we share our skies (Harry Potter OC)
When a professor from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry knocked on the door of Clarence and Jeanne Riddle's house in 1919 and explained to the couple that he was here because their daughter had manifested magical abilities and was thus eligible for enrolment at his school, they exchanged looks and asked if such schools of magic existed in France.
Dr Clarence Riddle was a Professor of History at the University of Cambridge, you see, and often attended conferences in France. It was there that he met his wife Jeanne, long before the First World War raged on and he had to serve his country, and the couple had already resolved to send their daughter to a French school, deeming the quality of their neighbouring country’s education more than adequate for Elise’s station.
Clarence was not quite as uptight as his older brother Thomas, but he did pride himself on the privilege he was born into and used to reach the position he was now in, and sought only the best for his children. He had been distinctly underwhelmed by the attitude of the teachers of his eldest son at Cambridge’s so-called best preparatory schooling and sought to do better for his youngest child. The day after, he wrote to the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, a wonderfully polite woman by the name of Capucine Bastion, who promptly sent an invitation to Elise, who was thus set for the next seven years of her life on the path of witchcraft.
As a child resigned to at best marrying a smart man of good fortune, she was delighted by the chance at independence she was given.
And thus Elise Riddle studied at the Academy of Beauxbatons, blissfully avoiding the toxic atmosphere of Hogwarts at the time, where anti-muggle sentiment was making a particularly violent resurgence due to industrialisation and the way muggle society made itself more visible to the wizarding world, who didn’t like to be reminded that they were outnumbered by who they deemed to be their lesser counterparts.
The more isolated magical community of France, who had established itself in more rural areas, was much less bothered by the shift in landscape in French cities and therefore less virulent in their hatred. Elise’s schooling wasn’t devoid of prejudice, but space was given for her to learn and grow, and the only stains to her good years were the periodic attacks the Dark Lord Grindelwald levelled at the international community as he built his army and the enrolment of her brother in the British navy.
She graduated with honours in June 1927, and had already secured an apprenticeship with Amalia Dawnshade starting September. Professor Dawnshade was a formidable inventor and potion maker with extensive knowledge of antidotes, which was the reason Elise had sought her out. She had agreed to teach her for a period of twelve years -- as was appropriate for apprenticeships – during which Elise would serve as the professor’s assistant alongside a recent Slytherin graduate named Horace Slughorn.
Elise thus had three months to enjoy time with her family before she would have to move to the school her parents had once scorned in favour of Beauxbatons. She was a little surprised when, two weeks after her arrival, her father announced that they would be moving West to meet her aunt, uncle and cousin, the latter having come back from an ill-advised elopement.
Elise had few dealings with Tom Riddle; though her first cousin was always perfectly charming to her, he much preferred the company of her older brother Etienne, who was only three years his senior and had much more in common with him. But she remembered fond afternoons spent reading together in her uncle’s library, and his having taught her how to ride a horse during idle summer days which had served her well in her Beastology class, when they had all taken turns riding the Abraxans grazing on the Academy grounds.
“I will be glad to see him,” she said as they drove up the alley of Riddle House in Little Hangleton. “We will spend a fine fortnight.”
The manor was built onto a hill, and as lovely as in her memories. Sun-warmed honeyed stone, weathered and smooth, formed the face of the manor. Creeping ivy spilled in emerald waves from turrets and window ledges, framing arched windows with their sparkling panes. A wrought-iron gate, intricately crafted with swirling leaves and climbed on by adventurous roses, stood agape, inviting them in. Above, a chimney puffed out lazy smoke greeting them languidly.
She would have preferred to apparate there, but Uncle Thomas was a veteran like her father, and the gunfire-like sound of apparition might be unpleasant to him. Besides, there would have been questions about how she got there.
“Splendid of you, my dear, to maintain such optimism. I don’t know if Tom will return the sentiment. It sounds like his ill-advised venture had quite the toll on him,” replied her mother worriedly. “Though it is charming of him to consider returning.”
“Oh mama, surely it cannot be so dire,” chirped Elise. “I know it is unlike him, Cousin Tom was always so dutiful, but surely he’s learnt his lesson by now. He has been back for almost a year.”
“If he had regained his senses, he wouldn’t have left the chit for dead in London town, darling. That was quite petty of him, considering two people are needed for an elopement,” commented Clarence Riddle.
"Perhaps,” his daughter conceded, "seeing family will put things in perspective. We'll have a spot of tea upon arriving. Aunt Mary has such a lovely collection."
