Chapter 13
October 14th, 1943
Hope
“Are you alright? You weren’t at dinner again last night?” Mary asks on our way to Potions.
My reassuring smile comes out more like a grimace, but I suppose I’m not surprised. Sighing, I drop the mask I’m attempting to wear and let my frown out in all it’s glory. Shuffling closer to my friend, I lean on her slightly, life weighing me down.
“Yes and no,” I start, not able to look into her worried expression. “I…there are things that I want to tell you, that I wish I could explain. You’ve been kind, letting me have my secrets and not questioning when I can’t clarify.
“Last night, I was dealing with a problem from my old world, a problem that followed me here. One I can’t tell you about, and believe me, it’s not a fun secret. Someone saw, and…and I’m scared they’re going to use what they saw against me.”
Externalizing my worry does make me feel slightly better. But, with each step we take, I’m one step closer to Riddle and his reactions. The only thing getting me through this walk, is the magical headphones I have in my bag, just in case.
Soothingly rubbing my arm, “It’s okay, Hope. While I won’t pretend I’m not curious about why you came here or why you randomly become sad or distant, I know better than to push. Given how you haven’t tried to go back…I can only assume that you’re here for an important reason.
“When you’re ready to share, then you will. Until then, how bad is the thing this person saw? Who was it? If I know them, I might be able to guess what they might do. I can’t promise miracles when I’m not aware of the details, but I can certainly do my best with what you can share.”
She grips my arm so tightly, it would hurt if I was a regular mortal. But, being who I am, Mary’s strength is comforting. Having vampires as family members occasionally means very tight hugs, this almost reminds me of home.
With a sigh, I tell her, “It was Tom Riddle. What he saw, people in this world can be rather prejudiced against. But, I’m not in danger, and I’m not a danger. Really, I’m nervous he’s going to make a bigger deal out of it than it truly is. Once I turn seventeen, it won’t even be an issue anymore.”
Mary gives me a funny look, but shakes it off and turns thoughtful, “Riddle isn’t the type to shout people’s business from the Astronomy tower. The only reason I know the boy has had any trysts is because the girls brag about landing him for an evening or two.
“That being said, I believe he tells his friends almost everything. Since the end of second year, that group of Slytherin boys have been close. Even more so after the accidents last year, but they’ve never spread Riddle’s secrets around. I think you’ll be safe, but now I know why you’ve been dragging your feet to class.”
The playful push she gives makes me chuckle, and I do feel a little relieved. But that only lasts as long as it takes for me to remember that Tom Riddle’s other name is Lord Voldemort.
I’m sure that if Riddle saw me trip and flash my panties, he’d be a gentleman about it. But, I remember his face after I told him that I’m a different breed of werewolf. Something tells me that after last night, I might be stuck with Riddle for the next while. That doesn’t keep hope from taking root in my chest, he could be completely disgusted by what he witnessed and never want to be near me again.
“Good luck,” Mary whispers when we enter the room.
My feet buffer when I spot the seemingly perpetual thorn in my side. Riddle is already at our station, prepping for the lesson. When Mary walks past him to get to her station, Tom looks up and searches the room until his eyes land on me.
The tentative smile brightening his face gets me moving again. I suppose it’s better to get it over with, at least now that he’s seen me. But I can do this, I only have to talk to him about starting our Draught of Living Death brew.
“Good morning,” Riddle says once I’m in my spot.
With a tight smile, I nod at him in acknowledgment before organizing my station. Thankfully, taking a long time to get to class works in my favor as Slughorn enters the room a second later. He greets the class, goes over our instructions for the day, tells a silly story about a class from yesteryear, and then let’s us get to work.
I could feel Riddle’s eyes on me the whole time, but I can’t meet his gaze. Moving to the ingredients cabinet, I remember Dumbledore’s reaction to my first transition. Without sharing the specifics, I had told him that my transition is probably worse than the werewolves here and that I’m not contagious. With the relief that I couldn’t turn him, Dumbledore asked to witness what happens on a full moon.
He didn’t last long, his horrified expression as he all but ran into the cottage is burned in my mind. The next day, Dumbledore could barely look at me and the twinkle was decided absent from his eyes. I didn’t want anyone else to look at me like that, didn’t want anyone to see me at my weakest.
Unloading my haul on the table top, I prepare myself for the inevitable confrontation or whatever he has planned. Hopefully, he doesn’t get too mad when he realizes he can’t use me as a werewolf creation factory. Fenrir Greyback may not be a problem right now, but I remember his role within the Death Eaters.
