Chapter 20
Nov 20, 1943
Hope
Triple checking my pockets, I ensure that I have both headphones, and my crystal bracelet is still firmly secured to my wrist. Most of my nervousness comes from the location I’ll be spending the next hours, and I’d rather bail than enter the Slytherin common room wearing a dress.
Instead, I have on jeans and a long sleeved shirt, basically the outfit that I wore when traveling to this world. It’ll keep me warm in the dungeons, and will stop any hands from reaching or touching beneath a skirt. Just because the Ravenclaw after party was relatively tame, does not mean that the Slytherin one will be the same.
“Are you sure about this?” Anthony asks for thousandth time this week.
With a tired sigh and an eye roll, I tell him, “Yes, I promise I’ll be fine. It’s not exactly a secret, I’m pretty sure the Slytherin Quidditch team bragged to the entire school that their party will have my music.”
“Don’t remind me,” Mary grumbles, rubbing her temples with her eyes closed as she relaxes against a window. “If I have to listen to one more Gryffindor complaining about you being booked after the Gryffindor/Slytherin game, I’ll beg someone to Avada me.
“My brothers and cousins seem to think it’s my fault that they didn’t plan ahead! I get that nearly every Weasley has been sorted into Gryffindor since the beginning of time, but I couldn’t care less what happens at their after parties. Henry Wood could have asked when he took you to the Ball, but no one is giving him a hard time.”
Biting my lip, a touch of worry sprouts in my chest, “Do you think Taylor or Amanda will be upset with me?”
“No, definitely not,” Anthony firmly states from where he lounges on the floor, his head propped up on pillows. “Taylor told me that her and Amanda are prepared to shut down any slander against you.”
After a deep sigh, Mary looks at me with a tired smile, “No one will be angry with you, Hope. You may be the only person in this school that isn’t expected to act loyal to any house other than your own. The Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry has been apparent since the founders of Hogwarts split apart.
“Most Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs come to Hogwarts already knowing which side they’ll root for, but you don’t have family or childhood friends sorted into those houses. As long as you don’t screw over Ravenclaw, you’ll be fine.”
I let out a breath of relief, that really does take a weight off my shoulders. While I mostly care about Amanda or Taylor’s opinions, it would feel very weird to become enemy number one of Gryffindor. The house I would have been sorted into had I allowed the hat to choose on it’s own.
“Thank you, both. That makes me feel a lot better,” I tell them with a true smile. But then it turns into half a frown as I stand from the window seat, “Well, I better be off. Don’t want to be late.”
My friends say their goodbyes, promising violence if anyone hurts me. They were a bit weirded out by my outfit, having never seen any clothes from my world before. However, once I explained how much easier it is to defend myself, Mary was asking me for a pair of jeans of her own. Anthony had us wheezing when he asked if a pair of men’s levy’s would make his butt look good.
Exiting the common room, I stop short when I see a person patiently waiting.
“There you are!” Abraxas Malfoy boasts, still in his Quidditch gear. “Do you have everything? Are you ready?”
While planning for this after party, I was a slightly surprised to find that Malfoy is an anxious little villain. After some thought, I realized that anyone who had a meddlesome, commanding Father would likely be the same.
He’s always been perfectly lovely to me, more so after his Father’s letter, but I’m beyond hesitant to see him as anything other than a Death Eater. Even after the time we spent making the playlist for tonight.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I tell him while trying to smile. It likely comes out more like a grimace.
A light, carefree chuckle escapes him, “You have nothing to worry about, Hope. I’ve ensured my housemates know exactly what will happen if they attempt to harm you.”
I snort at that, “Thanks, but I can’t say that makes me feel all that better.”
With a simple shrug, Malfoy offers me his arm. The walk to the dungeons is quiet, but easy. For once, I’m not questioned or dodging attempted flattery, we just travel further into the cold, damp hallways leading to the dungeons in comfortable silence.
Once we descend past the Potions classrooms, I officially lose track of my barrings. There’s no reason to explore beyond that necessary point, at least in the dungeons. But Abraxas doesn’t leave my side. When he suddenly stops us in front of a nondescript wall, he rolls his shoulders back as if preparing for something.
“Briar toad,” he whispers to the stones.
Then the wall rearranges itself in a matter of seconds. A rounded door appears, painted such a dark green, it might as well be black. Malfoy opens it for me, and after a fortifying breath, I enter the Slytherin common room.
Where Ravenclaw tower has a circular room with windows looking out to the surrounding scenery, this room is more like one, long rectangle. Bookshelves line most of the walls, the room filled with new and expensive looking furniture bathed in dancing green light. Every lamp head is a shade of green, the roaring fire shifting between green and blue, and the windows cast moving light, making me think that we’re underwater.
