Chapter 7
September 6th, 1943
Hope
“I wish it didn’t have to end,” I sigh.
“I know,” Taylor grumbles. “Sometimes I wish we could eat together in the Great Hall, you both are much better company than any of the boys in Gryffindor.”
Laughing together after a weekend full of bonding feels nice. Most of the time was spent hanging around the grounds with Mary, Taylor, and Amanda, with Anthony occasionally joining. We ate by the big lake, chased each other around the standing stones, and laid in the sun.
I showed them my magical head phones, especially how when you touch the ear pieces together, it turns into a speaker. We danced around, sang, and just spent time being normal teenagers. Anthony especially loved the music, insisting that I DJ for Ravenclaw parties. Thanks to his recommendation, the Ravenclaw Quiditch team went crazy when I showed them the playlist I made for their first after party. This is what I was missing out on in my old world, I realize. This is what normal people do, how normal people are raised.
Mary hugs Amanda as we reach the entrance to the Great Hall, “We still have classes together and can hang out between meals. But, if any Weasley causes you problems, feel free to come get me. They might be Gryffindors, but I promise they’re still scared of me.”
The evil smile she gives sends us all into hysterics. Once our collective breathing calms, more hugs are exchanged, Mary and I are off to the Ravenclaw table. Anthony is already there, looking particularly bothered by the fifth year girls that are hanging off of him.
“Please, Anthony? I know Potion’s is your best subject, I just don’t understand the best way to prepare Sopophorous beans. Would you please show me?”
“No! I need help finishing my Charms essay!”
“Ladies!” Anthony nearly shouts, stopping the arguing for a moment. “If I do help, I can assure you it will not be over breakfast. Arguing with each other will not endear me to you, but leaving me to my tea and eggs might.”
The girls look at each other with wide eyes before scampering off, giving their goodbyes over their shoulders. Sitting down across from him, I can’t help my silent chuckles. The poor guy, he can’t even walk through the common room without being swarmed.
“I see you’re having a lovely morning,” I cheerily greet him.
The glare he sends my way only makes me laugh harder. Mary joins in, and Anthony just goes back to his eggs, grumbling about getting better friends.
“Oh, come off it, Potts,” Mary jokes. “I remember second year, when you were so jealous that Riddle was getting all the feminine attention. You got what you wanted, your own little fan club!”
She punctuates her statement by turning and waving towards the various girls staring our way at the Ravenclaw table. Anthony slumps in his seat and rolls his eyes while chewing.
“That was before I knew what I was asking for. If I had known Riddle was practically a saint in Hogwarts robes, I might have had second thoughts,” he mutters.
I manage to stop my jaw from dropping, but the shock still effects my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I try to remember that I’m not supposed to know anything. At least, I’m not supposed to have prior knowledge or any real opinions on people.
As casually as I can, I ask, “What do you mean?”
Anthony doesn’t look up from his breakfast, so Mary answers for him, “Girls have been drooling over Tom Riddle since the beginning of second year. It isn’t his fault, he’s just the most handsome boy in the castle, there’s probably a version of him in every school.
“Except, instead of becoming tired of the attention or annoyed, he has managed to charm even those he rejects. Even now, most of the girls in any year would trade their left tit for a pleasant conversation with him, let alone more. Anthony, on the other hand, got sick of his ‘hot boy’ status after about two months.”
Choosing to focus on her last sentence, we spend the rest of breakfast messing with Anthony about all the attention he gets. He only grumbles for a few more minutes before the edges of his lips quirk, and then he joins in on the jokes. The three of us are still laughing when we stand to leave, but are stopped before we clear the table.
“Ms. Mikaelson!”
“Oh, good grief,” I murmur before turning around.
Standing by the head of the Slytherin table is Tom Riddle, smiling at me like we’re old friends. Or, at least, much more familiar with each other than we are. Giving my friends questioning looks, they can only offer me ignorant shrugs.
When I’m standing near him, I ask, “What, Riddle?”
There’s still a hum of noise in the room, but the volume significantly decreases. He shouted for me in the middle of the Great Hall, when nearly every student in the school is present. I can feel some eyes watching me, and I don’t like the look on his face.
“Potions will begin soon, I was hoping you would allow me to walk you. I believe we do have a conversation to continue,” he tells me while offering his arm.
Standing still, I mentally debate what to do. Obviously, I’m not telling him shit about myself. But, I’m in the 1940’s and was just given a very public invitation to walk with the school’s favorite guy. The refusal I want to give him is stuck in my throat, and I swear the murmurs grow the longer I do nothing.
Clenching my teeth, I silently walk the remaining distance over to him, begrudgingly taking his arm. His grin becomes feline, and I glare at him. He leads me out of the Great Hall, and wastes no time getting to the questions.
