Mad and Madder
Onesmartcookie78
Summary: In a series of hillarious events, teenager Anastasiya Zolnerowitch is sent spiraling back in time.
A/N: As of right now, this is a one-shot. If I get enough requests, I may make this longer.
"'But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.
'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: 'we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.'
'How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.
'You must be,' said the Cat, 'or you wouldn't have come here.'"
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Mad and Madder,
As the saying goes;
Round the bed
Painting that rose.
White to red,
It's an art;
Might as well be dead
In the Land of Hearts.
Mad and Madder,
As the saying goes;
Off with her head
For painting that rose.
- Onesmartcookie78
Walking your dog at twenty three hundred is one of the most normal things in the world. Seeing a stray dog wandering down the road isn't too uncommon either.
Me reading the Harry Potter books until six hundred isn't out of the ordinary in the slightest. Just another summer night spent doing something I loved.
If there was one thing I'd change about the Harry Potter books, it'd be Voldemort. I can't stand the character in the movies or the books.
Sure, there are those that are obsessed with him, those that think he is the best villain of all time, but c'mon, let's face it, that role belongs to Snape or Darth Vader. Take your pick, but I want an antagonist with a heart of gold.
I don't read fanfiction because I don't have a pairing that I actually like, but I do write ones in which Voldemort dies. Painfully. I especially like writing ones in which the Golden Trio goes back in time and kills him. I like things to be as accurate as possible, so I had to do loads of research first, but in the end I knew everything there was to know about Tom Riddle in his school days.
I knew almost every single spell in the books and all in all should have been prepared...
But I wasn't.
Walking the dog again. This time it's three hundred in the morning. My little German Shepherd puppy wouldn't stop barking and my parents said that since I was a sprightly teenager, I should do it.
Tossers, both of them.
But I did it anyway and lo and behold, the damn black dog has made a reappearance. I'm not superstitious in the slightest, but weren't cats supposed to be the portent of something going bad, not dogs? But in the Harry Potter books, the grimm was represented by a dog...
Ridiculous. A coincidence.
I was in my bathrobe and it was still dark and raining, the typical weather in England, when I saw the cloaked figure. He was wearing a Death Eater mask like in the movies and all I could think when he pulled back his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark, was 'There's extreme and then there's over-the-top... And right above that is you.' I mean, there are super fans, but c'mon, really?
He noticed me observing him and something akin to surprise beset his shoulders. "Oi! You! Muggle, can you see me?"
Luckily, I was fairly used to dealing with the extreme fans since I've been to Harry Potter conventions before and responded appropriately. Assess, determine, reply. "Yes, you oaf, I can see you. How many times will it take you Voldemort fans to realise that Harry will defeat Voldemort every single time because it is the written word?"
"So you know where Potter is then?" He sneered, drawing a very finely crafted stick.
"Oh, yeah, he's living at 12 Grimmauld Place! Seriously mate, everyone who's read the books knows that! Nice wand by the way, how'd you make it?" Not my greatest moment.
"Thank you for the information, muggle, and it was made by Ollivander." he twirled it in and out of his fingers like he actually was a wizard or some other such nonsense.
"Mate, get out of your delusional world and into the real one. It's 2013, gosh you'd think the craze over these books would die down!"
"2013?" He cocked his head to the side and reached under his robes, pulling out a Time-Turner, "looks like I need to go back in time because I'm meant to be in 1995." He shrugged.
"Mate, you do realize that a Time-Turner only takes you back a few hours, right?"
"Alright, muggle, what's your suggestion? And how do you know all of this anyway? You aren't a witch! Unless," his grip on that stick tightened, "you are a muggleborn?"
I snorted; if he wanted to play this game, I would play it for all it was worth, "No you dolt, I'm Snape's daughter. He's a pureblood you know." Well, half-blood, but I'm near certain he'd have told all of the Death Eaters that he was a pureblood. Voldemort didn't except half-bloods, after all. Sodding hypocrite.
"You- Snape has a daughter?" His mouth was open in and O shape under the mask, I'm sure.
"I do believe I already said that, you prat," I summoned my inner Severus, glancing at him from down my nose, my head held imperiously. Stupid, idiotic fans.
"When?" The faux Death Eater stuttered, "who?"
"You said you're from 1995? I'm seventeen. I was born in 1996. You were a year away from missing my birth. And now you'll never get to see it," I snarled for show. "Now which one are you? A Nott? An Avery?"
"Mulciber, actually," he responded dryly, "now can you take me to your father? Maybe he'll have a solution."
He was certifiable. This guy believed what I was saying. Maybe I should have driven him to the nearest mental institution... But honestly, this was way too much damn fun.
"I don't think so. Daddy said I wasn't allowed to take strangers home," playing the daddy's girl card was sure to freak him out further. I made sure to flutter my eyelashes, trying not to make it look like I was having a seizure, and put on an innocent smile.
Surely enough, he gaped like a fish: "D-Daddy? Miss, I thought we had already determined that your father knew me!"