The room is filled with students, some in casual, period appropriate clothes while others are still wearing their sweaty jerseies. The second I step into the room, every head turns to stare at me, a brief silence enveloping the space.
With a sigh, I walk to the fireplace. The dull hum of conversations starts again, and I ignore the feeling of many, many eyes watching me. A large portrait hangs over the fire, the elderly, bearded man glaring at me with more hate than I feel is necessary. I haven’t given him a reason, yet.
Once I’m in front of it, I realize that the mantel is, once again, too high. One day, I’m going to say ‘to hell with social norms,’ and wear some damn platform shoes. Being too short is really getting old, and it’s not like I can carry around a stool.
Looking behind me, I’m relieved to find Malfoy hanging close by, “Do you mind putting these on top of the mantel? Just make sure that they’re touching.”
The spark of enthusiasm he gets is unexpected, and Malfoy practically bounces to my side. Placing the headphones in his hand, I make him wait until I cast Sonorus, and then he reaches beyond my line of vision. When he gives me a nod, and I snap my fingers.
My music fills the room, startling most of the students. Malfoy finally leaves my side, going up to who I believe is his Quidditch captain. She’s taller than Abraxas, with straight, blonde hair, and delicate features that make her look sweet. I saw some of the game today, based on how aggressive she plays, I know better than to judge this book by its cover. The two begin speaking animatedly, whether about Quidditch or the music, I have no idea.
I wasn’t shocked when the white haired, aristocrat didn’t care for the songs I played for Ravenclaw’s after party, or the overwhelming volume. According to Malfoy, early 2000’s pop is the furthest thing from ‘proper.’ But, I was pleased when he gravitated towards rock music from the 70’s and 80’s. Once I got the general vibe, I added some Fall Out Boy, Panic! At the Disco, and various other similar artists. Now, the music is still loud, but you can hear people talk if needed.
“Wow, it isn’t making me bleed from my ears,” a familiar voice shouts from behind. “I suppose I owe you ten Galleons.”
When I turn, I find Walburga and a gaggle of Slytherin girls. Stuck between a cranky painting and a bitch, what a time to be me. Patty Parkinson accepts the gold from her friend, and then both witches give me mocking smiles, their groupies snickering at me.
Their unimaginative, rude comments have become a staple of Potions class. Though, the two girls wait until Riddle leaves or isn’t paying attention. But, I’ve gotten used to ignoring them, they really aren’t worth the energy that a rivalry takes.
“Feel free to enjoy yourselves, though I would prefer if you did so as far from me as possible,” I tell them with a sigh, turning to leave. My path is immediately blocked by a black haired, black souled, individual. Who happens to be aptly named.
“As if we’d listen to a Mudblood,” Walburga Black sneers, looking me up and down with enough judgment to make even the Grinch balk. “Especially one this poorly dressed. Are you trying to look like a whore? Or does it just come naturally to your kind?”
Rolling my eyes, I ask, “Was that supposed to hurt my feelings? I would expect better from someone as privileged as you. But what I really can’t figure out, is why you care so much?”
A touch of confusion joins the revulsion on her face as she stares me down, spitting, “Are you daft? I could not care less about you. You’re not even worthy of the air I breath, let alone my affections.”
“Then why do you keep seeking me out?” I sigh while crossing my arms, bored of this stupid back and forth that means nothing to me. “If I’m not worthy of any of that, then why do I take up so much of your head space? Sure, I’m in your common room, but you came up to me. I, on the other hand, have no interest in speaking to you and would be gone by now. Had you not stopped me, that is.”
She looks like she’s about to forego magic and strangle me for the shear pleasure of it, but then an arm appears around my shoulders, startling me. A loud groan sounds far too close to my ear, and I find familiar shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes when I investigate the owner.
“Leave her alone, Walburga. There are so many more pleasant conversations our guest could be apart of, why make all of us look like mannerless tossers?”
“I wasn’t speaking anything but the truth, Arnold,” she scolds Lestrange, crossing her arms defensively. Opening her mouth with the makings of a rant, her eyes lighting in rage.
Before she can continue, Lestrange physically starts walking me away from her and her friends. He’s not the tallest in the room, but he’s still got about eight or nine inches on me. While technically helping me out of a bad situation, I can’t say this is preferable.
My shoulders are tight with tension, but I’m not sure how well pushing him off me will go. Not only should I not be able to do that as far as these people know, but I might offend some of the hoity toity party guests. Former company included.
“Apologies for her,” he tells me with a disappointed shake of his head and a sad smile. “Let me give you a tour, perhaps introduce you to some of my more friendly housemates.”
My feet start to drag, indecision pulling me apart. On the surface, that sounds like a nice plan. However, I know reality will be a very different thing.
In the end, Lestrange manages to get me in front of a group of guys from either our year, or the year above. Ones I’ve already met, and who seem to have started the drinking a tad early.
