Chapter 8
September 13th, 1943
Tom
Life at Hogwarts has always been nearly perfect. Even my first year, when my older housemates bullied me for being a poor orphan. All the magic, knowledge, and mystical artifacts the castle has to offer always made up for the bruises and bloody noses.
Once I figured out that I’m a Gaunt descendant, the Heir to Slytherin himself, socializing became easier. About the same time my housemates gained respect for me, all the girls started following me around. Most would see it as a burden, but I saw it as an opportunity.
By the end of my third year, I had mastered the subtle art of flattery. Whether speaking with a teacher, a girl with a crush on me, or even a boy that wanted to fight, I simply turn on the charm. Within minutes, the person is putty in my hands, ready to be molded to my wishes.
Other than Dumbledore, Hope Mikaelson is the first person to not be fooled by the mask I show the world. For the past week, that girl has haunted my thoughts and influenced my mood swings. She asked me to kill her, I would have laughed if she hadn’t looked so serious.
Sure, I’ve thought about killing her. Rarely am I resisted, and even then people normally crumble after a day or two, maybe after a public display. Her seemingly endless resistance called on my darker instincts, I even tried to listen to her own advice. Granted I only attempted to be her friend for all of five minutes, but that’s longer than I’ve ever bothered before.
“Tom, are okay? You’ve been distant all semester,” I hear Walburga pout.
Before I can glare at her for whining, Dolohov scolds her, “Leave him alone, Walburga. He has more to worry about than the show in your skirts. Might I remind you, most of our year has already enjoyed it.”
With a smirk, I watch Ms. Black turn an unattractive shade of red before telling Dolohov off. I’ll have to remember to thank him later for distracting the second biggest thorn in my side.
Walburga has calmed down slightly since I stopped outwardly paying attention to Ms. Mikaelson, one whole week where my mind has been organizing and rearranging everything I’ve learned about the girl.
My followers have been walking Hope to and from classes, mainly Malfoy, but Lestrange and Black have been trying their best to charm her. Naturally, they tell me everything they gleam from her, and I treasure those morsels like a dragon protecting it’s hoard.
“Has anyone heard back from their families?” I ask the table.
Immediately, silver wear is dropped and I can hear my men chewing as fast as they can. I almost smile at their dedication, although it did take years to get to this point. Despite the fact that I have always outshone each and every one of these purebloods since arriving at this school.
“My Lord,” Cygnas Black says, clearing his throat. “I just recently finished reading through the texts my Father supplied. There are a few soul bonding rituals which would allow a couple to connect their magical cores, effectively combing their power.”
He tells me this as if it’s helpful. Soul bonding is a much more permanent type of marriage, something only to be considered in worst case scenarios.
Keeping my expression blank, I try to remember that each of my followers that explains only having access to similar rituals are only technically disappointing me. Torturing them for not having information I want would result in me constantly wasting my time, and I have more on my to do list than just the Cruciatus.
A very nervous looking Lestrange is the last to speak, “I…I don’t have it yet, my Lord. However, my older brother claims to have heard of a ritual created to drain muggleborns of the magic they stole. He has already inquired after the text, but it may take a few weeks to reach me.”
Tilting the corners of my mouth up, I watch as relief floods his system. Seeing as he is the only one with a lead, a touch of positive reinforcement is called for. Patting him on the shoulder, I turn my attention back to Hope Mikaelson for the first time since that conversation.
Making progress on one plan having to do with that girl is a balm on my frayed nerves. I simply walked away after she asked that I kill her, something I still don’t understand and could not answer without potentially implicating myself. Before, I thought I had accepted that Hope might have figured out my violent tendencies, but when she asked me that question, all I felt was panic. Now, I do believe it’s time to make her panic.
***************
Hope
“Do you think they’ll keep it up this week? I have a bet going with the Gryffindors and I’d rather not lose my Honeydukes fund,” Anthony asks around his breakfast.
I simply glare at him in answer, doing my best not to join in when he and Mary start laughing. They’ve been enjoying the weird Slytherins who insist on parading me around the castle. I used to wish Malfoy or Riddle would leave me alone, but after dealing with Arnold Lestrange and Cygnus Black…they make the previous two seem like princes.
If I have to listen to one more obviously fake compliment or poorly veiled attempt at information sleuthing, I might explode. At least Malfoy is halfway trained by now.
Hearing that Anthony is starting bets is honestly the least of my worries. The gossip about me has never been worse, I’d much rather be called the Ravenclaw Dunce compared to the Snake Wrangler any day.
“It’s all in good fun, Hope,” Mary tells me with a smile that would be sympathetic if she wasn’t still laughing. “No one has ever garnered so much attention from all the hottest guys in school, but don’t worry I’m setting everyone straight.”
Whipping my head around, I’m almost too frightened to ask, “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, people have been asking me about you and your new entourage,” Mary tells me with an eye roll. “So, you have nothing to worry about. I’ve let all the boys know that you are still blissfully unattached, and told all the girls that you would sooner fuck a cactus than commit to one man so soon after the start of the school year.”
My mouth is too busy hanging open to formulate a reply to that statement. It isn’t entirely false, exactly, but I also wouldn’t phrase my relationship status as ‘waiting for the best offer.’