“How are you this morning?” I hear him ask.
The lack of pity or worry is a small consolation, but I don’t look at him when I answer, “Good, and you?”
My reply is the perfunctory response you give anyone that asks how you’re doing. No one ever truly wants to know how you’re doing, it’s just some weird, social etiquette that makes me want to scoff. Just like he couldn’t care less how I’m doing, I’m not actually interested in his condition.
I hear Riddle sigh and notice his motions pause, “I’m well. Hope, last night—”
“If you are about to ask how I’m doing after spending the night in the infirmary, you have nothing to worry about. I’m here for Potions, so let’s concentrate on Potions,” I tell him with a light but firm tone.
A few minutes pass in stilted silence, but I’m perfectly content. Mary catches my eye, shooting me a curious look before her gaze bounces between my partner and I. With a simple shrug, I go back to work. If I can get through this class, then I can avoid Riddle for the rest of the day if I put in the effort.
“Hope, I understand you would rather not speak about what I saw. All I want to say is—”
Riddle’s sentence cuts off when I send a scathing glare his way. His mouth still hangs open, and, without breaking eye contact, I reach into my bag. My fingers quickly find my spelled headphones, and I put them into my ears while staring pointedly at Riddle.
He just looks confused, which is understandable. There are too many decades between him and the technology in my ears; my cordless, bluetooth, headphones magically linked to my crystal bracelet.
With a flick of my wrist, I activate the headphones, and magically set it to shuffle. ‘Sweet Dreams’ by Eurythmics starts playing, an old song that always makes me smile. Turning the volume up nearly all the way, I let the song surround me. Whether Riddle continues to try to talk to me, I have no idea. I’m too busy swaying and tapping my fingers to the beat.
I do notice other people in the class glancing at me, but try to stay focused on my work. When Mary catches my eye, I point to my ear, and she nods with understanding. She turns to tell Anthony, and I go back to focusing on this potion.
“Hey!” I shout when I can suddenly only hear half of what I’m meant to.
Turning to Riddle, I prepare to curse him within an inch of his life. My magic coils around me, making the lights in the room flicker slightly. My rage at having a headphone stolen from an ear making me shake, he just broke the one and only rule of etiquette. With the full moon just having happened last night, the snarl that escapes me is deep and threatening.
But then I notice his face. Tom Riddle is looking at the little piece with equal parts confusion and curiosity. His eyes study my murderous expression, and he just seems perplexed by my reaction. Lifting the thing to his ear, he quickly snatches it away once he hears the music still playing.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that he has probably never seen headphones before. I’m sure they were invented before where I am in time, but that doesn’t mean that an orphan who ends up at a wizarding school will know about this very muggle invention. Let alone have had access to it.
Tentatively, I watch him insert the plug into his ear. By now, I’ve slightly forgiven his transgression and am mostly curious what his reaction will be. Watching his face, I note the lyrics as they play.
Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to be used by you
Some of them want to abuse you
Some of them want to be abused
Then the chorus starts, and Riddle’s flabbergasted expression makes me die with laughter. Having only heard music from his time period, he’s completely unprepared for the 1980’s. At least he isn’t acting like Dr. Saltzman when he would hear modern music, but maybe being a teenager is helping him keep any disgust from his expression.
“Is…is this music?” he asks with the funniest look on his face.
“Yes, of course it’s music!” I wheeze between laughs, holding out my hand when the song ends. “But alright, give it back.”
“No.”
My eyes go wide and I mentally pause the music before another song can play, “No? What do you mean? Give me my headphone back.”
I clasp and unclasp my fingers in impatience, my earlier forgiveness souring. Riddle has no right taking my property, no matter how interesting he finds the object. Listening to music from my world, from my time, isn’t dangerous or something I’m worried about. But, I didn’t choose to share this with him. Which, seems to be happening more and more lately.
“I mean, no,” he tells me with a shrug. “You won’t talk to me, so I might as well enjoy your strange music.”
For a few more seconds, I frown at the man. How can someone be so incredibly irritating? Why do I have to talk to him? He wants secrets, and he got a big one last night. Riddle should be satisfied, at least for a while. The last time he learned a secret, I got a small reprieve from him.