“Hope, this is Cygnus Black, Dmitry Dolohov, George Goyle, and Jacob Crabbe.”
A tentative smile forms on my lips, not sure how to address them. Black, Crabbe, and Goyle all move forward with hungry smiles, looking at me like a piece of meat over their tumblers of whiskey. Dolohov, on the other hand, simply walks away with his nose in the air. As if staying in my presence will give him some horrible disease.
“Hello, Ms. Mikaelson. What a pleasure to be in your presence again,” Cygnus Black, a seventh year, tells me before gently grabbing one of my hands. “After what I heard from my housemates, I must say I’ve been anticipating tonight. You must enjoy defying expectations.”
He bends to kiss my knuckles, staring at me intently, and letting his lips linger just barely too long. If he wasn’t always burying me in compliments, I might think he’s handsome. Much like the rest of his family, he has jet black hair, and dark brown eyes.
Tonight, Cygnus isn’t perfectly groomed though, with wind swept locks and the remnants of a Quidditch uniform still on. I’m thankful he doesn’t smell overwhelmingly of sweat, but I still have to grin and bear it. Instead of letting me go like I want, Black yanks on my arm with enough force to pull me from Lestrange’s grip, and I nearly tumble into the man.
“Woah there,” he chuckles, gripping my shoulders with both hands to steady me. But then he’s linking our arms together. “I hadn’t realized you were so eager to leave Lestrange’s side.”
“Uhh, what?” I stutter, my confusion growing when Crabbe and Goyle laugh boisterously. As if this scene is the funniest thing they’ve seen in their entire lives, and not just boys being weird.
“She seemed significantly more comfortable on my arm than yours, Black,” I hear Lestrange grind out from behind me.
“I don’t know, mate,” Crabbe manages between giggles. “Maybe we should pass her around, see who she’s most comfortable with, up close and personal. I hear she can show us some entertaining dance moves.”
Goyle is completely red in his humor, trying to hold back his laughter now, “Who’s to say, although it may help if she spent some more time with us. Imagine how well we would accommodate her, if we could figure out what she likes.”
“Come, let me show you around,” Black says, completely ignoring his friends unfortunate remarks.
Mostly thanks to how shell shocked I am, Cygnus leads me away from the group with my hand resting in the crook of his elbow. I turn back to find a dangerous expression on Lestrange.
Made worse by Crabbe and Goyle poking at him, both literally and probably verbally, by the looks of it. Thankfully, the glare isn’t pointed at me, most of that ire is reserved specifically for Cygnus here. The rest at the two idiots by his side.
“You know, the Black family has been attending Hogwarts since it’s inception,” he tells me, his tone conversational. “If you search through the library, many of my ancestors have signed their names and years they attended within the covers of books they’ve provided.”
Looking around the room, I realize how silly it is to search for someone to save me. The only people in this room that would interrupt, are other Purebloods wanting to talk to me. Either that, or Tom Riddle, and I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with him yet. The aftermath of our kiss was…uncomfortable.
Well, it was for me. Reality eventually dawned on me, but it was much later that I came to terms with the events that transpired. In the moment, I was awkward and unsure, meanwhile Riddle was as happy as a turkey after the holidays. Everything inside of my head wants it to be a lapse in judgment, something that I can compare to a mole hill instead of a mountain.
But, two mistakes is becoming a pattern, and I worry about my ability to avoid him while attending the same school. I’m not even sure leaving Hogwarts would work long term, but it’s not exactly like I can ask Freya to find me another world to live in. My existence can only lead to the destruction of so many worlds, surely the prophecy the witches gave at my birth only effects the world I left. Right?
“Oh, interesting,” I hear myself respond, sounding completely uninterested.
“There are so many secrets of Hogwarts that I could share,” Cygnus continues, not noticing how much I don’t care. “Honestly, there are so many wizarding communities around the world I could show you as well. If you’ve enjoyed Diagon Alley, Paris has a community that would bring tears of joy to your gorgeous, blue eyes.”
While the trip itself sounds lovely, I don’t think I could get past the company to enjoy myself. With a sigh, I tell him, “Oh, that sounds wonderful.”
Taking me around the room, Cygnus shows me the way to the dorms, the second entrance wall to the common room, and then leads me to a slightly deserted part of the space. Everything looks fairly new, other than the portraits and books. Maybe some of the lamps are antiques, but there isn’t a speck of dust to be found.
I can’t help but compare the space to Ravenclaw tower again, where the furniture is worn and well loved, the atmosphere bright and friendly. Down here, where the obvious wealth of the room almost aligns with some aspects of the cold, dankness that can’t be separated from a dungeon. If I had to put words to the atmosphere down here, I’d have to say entitled and dreary.
