Chapter 23
December 1st, 1943
Hope
“You really told our Head of House you’re staying behind?” Mary asks as our professor moves on to the next grouping, the concern evident in her voice.
“Yes, I did,” I sigh, keeping my tone light, not wanting to argue. “I just don’t want to trouble anyone, and plus I’ll have the elves here to keep me company.”
Anthony pats Mary’s hand from across the table, sending her a knowing look, “How much of a break would it really be for her with your brothers around? You know they’d tease her endlessly about going to the Malfoys.”
Grateful for the support, I give Anthony a small smile before shoveling the last of my shepherd’s pie into my mouth. Mary had offered her home for the holidays, but the thought of spending Christmas surrounded by a big, bustling family… It would only remind me of what I’ve lost.
I’d promised her I’d visit in the summer, but I couldn’t tell them the other reason for staying behind—researching how I want to spend my seventeenth birthday. A grim endeavor if there ever was one.
“I promise that I’ll come and visit both of you during summer, before the end of July. You’ll see, Mary. I’ll stay with you so long, you’re going to fondly remember your Yule free of me,” I finish with a wink and big smile.
Mary laughs, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. It’s her way of accepting my decision, and I couldn’t be more relieved. Anthony starts talking about his struggles with perfecting the Draught of Living Death, but the name alone turns my stomach.
As the conversation drifts on, my mind wanders. My eyes scan the Great Hall while my thoughts take a darker turn. Not that potion, I think firmly. There has to be a gentler option somewhere, maybe stored in my crystal. When I was growing up, I always wanted to die in a really cool way. At the Salvatore School, I hoped I’d die battling something, that way I didn’t have to make a choice.
But, here? It’s not like I can sneak onto a dragon reserve or something, and all I can think of are mundane or painful ways. When my gaze lands on Tom, I watch him talk to his housemates while I ponder. Then inspiration hits, and I physically jolt in my seat, the plates and silverware on the table clinking together.
Curious eyes turn toward me, and I catch Riddle’s surprised expression for a fleeting moment before snapping my attention back to my friends.
While standing and grabbing my bag, I blurt out, “Sorry guys, gotta run. Just thought of something and the library is calling my name!”
Neither gets out more than a confused sound before I’m dashing out of the Great Hall. A basilisk would be a cool way to die, such a freaking cool way, but I want to double check with the library.
Yes, Myrtle is in fact a ghost right now, I could technically ask her. However, she just recently died, and hasn’t quite accepted things like she had in the books. No, she’s still focusing most of her ghostly attention on tormenting her ex bully. Bothering her just doesn’t seem worth risking her wrath.
My feet pound against the cobblestone as I all but sprint to the library, taking the stairs two at a time. I’ve made sure to keep in shape while here, even if I don’t have a Dr. Saltzman as a sparring partner. But, whenever I can sneak away, I fit in work outs. When I truly get desperate, I ask the Room of Requirement for weights or a punching bag. Thanks to my stamina and speed, in no time, I’m pulling the doors open before speed walking to the correct section.
The library is as vast and quiet as always, the towering shelves and faint scent of parchment welcoming me like an old friend. It doesn’t take me long to find the section on magical creatures. I pull down book after book, searching for any mention of the mythical serpent, until my arms shake from the weight.
That’s the tricky thing about this, basilisks aren’t exactly from nature, people can only study those that have been created. It takes me two books before I even find a mention of the giant snake, but no mention of deadly eyes. Three books later, I finally find a description on how the creature can kill with merely a look:
“The basilisk, oft regarded as the “Sovereign Serpent,” stands unparalleled in its deadly prowess. Of all its formidable traits, none is so feared as its gaze, which is capable of causing death with but a single glance.
The magic woven into the creature’s eyes penetrates those of its victim, reaching beyond the physical to the very essence of the soul. Learned scholars remain divided on whether this process involves a violent drawing forth or an oppressive force, yet the outcome is tragically clear: the soul is severed from the body instantaneously.”