With a sigh, Mrs Riddle nodded. "Indeed, my dear. Though I fear even the finest Ceylon cannot mend a broken heart, or a shattered fortune."
“And remember, child--”
“No talk of witchcraft, I know,” she sighed, stepping out of the car.
Of course, Elise broke her promise as soon as she caught sight of her cousin.
Tom Riddle was staring out of the window, his handsome face pale as death and gaunt to the point of being frightening. His hands trembled upon the armchair he had gripped, and his eyes were empty when he gazed upon them. He watched them for a bit, staying entirely silent. His mother had trailed off upon seeing him sitting in the reception room she had led them to, and now watched him worriedly.
“Do you need anything, Tommy?” Lower, she added. “He usually stays in his room.”
“No, Mother. Thank you,” he said with some effort.
Mary bit her lip and nodded. “Do tell me if anything changes. Now, would anyone care for a spot of tea?”
Without waiting for a response, she claimed she would come and get it. She left the room with hurried steps.
“Father,” whispered Elise urgently as her aunt closed the door behind her. “He... this is a result of magic, not heartbreak.”
Clarence Riddle turned to her; his brows furrowed.
“Are you sure, child?”
She nodded. “Tom is suffering from potion withdrawal. I researched it, Father, I am positive. And considering the circumstances... it must have been Amortentia, a love potion. I can help him, but we must tell.”
Her father cursed under his breath.
“Do not say anything for now,” he ordered. “I will speak to Thomas and Mary. Stay with your mother and Tom until I come back.”
Elise and Jeanne hesitantly sat on the couch positioned next to Tom’s armchair and waited for Clarence to talk to Mary after she had returned with the tea, citing “urgent matters I must discuss with you and Thomas.”
They were gone for a long time, and Elise heard enough loud noises from upstairs to suspect a heated discussion was happening there, but she was more focused on Tom, whom her mother was attempting to draw into a conversation.
“Do you know what you’ll do next, dear?” she asked.
Tom hummed despondently. Jeanne looked around anxiously, as if a a topic of conversation might just spring from behind a table or a potted plant.
“It is good to see you, cousin,” said Elise softly. “I’ll be glad to send your well wishes to Etienne, if you wish me to. He has been busy, at the Navy, and I hear he’s been courting a girl in the city. He says she’s quite charming. Our dear, strait-laced Etienne is enamoured with a singer, if you would believe it.”
She chuckled and continued, keeping up her chatter without making her cousin feel pressured to respond in any way. She told him about how her older brother was doing, and her friends at the Academy – though she said nothing about magic – and how she had gotten better at riding since she last saw him.
By the time his parents and her father came back, he was listening to her intently.
“Is what Clarence says true, Elise?” asked Mary. “You can help Tommy?”
She nodded. “I’ll need to gather some ingredients to purge him of the drug he was fed.”
“And could you take care of the girl and her family?” her uncle asked urgently.
“They’re still there?” she exclaimed, gripping her wand.
Mary nodded, her eyes glistening with tears.
“Those horrid Gaunts. Oh, I knew something was wrong with them! They keep taunting us every time we pass by, threatening to harm us if we don’t tell them where the girl’s gone. Said something about marrying her to her brother.” She shivered. “I used to love this village, but now I detest it,” she lamented.
Elise gulped.
“I can call the magical authorities if they’ve done something illegal,” she said hesitantly. “The girl who did this to him--”
“Her name was Merope.”
They all turned to her cousin, startled to hear him speak. He was trembling harder than before and looked sick to his stomach.
“You’re like her, Lizzie?” he asked, his voice breaking under the perceived betrayal.
She raised her hand to touch him but stopped when she saw him flinch away from her. Her heart broke for her cousin. She took a deep breath.
“No, I’m not. I can do what she can do, but I’d never dare. It was disgusting of her to do that to you, and if the Aurors don’t do anything, I’ll kill her for the offence. Do you understand me, Tom? I’ll kill her.”
They looked into each other’s eyes for a long time, their mothers fretting beside them. Something in Tom’s bearing seemed to loosen, and he leaned forward, taking Elise’s hand in his.
“She was pregnant,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have... I shouldn’t have left, if only for the child, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t! She... she raped me. She made me think I loved her and reshaped my mind to only think of her, bewitched me and touched me. I never wished... I cannot heal from this madness.”
“You can, and you will. I’ll heal you first, then I’ll hunt her down. We’ll take the child from her and raise it as a Riddle, a proper one. Not whatever abomination she tried to create without your consent. Okay?”
A tear rolled down his cheek.
“Okay,” he whispered.