“Now, I understand we did not start off on the correct foot,” Cygnus tells me, finally straying from the information dump I’ve been getting. “However, I would like for us to be friendly. You are a very impressive witch, Hope. One I would be lucky to have in my life.”
He’s not entirely wrong, Black was one of the many that first tried to weasel my secrets from me. He was about as good at that as he is at feigning this ‘innocent’ conversation. If we were anywhere else in the castle, I’d roll my eyes at him.
“Apologies, Cygnus. But, I don’t like having friends with an agenda. I still value transparency over sweet nothings,” I explain, my tone bored.
Surprise lights his expression, and then he laughs, “Of course, silly me. You are correct, Hope, I am not being transparent. If you’ll forgive the transgression, I will comply with your wishes.”
Scrunching my face and holding the bridge of my nose, I take a deep breath. I knew tonight might be painful, but I stupidly thought that it would take more time for more Purebloods to want me.
Based on the events of the night thus far, I’m no longer so sure. However, I’m already here, and he’s offering to be honest. Whether he follows through is another matter entirely.
“Sure,” I mutter. Might as well get this over with.
When I face him again, Cygnus’ smile softens as he turns to look at me head on without dropping my hand, “The truth is, Hope, that I’ve been attracted to you since your arrival. Like my housemates, my curiosity initially overshadowed those attractions, and I regrettably treated you more as an oddity than with the respect you deserve.
“If…if you can forgive my poor first impression, I would sincerely enjoy the privilege of courting you. However, I understand that going from nearly strangers to being a potential is unlikely for you, which is why I first suggested being friendly.”
That was…a surprisingly good apology. I’m not moved into liking or trusting him, but at least he put a bit of effort into it. With that in mind, I might as well be honest with him. As much as I can be, at least, without handing out too many details.
“I appreciate that,” I tell him with small smile. “While I have no issue in being friendly with you, I can’t say that I’m interested in the courting bit. I’m confident we wouldn’t make a good match.”
“I look forward to proving you wrong,” he replies with dancing eyebrows and a look in his eye that results in an uncomfortable shiver.
“Am I interrupting?” A deep voice calls out from just behind me.
“Of course not,” Cygnus all but blanches, I can’t be certain in the green light. “Please, join us, Tom.”
In a sigh of defeat, I turn to make this twosome into a triangle. Much unlike his counterpart, Riddle looks completely together. His curls are annoying well kept, his school uniform on minus his robes, and it takes all of my willpower not to look him up and down.
In my periphery while I blink, I can tell that his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his shirt is just barely untucked. Of course he somehow looks handsome even in the eerie green light, his cheekbones and jaw cutting sharp angles in shadows. His tie is a bit loose to accommodate opening the top two buttons, and I bite my lip at the hint of his chest.
Noticing where my thoughts and eyes have strayed to, this doesn’t bode well for the rest of the night. I should have put a rubber band on my wrist so I could snap it anytime I became attracted to this evil man. Train my brain into realizing I shouldn’t have these responses.
“Has anyone bothered you? Apologies, I only just returned from my patrol shift,” he asks, seeming to enjoy his perusal of my person.
“Uh, no I’m fine,” I say awkwardly, internally scolding my body for heating under his gaze. “I’m going to go dance.”
Without waiting for either to offer to join me, I dash away towards the crowd of moving students. Most people are dancing in pairs, aristocrats seem to be hesitant to do nearly anything individually. On the way there, I spot a girl I sort of recognize sitting alone while looking longingly at her housemates.
I don’t even think, just move to stand in front of the girl with a kind smile, and offer my hand. Her gray eyes spark with recognition when she sees me, but seems confused by my offer. Hesitantly, she places her hand in mine, and I pull her into the throng of students. It’s been a while, but I start leading her in a swing dance while Patrick Stump’s voice blasts through the room.
My partner’s initial confusion quickly morphs into joy, and I hear her twinkling laughter over the music. By the time the song ends, her and I are breathing heavily with matching flushes.
Pulling her blonde curls from her neck, she thanks me for the dance with a bright smile. I’m about to reply, when a huge arm appears around my waist before jerking me back into a strong body. My previous partner runs away, but not before I see the fear in her gaze.
“I heard this is your specialty,” a husky voice whispers in my ear as the next song starts up.
Shock freezes me in place, not sure what’s going on or who is holding me. Again, I’m left with the same dilemma; I can use my werewolf strength to get away, but there’s a room full of witnesses.
Being underestimated is one of the biggest advantages that I still have, no matter how obviously great I am at magic. Even if they haven’t acted against me yet, I know I have enemies. People who would love to see me leave this world just as suddenly as I entered it.
The beat picks up, and then something growing hard is rubbed against my lower back and ass. My entire body locks up, my hands clenching so tight that I feel my nails break my skin. I don’t care anymore who sees, I’ll be damned if some Slytherin thinks he can grope me like this without any repercussions.