But, then I get an idea. An evil smile spreads across my face, and I search the room, finding Mary already looking at me. Her confusion quickly disappears and is replaced with laughter. Anthony, her lab partner, seems beyond exasperated. Despite being incredibly intelligent, he can’t seem to get a hang on silent-girl-talk. Thankfully, Mary starts translating when I turn back to Riddle.
“Fine. If you won’t give it back, then I look forward to making you regret that decision,” I threaten, my voice sounding sugar sweet.
Rolling his eyes, Riddle goes back to work, “Good luck with that.”
He has no idea. In my world, I managed to live through the electronic golden age which just so happened to include a lot of female empowerment. Granted, I haven’t had the opportunity to listen to a lot of music from this world, but Mary explained that the wizarding world mainly enjoys more…subdued performances compared to what I’ve shown her.
Without bothering to ease Riddle into this new experience, I go for the jugular. With a little magic to play the next song, I make sure the song ‘Blah Blah Blah’ by Kesha and 3OH!3 starts playing.
Half my attention goes to working while keeping a straight face, the other half goes to watching Riddle’s reactions. The melody makes him sit straighter, his face twisting in confusion, looking like he just bit into a lemon when he was told he was holding a cupcake.
When Kesha sings her intro, Riddle’s jaw drops. As the song continues, I manage to act completely unaffected while he runs through emotions so quickly, he might have an aneurysm. Strangled and choked noises escape him, Riddle’s eyes are blown wide, and his mouth rotates between hanging open in shock and opening and closing like he’s attempting to speak.
“What ever is the problem, Tom?” Slughorn asks.
I didn’t realize he was so close to our table, and I throw on an innocent smile. Walking around the classroom and checking on students is one of his favorite activities, if I had to guess. Slughorn just likes chatting, and when is a better time than when you are checking your student’s progress.
“Nothing, Sir,” Riddle says after clearing his throat. “Ms. Mikaelson has been kind enough to show me some music from her world. It is very…different than anything I’ve heard here.”
My mouth twitches with the need to frown, but I keep up my innocent expression. Despite his casual tone, I can’t believe Riddle actually told him the truth. Even without ratting me out for showing him what I can only imagine as a wildly inappropiate song for this society, I can’t imagine that intro will end well for me.
Slughorn, unfortunately, lights up after hearing this. His eyes search Tom until the latter points to his ear. Taking out the ear bud, I make sure the music pauses before Riddle can hand the thing over.
“How enchanting, from Ms. Mikaelson’s world you say” Slughorn breathes, full of awe. “This little piece can play music? I wonder how it works…Ms. Mikaelson, would you be open to allowing me to listen to a song? I must admit, the premise of experiencing something from your world is very appealing.”
With a tight smile, I nod and hold my hand out for the headphone, “Of course, sir. When I let the pieces touch they will play music loudly. If you hand it to me, I can show you a song my Father enjoyed.”
Riddle practically snaps his neck turning to look at me so quickly. Ignoring him and his curiosity about my family, I focus on Slughorn’s eager expression. He claps his hands, cheeks gaining some rosey color, and I swear he slightly bounces on his heels.
“How lovely! Have you had the opportunity to experience any of our music? Is this going to be much different?” Slughorn implores with ample enthusiasm.
Endeared by his childlike thirst for the new, I respond while chuckling, “I haven’t, but I’ve been told that my world has more feeling in it. You’ll see what I mean, here I’ll start it.”
With both ear pieces in hand, I criss-cross them on the table top and magically dictate the song. I’m not about to introduce a man likely born in the 1800’s something from when I was growing up. My Father had an affinity for the Beatles and similar styles, and maybe playing something British from my world will keep him happy.
Loud enough for the entire room to hear, Nights in White Satin by Moody Blues sounds through the ear pieces. Being in the dungeons, the acoustics are amazing, and the melody takes on a magical quality. Once the lyrics start, I notice every other table halt their work in favor of listening to the song.
It’s a truly beautiful song, one my Father used to teach me to dance. It brings back memories, his smile, his strong arms holding me as I balanced on his feet, and the smell of drying paint that was ever present in the New Orleans compound.
But my reminiscing is interrupted when I notice the class’ reaction. Slughorn is completely transfixed, the wonder and awe on his face making him seem almost hypnotized. Most of the Ravenclaws in the room have heard my music before, but even they look affected. My classmates have all drifted toward to my station, almost forming a circle as they unconsciously are drawn closer.