“How are you enjoying Hogwarts so far?”
Whipping my head towards him, I let him watch me narrow my eyes. On Friday, he was fine to cut the bullshit and ask me what he actually wanted to know. You can’t just back track like this.
When he doesn’t continue or amend his question, I roll my eyes and mutter, “You don’t care.”
“That’s not true, Ms. Mikaelson,” he responds, not letting my mood affect him. “I am a prefect, afterall, and I genuinely want to know.”
That makes me scoff, “Yeah, I’m sure. I thought we had dropped the facade last week, this is just annoying.”
“You are the one that suggested we be friends, I am merely following your lead,” he explains, irritatingly content.
I want to explode, I want to magically throw him into a wall, and I want to physically kick his stupidly perfect teeth in.
Taking a deep breath, I do my best to calm myself before replying, “I was merely pointing out that investigating me without any authority or established relationship isn’t the best plan. I wasn’t suggesting we become friends, I can’t think of one good reason why we should.”
“Perhaps because you and I are the most powerful people in this building, you are new to this world which I have wrapped around my finger, or, and this is my favorite reason, because you know more about this world than you’re letting on. Are any of those acceptable reasons we should be friendly?”
The blood might be draining from my face, but I manage to keep my expression bothered and confused. He’s not fooled, though, as triumph distorts his features.
“Don’t bother denying it,” he states before I can say anything. “I figured my attempt to become your friend would work about as well as any other conversation I’ve tried to have with you. Which made me wonder, made me collect bits and pieces of what you’ve said to try and figure you out.
“Over the weekend, it dawned on me. Perhaps, some of your oddness, your surprising guardian, and your unfounded dislike of me are all tied together? You may have come from a different world, but just how separate are our worlds? If that theory isn’t right, I have more. This is simply the one that feels right.”
Despite my calm demeanor, my heart is absolutely racing. Granted I didn’t try all that hard, I did assume Riddle would stick to his own path. The one that leads to death, destruction, and ultimately his demise. The longer he stays stuck on me, the more he figures out, the more likely his future will change.
I need to distract him. I need something that won’t hurt me or put me in danger, but is also important enough to set his search for my knowledge back. We arrive at the classroom, but Riddle doesn’t stop. He continues, dragging me with him, until we’re deeper into the dungeons.
When he drops my arm, he moves to stand in front of me. Finally, his smile drops and he looks at me expectantly. After I don’t immediately start talking, his foot begins tapping impatiently on the cold, stone floor.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Not the right thing to say, apparently. Quick enough it surprises me, Riddle pushes me into a stone wall, caging me in with his arms. Now, he looks pissed. He glares into my wide eyes, and, without saying a word, slams into my mind.
Again, he’s met with a dense fog, but this time there’s no audience to hinder his search. Faster than I’m comfortable with, he clears the haze, but I only feel his anger grow. Struggling in his grip, I try to throw him out, but he manages to thwart my attempt.
As a panicked bystander, I watch him survey the outskirts of my mind, and his unfortunate reaction to not finding anything in front of him. Most people, from what I’ve read, erect thick walls or mazes to protect their inner most thoughts. I need to practice more to master Occlumency, but I’m creative enough to input my own obstacles.
After barreling around a seemingly empty space, Riddle pauses, and I get a sinking feeling in my gut. Within my mind, Riddle is more like a ghost of magic than a small avatar. That being said, I feel his attention move to the floor, and the wicked delight he feels.
Bashing into the ground, the pain that accompanies the attack is completely unexpected. He found my defense, and cracks spread throughout the thick ceiling protecting my mind. With a big, forceful shove, I manage to expel him from my mind. We’re both breathing heavily, and I’m still relatively pinned to a cold, stone wall.
Riddle regards me with something akin to awed amusement, but then his rage returns with conviction. He slams me into the wall again, and despite my quick healing, I still feel the pain that accompanies a head wound.
“I’m sick of your lies and half truths,” he snarls at me before dropping the tone of his voice and leaning to whisper in my ear. “Tell me something true. Just one thing, for now, Hope.”
I can’t stop the involuntary shiver that rakes through my body. His gravelly voice, the breath brushing my neck, and my horror all dancing around in my head. When he pulls away enough to look at me, he smirks at whatever he finds on my face.
I don’t really know why I do it. Maybe it’s to wipe that grin off his face, how he nearly got into my mind, or even my own fear that pulls words out of my mouth.
“I need your help,” I whisper, kicking myself internally for letting anything slip.
The brief look of shock crossing his face feels like Spring after a long Winter. Turning the tables is one of my favorite things, this intense situation only makes the win sweeter, strengthening my confidence in this plan.
But, then his expression shifts to determination, “With what?”
After searching his eyes, I say, “I need you to kill me.”