The words swirl in my mind. Does it hurt? I wonder. The text doesn’t say, and I can’t decide if that’s comforting or not. Until I hear a clock chiming, pulling me from my internal debate. Counting them until I reach ten, I curse under my breath. It’s officially past curfew, and I am multiple floors away from my dorm. Looking around, I figure why no one realized I’m still here.
I never bothered to turn on a light, I must be using my werewolf skills. With a few waves of my hand and a muttered word, the books in front of me all fly to their homes in record time. My things are packed and on my back in less than two minutes, before I’m running for the second time today.
As I thought, the library is magically locked up, but not with something complicated enough to keep me out. Before you can list all the ingredients for Felix Felicis, I have the door open, step out, and carefully shut it behind me. Redoing the lock is quick work, but the sound of movement behind me is not welcome.
Finishing the lock with a half a thought, I turn on my heel to find Walburga Black smiling at me evilly. Her arms are crossed in front of her, long hair braided behind her back, and a prefect badge glinting on her robes.
“My, my, what are you doing breaking into the library?” she asks, slowly walking towards me. The sheer delight in her voice is off putting, but I suppose this is likely any bully’s dream.
With a deep sigh, I try the truth, “I was researching and time got away from me. I was so engrossed in the books I didn’t hear anyone lock up to begin with.”
Walburga simply rolls her eyes, stepping closer until she’s right in front of me before responding, “Still, out past curfew and caught tampering with locks. Let’s discuss how many house points I should deduct while I escort you back to your tower, shall we?”
Just barely, I restrain the urge to roll my eyes. She only barely moves one arm, looking incredibly awkward as she makes a small space for my hand. Maybe her human hands are cold or something, but she’s looking at me with a smug glare as she lords her punishment over me. Even being odd, I can’t exactly deny that request, she’s an authority figure technically at this moment.
Clenching my teeth, I loosely put my hand in the crook of her elbow. She starts walking, her slightly longer legs hurrying us down the hall. Why this girl is rushing us along is beyond me, and I keep glancing at her in confusion.
Our steps echo through the halls, loud enough that I’m surprised no one comes to see what’s going on. Usually, Walburga is stationary when insulting me, and I’m tempted to ask where she got this speed from.
Taking the wrong turn around a corner, I halt my movements while looking behind us, “Where are yo—”
My question dies on my lips as something cold snaps around my wrist. The one in Walburga’s grip.
In the next instant, I stop breathing as I feel my magic painfully draining from me. My knees buckle, and then I’m on the floor, feeling like I just got the wind knocked out of me. Gripping my middle, I look at the bitch in utter shock while gaping for air.
“Took you long enough to make a mistake,” she gloats with twisted glee.
The maniacal smile that over takes her face is truly unsettling, and I finally manage a deep breath. Then two, and my lungs rejoice at the return of air. When oxygen returns to my brain, I slowly regain my movements.
“Wha— what are you doing?” I croak out while I try to right myself.
Shrill laughter fills the hall, and Walburga clasps her hands together while standing over me before explaining, “Oh, I’m just the opening act. That little cuff? A Black family heirloom that blocks someone from access from their magic. Designed for prisoners—or misbehaving little Halfbloods like you.”
Despite the unfortunate turn of events, I nearly find myself smiling. Ms. Black clearly has plans for me tonight. Pain and exhaustion war in my body as I move, but the more I push, the easier it becomes. The bracelet stops me from doing magic, not from kicking her teeth in. The effects of this ugly, gold cuff, however, are dissipating rapidly into the background. Rage fills my veins; how dare this entitled, little pest think that a simple magic blocker will keep me from beating her ass.
This isn’t exactly a feeling I’m unaccustomed to, I can channel my anger to chase away the residual pain and tiredness. I’m still stronger than nearly any, mortal teenager, and I doubt Pureblood training included how to protect your face in a fight. The surprise on her face as I manage to get to my feet is worth every twinge I feel in my body.