My elbow flies backwards, aimed for the mystery man’s stomach, but I barely make an impact. The arm holding me disappears, but when I turn, I only see confused students all staring in one direction.
My feet start moving, and I’m pushing through the crowd. When I break through the packed dance floor, I find Tom Riddle glaring menacingly at the entrance to the boy’s dorms. Though, his expression flips to cheery and casual when he notices me.
“Hello, again,” he lilts, placing his hands confidently behind his back.
“Who was it?” I ask, not bothering to clarify as my arms cross in front of me. To say that I’m pissed right now would be a drastic understatement. My instincts tell me he already knows what I’m talking about, likely he’s the one to drag my offender away.
With a deep sigh and slight shake of his head, Riddle offers me his arm. Looking around the room, too many people are paying attention to me. All the boys I recognize are looking at me the way that I look at cake, and all the girls seem to be either pissed at me for some reason or judging me viciously. My previous dance partner no where to be seen.
Begrudgingly, I place my hand in the crook of his elbow, and allow him to lead me away from the other students. Walking past the dorm entrances, Tom starts leading me towards one of the exits. Is he kicking me out? Because someone else touched me? Surely, he isn’t that possessive of someone who hasn’t agreed to anything.
Only, he pauses a few yards from the correct wall. Riddle whispers a word that is drowned out by the music, and then this wall rearranges itself into an unfamiliar door. Dropping my arm, he holds the it open, waiting for me to enter.
When I do, I’m immediately suspicious. Against one wall, there’s a queen sized bed outfitted in vibrant green fabric with a dark wood night stand. A desk and matching chair are to my left, and a fairly large, silver chaise lounge nearby. There’s a second door, likely leading to a bathroom if I had to guess.
Riddle closes the door behind him, and all the sounds from the party completely disappear. Standing in the middle of the room, I cross my arms, and glare daggers at the man that brought me into a private room. One he probably shouldn’t have access to.
Rolling his eyes, he waves off my unspoken accusation, “Relax, this is an unused Head Boy or Girl room. I figured out how to get in during my fourth year, and I brought you here to answer your question.”
“Right, and you’re so trustworthy,” I say sarcastically. “Just get on with it so I can leave.”
“Well, first, you realize that would not have happened if you had been honest with me from the start,” he lightly scolds, mimicking my agitated stance and irritated expression.
That makes me scoff, “How exactly is it my fault that one of your housemates felt the need to grope me on the dance floor? Last I checked, who you lot rub your dicks on is far from my fault.”
His lips twitch slightly, but has no other reaction to my statement, “While you are technically right, I did ask if anyone had bothered you. Had you informed me about the…comments made, I would have been handling Crabbe when he made that disastrous misstep.”
Grinding my teeth together, I turn to the door, and start walking. I am Niklaus Mikaelson’s daughter, the Trybrid, and the need for revenge surges through my veins. He thought he could touch me like that?
Maybe some broken fingers will teach Crabbe some manners, I could always start breaking other parts until the lesson truly sinks in. My steps are determined, but my path becomes blocked by an annoying obstacle.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks slightly alarmed.
Giving him a look that could whither flowers, “To show Crabbe just how disastrous his mistake was.”
Heat and surprise enter his gaze, and Riddle takes a step closer into my personal space, “No matter how tempting that is, I can assure you that I have him handled quite nicely.”
“If you think that your little follower can escape retribution for touching me like that, then you’re dead wrong, Riddle,” I sneer as he looks me up and down like he’s never seen me before. Entertainment and attraction dance in his eyes, making me bear my teeth at him.
“Worry not, Hope,” he tells me, his hands coming to rest just below my shoulders. “His punishment will be slow and painful, and personally carried out by yours truly. I guarantee he will never dare to do anything of that nature again.”
Huffing out a breath, I concede that Voldemort probably will follow through on that threat. If anyone in this world can come up with a punishment I’d approve of, it’s him. Letting my anger slowly dissipate, I drop my shoulders, and allow my muscles to unclench one by one.
“There, now I have a question for you,” he continues, his gaze bouncing between my now curious eyes. “Why are you so reluctant to be mine?”
My feet attempt to flee from this line of questioning before my mind has processed the words, but Riddle moves with me. His hands never leaving my upper arms, holding me tightly, but not enough to hurt someone. Panic replaces my ire, only made worse when I inevitably hit a stone wall in my struggles. I’m not his, I’m not anyone’s. Not since…not after…
Unable to form a cohesive argument, I vigorously shake my head to deny his request. Telling him the truth, that I can’t regret my next romantic or sexual experience, might be worse than dying. He will surely use my pain against me, find someway to manipulate me based off that knowledge.
“You already are mine,” he sighs, his minty breath sweeping across my face. A hand ends up cradling my jaw, forcing me to keep eye contact. “I merely wish to know what’s holding you back.
