year.”
After a moment’s debate, I begrudgingly shake his hand. I’m surprised when it’s warm and lightly calloused, his shake firm and confident. Not cold and slimy like it probably would be after the fourth Harry Potter book. Still, I drop it as soon as possible, trying to keep my disgust on the inside.
“Hope Mikaelson,” he repeats, his lips curling in what he probably thinks is a winning smile. “A pleasure. Your accent, are you a transfer from Ilvermorny, perhaps?”
“Nope,” I answer flatly, stepping to the side. He steps with me, cutting off my escape yet again.
When I don’t further explain myself, I notice his jaw clench for a half a moment before he’s back to his sunny disposition. Studying him closer, I realize his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. A chill runs down my spine against my wishes.
Unsurprisingly, Mr. Riddle is wearing nearly all black. There’s some green and silver details, probably Slytherin clothes or something. I completely ignore how well he fills out his sweatshirt and slacks, there’s no reason to notice all that lithe muscle.
“Then where, might I ask, are you transferring from? I’m quite familiar with our international counterparts, surely I’ve heard of the school.” He asks with a slightly clipped tone.
That nearly brings my smile back, I guess even now, Voldemort isn’t used to not immediately getting the answers he wants. But, the dread of the truth hits me all at once.
If I tell Tom Riddle that I’m from a different world, with different magic, he’ll become even more curious about me. But, if I lie, he’ll know as soon as school actually starts. I can’t imagine that wouldn’t pique his interest even more. So, I’m stuck with the truth, but I try to seem as nonchalant about it as possible.
“Oh, that. I’m from a different world, ended up in this one, unfortunately. I was lucky enough to run into a professor who has been helping acclimate me and even offered me a position at the school,” I explain and a shrug.
Much to my disappointment, Tom’s eyes sparkle with hunger and his smile becomes sharper—taking on a serpentine quality. Internally, I roll my eyes and scowl.
This is exactly the kind of thing I don’t have the energy for, a baby dark lord trying to become more powerful. Imagine if he knew about the book series and movies from my world, I’d never be rid of him!
“Fascinating,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb against his lower lip as if in thought—or to draw attention to his mouth. “My, my, how tragic your circumstances seem. Apologies for the situation, but I must say I am pleased to hear you’ll be joining my class. Is your home world as magical as this one?”
He sweeps an arm out to showcase the books moving about without people having to re-shelf them. Tom’s smile almost reaches his eyes now, but I’m quick enough to know that’s bad news for me. Time to act like the most boring person in any world.
“Yeah, everything is similar enough. Which was very helpful during those studies, I picked everything up quickly,” I tell him with a timid smile.
“Similar enough,” he repeats, gaze raking over me like I’m a puzzle he’s desperate to solve.
Now, he’s blatantly checking me out. Eyes scanning every feature, every red-brown hair, every thread of my green sundress. I can’t repress the grimace that springs to life, irritated when that my reaction only makes his smile grow.
“Tell me, Ms. Mikaelson,” he says, with a self-assured smile. His charm officially gets turned up to eleven as he leans casually against one shelf, “would you care to join me for a drink after this? I could answer any questions you have about Hogwarts—and in return, perhaps you might enlighten me about the magic of your world. I imagine you have quite a lot to teach.”
Suddenly willing to completely abandon the last of this errand for the day, I turn my frown into a sweet smile. At least, I try my best.
“Thank you, but no thanks. I’m sure I’ll figure things out on my own,” I say with finality.
Holding the book out for him, Riddle takes it, his fingers brushing mine. Sending annoying tingles through my hand. I don’t wait for his reply, turning on my heel and walking briskly toward the exit. His gaze sears into my back as I leave, and I know with sinking certainty this won’t be the last time Tom Riddle crosses my path.
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Tom
Giddy. The word doesn’t begin to encompass the feelings surging through me. When I spotted the one Hogwarts student I didn’t recognize, I assumed there was simply new shag material.
Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined she came from a different world, filled with magic new to him. Hope. Her name lingers in my mind, a perfect irony. How fitting that she might represent my hope for the future, the key to power beyond imagination.
“Did you find everything?” Abraxas Malfoy asks casually once I meet him at the counter.
A low chuckle escapes me as I set my textbooks down next to his, “Oh, you have no idea.”
I throw him a mischievous smile, relishing the confusion that flickers across his polished features. Let him stew for now. Explaining myself would only spoil the fun.
Malfoy pays for the last of our supplies, handling the shop keeper with every polite bone in his aristocratic body. Having henchmen comes in handy, rich henchmen from influential families truly takes the cake.
As we leave the shop and make our way to the Leaky Cauldron, my thoughts churn. The possibilities swirl in my mind, too numerous to count. A girl from another world… magic unknown to us. The very idea ignites a thrill in me I haven’t felt since discovering the Chamber of Secrets.
Once seated in the pub, we order drinks. I bide my time, waiting for them to arrive before finally breaking my silence. No need to rush; the reveal is always jucier when the stage is set.
“There’s a new girl this year,” I tell him, my voice laced with anticipation. I lean back in my chair, savoring the moment. “She’s not just any transfer, though. She’s from a different world.”
Malfoy’s confusion and slight irritation crumble into stunned amazement. He’s silent for a while, I can practically see the wheels in his head turning. His expression is almost comical—mouth slightly agape, brows furrowed in thought. He might want to work on his thinking face, Malfoy always looks like his brain might pop from the effort. While I prefer witches, even I have to admit that the Pureblood Prince is handsome. Thanks to my own assets, I’m not envious of his striking white features or hair. Which actually is terrible when he sheds, I feel as if I live with a cat during the school year.
“Interesting, do you have any plans for her?” The clear interest in his voice nearly makes me smile.
His tone conveys more than curiosity—it’s the cautious deference of someone who knows his place in the hierarchy. Abraxas has been my right hand since I found out that I am the Heir of Slytherin, so naturally he can piece together that my plans go beyond the skirt. Not having to explain that she’s more useful than her parts saves valuable time, time many of my followers would have wasted in Malfoy’s place.
Another chuckle escapes me, low and dark, “I have many.”
I allow the words to hang between us, letting his imagination fill in the gaps. It’s better this way; Abraxas’s usefulness lies in his obedience, not his insight. There’s a reason he and the other Purebloods are so eager to follow my lead, they certainly aren’t the masterminds behind my plans.
Malfoy doesn’t need to know how her knowledge could open doors I’ve only dreamed of, could fulfill my need for unstoppable power or eternal life, could potentially offer answers to questions I’ve yet to consider.
For now, I’ll play the role of curious classmate, charm her into lowering her defenses. Plenty of witches have succumbed to my wiles, if anything, her initial distaste will just make my victory all the sweeter.
But beneath that mask, my mind will work tirelessly. Hope Mikaelson did not want my attentions, and I swear I saw a spark of recognition when I introduced myself. I need to know; why and how did she end up in this world? How did she manage to both be forthcoming and annoyingly vague at the same time? Does she know who I am? If so, how and just how much does she know? The girl’s mysteriousness likely doesn’t end there, and I will unlock the secrets she’s keeping.
Because Hope Mikaelson is more than simply an anomaly—she’s an opportunity. And I don’t let opportunities slip through my fingers.