“If you think this,” I tell her, shoving my wrist towards her, “will stop me, then you must not know much about Americans.”
Her grin only widens as she steps aside, revealing Antonin Dolohov leaning against the wall behind her, his smirk promising violence.
Turning to my opponent, I relax my arms at my sides. If anything, this is better. Black may have poked the bear that is my anger issues, but she wouldn’t last ten seconds in a fight with me.
Dolohov, on the other hand? I might get a solid work out in, and I don’t even have to care if I hurt my volunteer sparring partner.
“Ms. Mikaelson,” he says, his tone almost cordial. “I believe you and I have some unfinished business.”
This time, I do roll my eyes, ensuring I sound bored when I ask, “Let me guess, you’re holding a grudge after our little impromptu dance session in Defense class?”
Messing with the cuffs of his sleeves, Dolohov chuckles like he’s a character from the Godfather. He doesn’t walk towards me directly, instead he starts to circle me while ever so slowly closing in on me. Acting like he’s a shark, when he looks like an oversized guppy.
“Well, if I remember correctly, you did encourage me to get you on your back,” he lilts, looking me up and down with a lecherous expression.
I don’t bother hiding my disgust, my lip curling as he finally stops in front of me. An arm length away and I can smell his overpowering cologne. He smells like a nervous, baby pimp who’s trying to intimidate his first unruly client.
“You’re more than welcome to try,” I sneer, keeping my limbs loose and ready.
Rolling his eyes, Dolohov glances behind him, and my curiosity has me doing the same. I suppose there was one element missing from his revenge, which seems to be arriving now.
Down the other end of the corridor, Slytherins are slowly making their way towards us. My nose right now is faulty at best, but the people walking towards us are too tall to all be women.
Turning back to the smirking oaf, I stretch my neck, listening to the satisfying cracks. Rolling my shoulders, I prepare myself for the show he’s put together. In the back of my mind, I find myself wondering if this little meeting was sanctioned by Riddle.
“You know, it really is untoward to attack a witch,” Dolohov intones with a sadistic glint in his eyes. “However, exceptions are to be made for pesky mudbloods who don’t know their place. I don’t mind dirtying my pure hands, just to teach you that lesson.”
Chuckles sound out around us, the audience of five or six boys plus Walburga creating a large circle around us that might as well be a fighting ring. I don’t bother to look around, I’m more than aware that I’m surrounded by the very boys who are fighting for a chance at my hand.
The irony isn’t lost on me, but then I knew better than to trust them. Riddle and Malfoy are going to have one tough time convincing me of anything at this point. Not with their followers foaming at the mouth at the promise of their comrade hurting me.
Rolling my eyes, I ask, “Did you scheme my magic out of the way to bore me to death, or are you actually planning on doing something?”
The cocky smile slips from his face, and irritation takes its place. What the idiot thought would happen is irrelevant. As one of his friends said, I do love to defy expectations.
Thankfully, the ego punch works, and he takes his first swing. Dodging it is only too easy, the strike would have been powerful, but sloppy. A simple step to the side and another in the direction he came from is all it takes, and I turn in time to watch Dolohov’s entire body slump into the lack of impact.
Now he’s even more irate, I can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears. I hear running from a distant hall, but the anger pounding in my veins nearly drowns it out. If this idiot wants to give his buddies a show, then I’ll be more than happy to deliver. His second punch is just as successful, and I take the opportunity to kick the side of his knee.
Dolohov stumbles, and a grunt of pain escapes him. I wait for him to regain his footing, popping my knuckles while ignoring the snickering happening all around. The murderous expression on his face is humorous, and his next punch is caught by my hand. There was some solid power behind it, but not enough to make me flinch.