Anthony starts cracking up, slapping his hand on the table, “That explains so much! All the guys have been chittering about who you’ll end up with, no wonder my gambling suggestion was so well taken so well. Now, Hope, you either need to end up going to the Halloween Ball with Abraxas Malfoy or Henry Wood, otherwise I don’t make any money.”
All I get out is a strangled noise of surprise and indignation, but neither Mary nor Anthony are truly paying me any mind.
“Oh, do you mean Amanda’s older brother? Why would you bet on Hope going with him?” Mary asks, but doesn’t seem to disapprove.
No, she looks thoughtful, which terrifies me. This is the first I’m hearing of a dance, how could I possibly know who I would want to go with? Or even if I want to go at all?
Anthony leans forward, waving his fork around while he talks, “The goal is to win the pot, Mary. I couldn’t very well bet on myself and ask Hope to go as friends. That would be far too obvious and I have no desire to be cursed by every Slytherin in our year.
“Henry is a good guy, the ladies consider him quite fit, and if he gets cursed then Gryffindor’s best Beater is out of commission just in time for our Quiditch match! Really, it’s a win-win.”
Looking back and forth between the two, I feel like I’m watching a tennis match from Hell. This is not what I had in mind for the morning, listening to my friends debate the best guy to use to win a silly bet one of them started. With a small smile, I shake my head. I suppose this still counts as something relatively normal compared to what I grew up with.
Without thinking, my head swivels towards a pair of deep, black eyes that are trained on me. The shock almost makes me jump, Tom Riddle hasn’t looked my way since that conversation before Potions. The other Slytherins have kept me from feeling too triumphant, but I did think I was free from his attention. Clearly, that’s over now.
Out of curiosity, I shift to my left, and Riddle’s eyes track the movement. Then, I lean to the right, and he takes on a confused expression. Shaking my head, I laugh to myself. I guess he really is done ignoring me. Too bad.
Standing, I grab my bag and tell my friends that I’m heading to class early. I don’t wait for their replies, I just race out of the Great Hall so fast that no one has time to stop me.
By now, I’ve learned my way around the castle. Being walked to each class, every single day, has been unnecessary for a while now. But, I’m not dumb enough to think that I’ll be free of them for long.
“Hope,” I hear someone call from behind.
Shock is what stops me, people in this world seem to only call me by last name. Besides my friends at least, and I’m very confident that Tom Riddle and I are not friends.
Tilting my head to the side, I ask the approaching boy, “Are we dropping the formalities, Tom?”
He doesn’t smile, just gives me a blank expression as he stops just out of arm reach of me. I’m not afraid of him, not exactly. Even when he crowded me before Potions, I could have easily over powered him if he took things too far.
I’ve been heavily trained in self defense and am stronger than the average, human male thanks to my werewolf side. That being said, it would be imprudent to completely write off a genocidal dark Lord in the making.
“Given your last request, I feel it’s only fitting,” he tells me before leaning against a wall. “Speaking of, why did you ask me for such a thing?”
This is different. Usually, Tom tries to use charm and his good looks to trip me up. Now, he’s acting like we’re discussing the weather instead of my death. But, I suppose even the most evil of people would question someone volunteering to be a murder victim.
“I’m not about to discuss the finer points in a hallway, but it’s kinda the reason why I came to this world,” I explain with a shrug.
I can’t say I expected any reaction from him, I don’t actually know Tom Riddle. But the intense rage that comes over him before he slowly stalks toward me is a surprise.
Standing my ground, I throw all my confusion into my expression as I look up at him. He only stops when I’m well within his reach, but he doesn’t touch me.
“What do you mean,” he hisses, his black eyes slowly turning red. “That you came to this world, for me to kill you?”
This is the dangerous man that I knew was hiding beneath the surface. His magic surrounds us, agitated and tasting me like a viper preparing to strike. But I roll my eyes at his dramatics, of course he would get stuck on his own ego.
Barely containing a chuckle, I tell him, “I didn’t come here for you to kill me. I came to this world to post pone my death, but regardless I have less than a year left. It doesn’t technically matter how I die, or even who kills me. But, this is one job I would like to out source, if possible.”
Tom takes a jagged step back from me, and emotions change and contort his expression too quickly for me to decode. His gaze jumps between my eyes, potentially gaging how serious I am.
Once his face is again carefully blank, he asks, “Then why ask me to be the one to it?”
“Because you wanted to know something true and were violent enough to push me into a wall before trying to break into my mind. If you don’t want to, I could probably find somebody else…” I say, trailing off to think of potentials to ask.
Tapping my chin, I stare at the ceiling. Truthfully, the only other person in this castle I would ask is Dumbledore. Telling Mary or Anthony is out of the question, they wouldn’t understand and would only try to stop me.
Perhaps Abraxas, I am a half blood so that might tempt him into helping. But, if I have to sleep with him first, I’ll have to pass on that offer.
“No!” Tom shouts, startling me. “No one…no, I will help you. However, I will require more answers before actually doing anything.”
His intense expression befuddles me, but who am I to look a gifted Tom in the mouth? Looking around the hall, I can hear other students milling about. This definitely isn’t the place, I don’t know if having Dumbledore on my side will help if another teacher hears us planning my demise. So, already knowing the answer, I ask him a question.
“Do you know somewhere we can meet to talk about this? Privately?”