“It isn’t the blood on my hands, if your Father was the villain you claimed him to be, then he must have killed or hurt people too. Given the violence in your eyes a moment ago, I doubt that my torturous tendencies are the reason. Did Dumbledore say something? Did someone else?”
The more I avoid the topic in my mind, the more the memories beg to be unleashed. Shaking my head some more, I manage to choke out, “No, no one told me anything. This has nothing to do with you, I simply can’t be with you, or any other Slytherin for that matter.”
“But, why? What reason could you possibly have to discount an entire house of suitors? Because that’s what every boy outside that door has officially turned into, and if you do not pick one, someone will force your hand,” I can’t tell if he’s warning, or threatening me.
“You mean you’ll force my hand, don’t you,” I accuse, the fresh anger feeling much more welcome than the overwhelming despair lurking in the recesses of my mind.
Rolling his eyes, Riddle tells me, “If my options are between allowing one of my followers to strong arm you into a soul bond or doing so myself, can you truthfully tell me that I am not the better choice?”
The urge to cry fills me, somehow I almost wish that everyone still wanted to kill me. That is much more straight forward than this Pureblood bullshit that I’ve stumbled into. Riddle is so close, his scent envelopes me, my body begging to melt into him.
But, I can’t, I have to keep a level head. It doesn’t matter that his body is only a handful of inches away from being pressed against me. It doesn’t matter that my mind starts playing our make out in the kitchen like a movie on a projector.
“I won’t enter a soul bond with anyone,” I say firmly. “I don’t even know if I can! Don’t most marriages have something about ‘to death do us part?’ If you haven’t noticed, that’s already on the agenda.”
“You’re avoiding the question. Why won’t you accept that you are mine?” his question only barely not coming out as a demand.
He’s so close, and my resolve starts to crumble. Yanking me even closer towards him, his mouth collides with mine. A surprised squeak escapes me, and then my body betrays my mind.
Seconds later, I’m kissing him back. Our mouths melding together, all logical thought abandoning ship. Then my arms end up around his neck, his hands bracketing around my waist. Just as quickly as the kiss started, Riddle pulls back from me.
“Your body has accepted the fact,” he whispers into my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. “So, what is keeping your mind from doing the same? Or, should I take a peak in here to find my answers?”
His finger brushes some hair behind my ear, trailing along my temple in the process. My Occlumancy skills might be improving, but if he really tries, he’ll break through my defenses. I felt how powerful his Legilimency skills are, I know a losing battle when I see one.
Tom might know that I have secrets, but he has no idea just how deep that well goes. I can’t risk him finding out about the book series, the first thing he’d find is Harry’s name. That would completely destroy the fate of the world, Voldemort would win. His threat plows through the last of my hesitancy, and I feel my expression crack as tears gather in my eyes.
“Because my next experience can’t be a mistake!” I shout at him.
Taken aback, Riddle momentarily leans away as his eyes are blown wide. Then he’s back to where he was, far too deep in my personal space, “What happened?”
My memories officially escape their cage, my first time taking over my sight. Briefly closing my eyes, I try to banish the images before they reach the conclusion. I’m so overwhelmed I can’t help but look into his eyes, as I all but scream, “I didn’t know! I don’t know! One minute, I was losing my virginity, and it was perfect. Landon was kind, gentle, sweet, everything I wanted.
“Then, he dissolved, melted before my eyes into a puddle of goo. And then he was gone. I…I thought I killed him, that somehow…but the next time I saw him, he wasn’t Landon. The next time I saw him, his body was taken over by his Father, Malivore. Who then tried to kill me, looking like the boy I loved, threatening everyone I care about. Two weeks later, I was sent here.”
Closing my eyes, I feel a tear escape as I choke down a sob. It hurts; the memories, the resurfacing feelings, the air going in and out of my lungs. It all hurts, and I end up slumping in Tom’s arms. Only him and the wall keep me standing, the weight of my confession weighing on me.
Freya promises that I didn’t cause Landon to…she swears it had nothing to do with me. It was likely bad timing, but that doesn’t stop the guilt from telling me the opposite. No matter if Landon is still living somewhere inside Malivore, they’ll both be dead by this time next year. And there’s not one, single damn thing I could do to save him.
I think that’s what hurts the most; that after years of sacrifice and saving the world, I couldn’t even get a happy ending as a consolation prize. I’ve lost everyone, my family, my friends, my world, and more loss will follow if I give in to Tom’s wishes. But, I’m so tired of fighting. It’s all I’ve done my entire life, and I need a fucking break.
Suddenly, his arms envelope me in a bone crushing hug, “You did nothing wrong, Hope. That won’t happen again, your place is by my side. If someone takes you from me, then I will not stop until I find you again.”