I appreciate the sudden shock in his eyes for half a second, and then I turn, still holding his arm, and flip him over my back. The loud smack his body makes against the floor is satisfying, but not as much as the accompanying kick to the head. Now out cold, I turn away from my disappointing opponent to face the peanut gallery.
I recognize nearly everyone, but the winded Riddle and Malfoy currently appraising the situation is an interesting surprise. Spinning on my heel, I ignore those two for now. Walburga leans against a wall looking like a fish out of water. I’m in front of her in seconds, my hand fisting around her hair as I drag her screaming body into the center of everyone’s attention.
Throwing her towards her little partner in crime, I keep my tone low and even, “If you do not remove this magic blocker in the next ten seconds, you’re going to wish I was merciful enough to knock you unconscious.”
That lights a fire under her ass, and moments later I’m rubbing my slightly burned wrist, newly free of metal. The relief is immediate, but my magic will likely take a few minutes to right itself. The girl whimpers on the floor, but I don’t spare her a single thought of sympathy. Much like she wouldn’t have if Dolohov was actually able to pull off whatever plan they concocted together.
Now I do turn to Riddle, and fix him with a glare that could set fire to a dry field, “Call off your dogs, Riddle. Or next time, I put one down.”
My steps are sure and determined, and since no one stops me, no one looses a limb.
********************
Tom
“What the fuck did you do?”
I ask my men the moment Hope is out of ear shot. My regret at not following her after that weird epiphany she had is nearly tangible, but I let Dolohov distract me. Telling me that he found a new hiding place to keep muggles, not a terrible diversion. However, it likely took me half the time to find it than he thought it would.
By the time I made it back to the common room, Abraxas was frantic and shouting that we had to go. Imagine my surprise when I found Hope Mikaelson taking down a man twice her size. The pride in her accomplishment is soured by the identity of her attacker, seeing as he’s a follower of mine that has foregone the following portion of our agreement. The crowd he amassed hasn’t escaped my interest, either.
“My lord, this was all Dolohov and Walburga,” Cygnus Black confidently boasts with his hands behind his back. “He merely asked that we be here for a presentation, however he never gave specifics.”
Lestrange clears his throat and steps forward, “He’s right, my Lord. We had no idea what would happen, that he planned an attack on Mikaelson.”
My eyes glow a ghostly red, but I turn my ire on the unconscious body on the floor. The stupid lump on the floor is partially hidden by a crying Walburga clutching a very old, family heirloom. Standing over her, I take out my wand and point it down.
“Move,” I command, my tone clipped.
“Tom, you have to do something! That rancid little Muggle lover just—”
“Walburga, my patience are currently non-existent,” I state, allowing the rage to bleed into my voice. Her eyes somehow get even bigger, tears staining her cheeks with her eye makeup. “You will move, whether on your own or by force is entirely your decision.”
She blankly stares at me, not comprehending my reaction. Using my wand, I flick my wrist, sending Walburga flying across the hall. Her body smacks against a wall, and I finally turn my full attention on Dolohov. A murmured Renervate later, and the man is gasping in confusion on the floor.
“You blatantly disregarded my orders. Anything to say for yourself?” I ask with a sigh.
The fear that enters his eyes is delicious, but nothing can save him right now. I was close, I was so close to getting Hope to trust me. To believe that I am serious about her, and Dolohov just set all my efforts up in flames. The most powerful witch this world has ever seen, and the idiot thought that a mere magic dampener would help him.
Granted, I had no idea that she can fight as competently as she does, but you never underestimate competition. The only way to win her over is to ensure I have no preconceived notions of her abilities, I have to see her for who she truly is instead of the person she wants others to see.
“My Lord, I was merely attempting to help put that—”
He’s too busy screaming to finish that sentence. The cruciatus curse is such a testy thing, only deemed an unforgivable because there is no other purpose besides torture. Other curses can cause far more damage, can make a victim scream louder, but other people put such an importance on unforgivables.