When the song ends, I pause the music, and silence envelopes the space. Turning to Riddle, I’m surprised to find him marveling at my headphones. I would have assumed in a room full of reactions, he’d be the one stoic and unfazed. Even the occasionally rude Slytherin girls behind me are gobsmacked.
“Hope, that was…” Slughorn starts, his voice breathy. “Brilliant.”
*************
“Why’d you do it?” A shrill voice calls out.
Standing with Anthony and Mary, I turn towards the voice while still chuckling at Anthony’s last joke. Defense class hasn’t started yet, and the professor never arrives until the exact time.
The voice belongs to Walburga Black, who unfortunately sits behind me in Potions. She’s beautiful, looking a little too much like Dark Josie for my own comfort. Straight, black hair, full lips, a quaint nose, but Walburga’s wickedness lingers in every feature. Calling her a bully would be giving her far too much credit, but she does try to put me down on occasion.
“Do what?” I ask, aware that I’m being obtuse.
Scoffing, Ms. Black swishes her hips until she’s in the middle of the room, “In Potions, are you daft? Why show off some fancy artifact from your world? Are you trying to out do us to Slytherin’s head of house?”
Her ire is apparent in her crossed arms, pinched expression, and cocked hip. This is the most direct she’s been with me, and to say I’m surprised is an under statement. But, I suppose if anyone is going to assume that I have an ulterior motive, it would be a jealous Slytherin.
“Slughorn asked me show him,” I tell her with an eye roll, walking to meet her in the middle. “And it’s not an artifact or particularly fancy, I just took a muggle device and added some magic. I’m sure any of you could do the same, assuming you aren’t as ignorant as you come off.”
My friends snicker, and I smile kindly at the open mouthed volcano masquerading as a spoiled, teenage girl. I have no interest in starting a fight, mainly I ignore the few students who still try to put me down. With the majority of the castle respecting the crap out of me, I couldn’t care less about the few who don’t. But, if someone brings the fight to me, it’s only polite to end it.
“I’m the furthest thing from ignorant, you idiot. I’m the eldest daughter of the Black family, not that I expect you to know what that means. Our library has been acquired over generations, our name is synonymous with educated and powerful. You are no one here, from a place no one has heard of, let alone care about. I would suggest you learn some respect,” she lilts, looking particularly pleased with herself.
All I can do is laugh. No matter how long I’m in this world, I still cannot get over the ridiculous separation between the wizarding world and the muggle one. The statute of secrecy and all that, I understand; humans knowing about everything that goes bump in the night historically does not end well. Whether mine or this one, humans prefer to be at the top of the food chain in their world.
But, no matter how old the vampire, how dedicated the witch, or how volatile the werewolf, we all make a point to understand the human world. Being rather inventive, humans have created plenty of useful things that only make life better, easier. Completely foregoing those things, simply because they were invented without magic, is comical to me.
“I’m not talking about magic,” I say, once I catch my breath. “I’m perfectly aware that you should be a magical genius with all the resources you’ve been handed. Being ignorant on the muggle world, however, can only lead to you being left behind.
“Without magic, regular mortals have created various devices to make their lives easier. Taking those and adding charms or spell work is how we progress in my world.”
Walburga turns red, and honestly looks like she might pop. But, the many dubious and judgmental looks I get from the other Slytherins is what makes me chuckle some more. Only the elite could barriacde themselves into a corner and call themselves free.
“I would never deal with disgusting, muggle rubbish! How dare you, muggles are dirty, stupid, insipid creatures and someone born as highly as me knows better. Although, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by your opinions. You are significantly more similar to house elves than any self respecting witch I’ve ever met,” she tells me with a superior air.
Mary steps forward, probably planning on scolding her into next week. Placing a hand on her arm, I quiet her response. Having read the books, I know a thing or two about Walburga’s housemates. Whether they’ve already taken up the mantra, I couldn’t care less. But, I know that it will be a blow Ms. Black never saw coming.
With a casual shrug, “If that’s how you feel, then sure, call me a house elf. I guess this world really is different from mine. Here, I guess it only matters what family you’ve been born into.
“In my world, the phrase that encapsulates our opinions on this matter reads, ‘Magic is Might.’ But, I suppose people who enslave superior races don’t care much about true power, just appearances.”
Walburga’s mouth hangs open, but before she can respond, our Professor enters the room. With a flourish of his robe, Professor Merrythought calls the class to attention, effectively ending our argument. I give Walburga a sweet smile before focusing on class.