“You’re going to betray me,” I whisper into his chest. My fingers fist around his school shirt, my eyes watering again but nothing spilling over. “You’re going to get whatever it is you want from me, and then you’ll desert me. Just like everyone else.”
Even if people don’t want to leave me, they can’t seem to stop themselves. My Mother was stolen from me, right before my eyes. My Father sacrificed himself to save me, turning a weapon on himself in order to destroy an unkillable enemy lurking inside him.
Landon, Roman, both were forced by their families into impossible situations. Finally, Freya and Rebekah, sending me away because they know that they too would eventually succumb to the curse that is Hope Mikaelson. Some people just aren’t meant to be happy, to get their happy ending. I’m just one of those people.
“That won’t happen. I can’t get what I want from you, Hope, because what I want is you. Your brain, your knowledge, your rage, your laughter, your smiles, and anything and everything else you’ll allow me,” Tom declares softly but with more determination than I think I’ve ever heard from him.
His grip on me tightens ever so slightly, and his cheek ends up resting against the top of my head. “I won’t give you space anymore, I’ll prove to you that we belong on the same path. Let me prove myself to you.”
Pulling away only enough to look into his eyes, I hate that he isn’t lying. The pieces of my shattered heart call out to him, his promises too much after the vulnerability I shared. I shouldn’t trust him; Tom Riddle is evil, cruel, devious, and wants to take over the world after bathing it in blood.
But, he’s right. My morals have always been skewed, loving a Father that has killed more people, enacted more horrors than anyone else in history…it dilutes values that should be so important. If having me in his life can change Klaus Mikaelson, for the most part, then why not Tom Riddle, too?
Unfortunately, I think I’m the one to initiate this kiss. I can tell because he twitches in surprise, his hands shifting to splay against my back, nearly covering every inch. Taking the lead, Tom’s tongue traces the seam of my mouth, and I open on a moan as he devours me. He tastes like mint and dark chocolate, then something masculine but unique to just Tom.
My hands end up around his shoulders, and my feet abruptly leave the floor as he straightens to his full height. Instinct has me wrapping my legs around his waist as my back meets the cold, stone wall. His hard length presses against my core, and I feel myself clench when he groans deep and sultry around my tongue.
Leaving my mouth, he presses kisses across my jaw, down to my neck, and breathing out, “Let me show you what I can do for you.”
“I…I can’t—” I stammer out, my cheeks flushing beyond my growing arousal. Sex is not something I’m ready for tonight, let alone with him. Not when my brain is muddled and he smells so good, not when I can hear his heart hammering in his chest like he truly desires me.
“I’m not asking to take anything, tonight,” he murmurs between sliding his tongue across my pulse and below my ear. “My request is to give; nothing more, nothing less. Just say, yes.”
Pausing his glorious assault on my neck, he stares into my eyes, watching as my indecision turns to shaky, but confident resolution. There’s only one option when I see the blatant need in his gaze; like if he isn’t given this chance, his world might just crumble. His hopes and desires thrown out the window, just like that.
That’s likely me exaggerating things, but the thought still makes me shiver in anticipation. While nodding, I whisper, “Yes.”
The wall disappears from my back, his warm hands holding me where my thighs meet my rear. Three long strides later results in Tom gently laying me on the bed, genuinely impressing me with his strength. His arms don’t shake the whole way, and then his warmth covers me as he rests his elbows on either side of my head.
Tom’s mouth coaxes mine open again, our tongues continuing where they left off. Only this time, his hands wander beyond the arguably innocent. All the buttons of my shirt come undone instantly, but he takes his time undoing his own. Veins on his forearms dance as his muscles flex for my enjoyment, giving me a show as he stands over me.
Tossing his shirt aside, Tom climbs over me again, starting at my mouth. Before long, he’s nibbling along my jaw, nipping my earlobe playfully before licking away the slight pain. My bra comes loose before I realize he’s playing with it, and he frees me from both top layers.
The jeans hugging my legs soon join the rest of the clothes on the floor, leaving me only in my panties, and Tom takes almost a full minute to appreciate me laid out before him, basically naked. Hunger is written plainly on his face, fanning the flames steadily building in my core. Cold air hits my already pebbled nipples, my breasts aching for him to touch me again.
He doesn’t leave me waiting, hands kneading my flushed chest while his mouth moves to the other side of my throat. Continuing his downward trajectory, Tom pinches my nipples hard enough to elicit a gasp before his mouth wraps around one.
His fingers soothe the other for a moment as his tongue laves at my flesh. After abandoning the one, Tom sighs against my chest, “You taste just as fiery as you sounded earlier tonight. I wonder, is it due to a love of revenge, spicy food, or is it natural to you?”