The followers watching the punishment will be much more moved by the use of this spell compared to any more effective option. My men have to know that disobeying orders doesn’t go unpunished, and that none of their comrades are willing to save or even stick up for him.
When I release the curse, I turn to the audience, “Does anyone else believe they know better than me? Think they could lead better than me?”
Heads go downcast, and a collective ‘no, my Lord,’ sounds through the space. Dolohov is silent on the floor, and Walburga watches in rapt horror. Turning to Malfoy, I find a troubled but resolute expression. He never did have the strongest stomach, but he knows how tenuous ruling over a group of heirs is. How easily the entitled can be led to mutiny.
“Good,” I tell the group lowly, making them lean forward to hear me better. “Then I’m sure you’ll all agree that such insubordination calls for a more…detailed lesson.”
****************
December 2nd, 1943
Tom
“Hope, please stop,” I ask the witch for the hundredth time.
Her eye roll is clear even while I’m looking at the back of her head, “Maybe if you throw Walburga off the astronomy tower!”
Keeping up with Hope isn’t difficult physically, but mentally she’s a different beast. Coming from a different world, a different society, she’s the only person I know that can surprise me with conditions like that. I catch my chuckle before it can leave me, my thumb sliding against my lower lip while I watch her hurry towards Ravenclaw Tower.
“And why, if I may ask?”
For the first time since last night, Hope turns to look at me. This is new ignoring, this isn’t her sorting through her feelings or being stuck between ideals. It’s not promising for me, my plans, or my wants.
The humor in her eyes can’t mask the rage lingering there, “What? I’ve always wanted to see a bitch fly.”
This time I can’t help my laugh. Unlike her, my steps falter, and I have to jog to catch up to her again, “Come now, darling. I know you’re upset with me, but last night wasn’t what you think. If you let me explain—”
Hope suddenly stops, and I nearly collide with her. When she turns on her heel, glaring up into my face, she takes my breath away, “That’s the thing that you can’t seem to understand. You can say whatever you want to me, tell me pretty lies until you’re blue in the face. The fact of the matter is that I am not safe in your presence.
“I saw the various faces wanting to watch me bleed, how not one of my potential husbands lifted a finger in my defense. I knew better than this, can you believe that I was in the library researching a favor I was going to ask you? Well, you all showed me. And if you sick any one of them on me, try to weasel your way back into my graces, they’ll return to you in pieces. There may be a race for my hand, but your little follower just put your pack in the back of the herd.”
My mouth hangs open in shock, and when Hope turns to continue walking, I don’t follow. She’s right, I haven’t done a single thing to make her think that I’m serious about her, to make her safe in my world. Sure, I’ve walked with her to class, ensured I’m her Potions partner, and done everything the Purebloods do when they fancy a witch. But Hope isn’t any witch, and I am not the average wizard.
I’ve learned a lot about Hope Mikaelson in the time she’s attended Hogwarts. She’s tough, impeccably bright, and has been in far more trouble than any young girl deserves. Growing up the way I did, it didn’t just shape me, it ruined me. There’s black sludge where a soul used to be, all because I allowed my circumstances to change me. Hope, on the other hand, went through more, saw more, and has come out the other end being able to look in the mirror and recognize the person staring back.
She isn’t undamaged, far from it. However, even after having her life shatter before her eyes, there’s good in her. Selfishness and greed are not apart of her repertoire, and that simple fact makes me respect her more than any of my men. Hell, more than most of the professors too.
We are humans, products of every experience we’ve been through, a culmination of pain and happiness. Experiences change us, they have to or else we wouldn’t be an adaptive species. But, character, values, those things depend on our minds and our hearts. Someone who is weak will bend those things to fit their attachments, the strong understand what might make someone change the most base parts of others.
There’s beauty in her resilience, in a character that is so strong, it can withstand the loss of everything important to her. I’ve never been as attracted to someone as I have been to her. Not just because of everything she’s endured, but because of the way she kept herself through everything.