That surprises a peal of laughter out of me. The lingering sadness from our earlier conversation is pushed away by memories of the House Elves loving the bread pudding I made them, each thanking me profusely while collectively begging me to teach them how to make the recipe. We haggled over my insistence to cook them more food in return as my condition, but they argued that I couldn’t do them a favor in return for doing them a favor.
Also the first time I made Dumbledore enter a spice shop with me, his couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw my basket at the counter. Wizards aren’t terrible about food, but he was singing my praises all summer long after trying my cooking. Although, when I tried to get him to attempt the hot sauce I ordered from America, I thought smoke would come out his ears, he turned so red.
Shaking off the residual giggles, I realize Tom is staring at me fondly. Amusement lights his eyes, and then his mouth covers mine again. Without breaking the kiss, he falls to one side of me, one arm supports his head while the other hand begins to trace circles against one of my knees.
I squirm at his attentions, wanting more, but enjoying his teasing all the same. Slowly, his fingers create random designs across my pebbled skin that eventually lead up, up, until hes almost touching my panties.
Pulling away a second time, eliciting an annoyed growl from me. His laughter grows more distant as he stands, grabbing my legs and yanking me to the end of the bed. Tom’s fingers hook beneath the hips of my panties, and he makes eye contact as he jerks them from my legs.
My eyes go wide, and I can’t help but tremble. My sexual experiences were few and far between, both resulting in more trauma than pleasure. The starving look in his eyes is distinctly new, and when he shoves my knees apart, I watch him lick his lips as his gaze darkens.
Sinking to his knees, Tom kisses a trail from the inside of my knee, slowly tonguing my skin as he makes his way to my dripping center. Falling back against the soft comforter, I fist the fabric as impatience makes me squirm in his grip.
His hands end up clutching my hips, holding me still while he chuckles against my skin. Abandoning his teasing, I feel his warm breath fan out against my heated flesh, making me whimper.
“Please,” I hear myself sigh, my voice shaky with need.
Then, like a man who hasn’t had a meal in a week, Tom descends on my begging cunt. His tongue exploring my swollen folds before delving inside me. When he moves up to suck my clit between his lips, a loud moan breaks free from deep in my chest. Pleasure explodes in my core, and it only takes him a few moments to find the rhythm that has my back arching off the bed.
My hands move to his hair, clutching the curls tightly to ensure he can’t stop what he’s doing. A finger spears into me, causing a decadent stretch that my fingers simply cannot pull off. He strokes my inner walls, and I feel myself clenching around him. Tom hums, the vibrations around my clit making me scream out in pleasure.
“You’re even more enchanting like this,” he murmurs against my flesh. When I lift my head to look at him, I find that he’s already watching me. A light flush decorates his cheekbones, and the light in the room reflects off his wet mouth and chin. “You, Hope Mikaelson, were made to be pleasured. I can’t tell which is more delectable, your taste or the sounds you’re making.”
Then he’s back to his mission, his mouth consuming every drop I create. I can hear the breathy, needy sounds I’m making, but can’t bring myself to be embarrassed or care. His scent mingles with my arousal, making my brain short circuit, leaving only enough room to concentrate on the sensations he elicits.
My thighs begin to shake and my breathing becomes more erratic. Clutching his hair tighter, I fight to keep my legs open for him when every instinct screams for me to clutch my thighs together. Tom adds a second finger, curling his digits to hit a spot inside that has electricity shooting across my spine. Thrashing about, I surrender to the pleasure he’s wringing from my body.
“Tom, I—I’m coming!” I shout, moans and gasps escaping me as waves of my orgasm make me quake. Fireworks explode behind my closed eyes, every nerve lighting up with something beyond satisfaction.
He doesn’t stop his ministrations, continuing to lick and suck on my flesh as more moisture leaks from my sex. I’ve never come this long before, and minutes later, when I finally float back into my body, I all but collapse against the bed.
When Tom eventually does stray from between my legs, he climbs up my spent body to kiss me again. My mouth welcomes his tongue, too exhausted to keep up fighting my attraction to him as my hands lazily explore the planes of his back.
Tom leans back, falling to one side, and pulling me until my body melds to his. Locking his gaze onto mine as his lips curve into a self-satisfied smirk, his voice comes out deep, low, and impossibly smooth when he finally speaks, each word dripping with confidence and lingering desire.
“You’re breathtaking like this, Hope,” he murmurs, his fingers lightly brushing over my flushed skin, tracing patterns along my abdomen and chest, sending residual shivers through my body. “So utterly undone, and all because of me.”
He pauses, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and residual hunger as he studies my naked body. “Do you feel it now?” he asks softly, his tone almost reverent. “What it’s like to let go completely, to trust me to take care of you? Because I meant what I said—I’ll always take care of what’s mine.”
Lowering his mouth to mine, he kisses me softly, before pulling back just enough to whisper against my lips, “And this, my darling, is only the beginning.”