"No. Avery and Nott were on the list. I've never met a Mulciber before. Recall that the men must be strange to me." I reached down and pet my dog, "now if you'll excuse me, daddy is expecting Rainbow and I home." Of course, my dog's name is actually Anke, but a girly name would scare this man more.
The Death Eater's wand was to my throat in a flash, "Look, I don't care whose daughter you are! I need you to take me to Severus so that I can go back to my time!"
I laughed coldly. "Mate, you realise I've been yanking your wand the whole time, right? I think you're hallucinating, because the Harry Potter series isn't factual. It's not reality. Harry Potter, the Death Eaters, Snape, old Voldie? They're not real. They're characters in a fictional piece of writing."
"You lie. Crucio!" I'm not sure how he did it, but suddenly crippling pain overcame me, forcing me to the ground. Next to me, Anke was crying softly and I felt as though someone was stabbing me everywhere at once.
My body arched off the sidewalk, twisting and contorting into unnatural positions, yet I didn't scream. I've always had a high pain threshold, but I was more than likely in shock. Magic was touching my nerves for the first time, unlocking something hidden deep within me.
I resisted, already able to see what would happen if I gave up control of my limbs.
A primal thirst to devour his magic would overcome me as I pushed myself to my feet, my body sauntering forward of its own accord for something I couldn't even begin to comprehend.
Somehow he would be on the pavement cowering in front of me and I would be laughing cruelly.
And then his wand would be in my hand and all it would take was one spell, one excruciatingly simple spell. Two words. Six syllables. A flick of the wrist, green light and he was dead.
The image vanished and I resisted that unquenchable urge. Still though, the newly discovered power streamed out of me, throwing the Death Eater thirty feet in the air before he hit a wall hard. His head cracked against it sickeningly and I watched as his skull broke like a yoke, brain and blood going everywhere.
Oh God.
Oh my fucking God! I reached into my pocket in an attempt to locate my cell phone and realised that I was, in fact, still wearing a fucking robe.
Shite, shite, shite!
What the hell! This wasn't even possible! Logically this made no sense! Did I mention that despite my quite possibly obsessive love of the Harry Potter books, science and maths are my favourite and best subjects?
I believe in fact, and this was not something that made sense.
I just killed someone. With magic. Oh, shite! I was a murder! I was going to be carted off to the loony bin because this was magic, I swear to fucking God, not me.
But apparently logic and reasoning weren't on my side right now. Nope, something far more primal and possessive had taken over: my fangirl side. Before it had been squealing in the background whilst I had a heart attack over killing a person, but now it was dominating me.
I had used magic. Fucking magic. This. Was. Bloody. Wicked.
And like any sensible fangirl, I just had to touch the wand. Unfortunately, there was no blinding flash of light and I didn't feel like I had found the missing section of my soul, but it was undeniably mine; I had won it.
I slipped the Time-Turner from around Mulciber's neck ('cause if magic is real, he more than likely wasn't lying about his identity) and wondered how the Death Eater had got in 2013 anyway. Had he simply traveled through time and Harry Potter had actually existed?
Or had he turned up from an alternate dimension?
Anke, of course, was acting more intelligent than me and was jerking the leash as though to say: "let's get the hell out of here".
But I had the stupidest idea; what if I used the Time-Turner to go back in time and prevent myself from killing Mulciber? That would make sense!
And with my fangirl side still firmly at the wheel, my logic lost again.
The moment I touched the actual hourglass device, not the chain, the portkey was activated, the sand leaking out of the device from my explosive magic.
And instead of taking me back to whichever destination it was meant to, I wound up shooting 67 years into the past.
My head hurt. Plain and simple. Well, it hurt a lot, not a little, but I would live. Probably.
My body, on the other hand, felt as though it had been run through a meat grinder a couple thousand times.
Brilliant.
Anke was of course on top of me, and God forbid she not lick my face. Is that really too much to ask for? I mean, really? Apparently so. Slowly, I sat up and pushed my dog off of me. She bounced back of course and made to attack me again, but I evaded.
Victory.
I rose unsteadily to my feet -fuck, it hurt- and peered around suspiciously.
People were staring at me in a mixture of fascination, fear and curiosity. It was flat-out you've-got-something-on-your-face staring. To be fair, I had just travelled into the past. And apparently to some strange place where people dressed like witches and wizards.
I had only meant an hour, so where was I?
Could it be-?
No, it couldn't. No fucking way.
I was, quite possibly, in Harry Potter world. This was completely ace!
Except the skirts were knee length and the colours seemed a bit washed out on their robes and ties. The teacher was marvellously attractive too.
He seemed familiar though...
Jet black hair, wavy and parted somewhere between I-give-up messy and perfect. Emerald green eyes framed with long, dark eyelashes. Immaculate robes and polished black shoes. Slender pianist's fingers with short, clean nails. High cheekbones, smooth lips. Pale skin contrasted with all of his shadowed features.
He was beautiful, but completely unattainable.
He was familiar, but his presence disconcerting.
He looked furious, but slightly amused.
"Class dismissed," he barked at his students, shattering the silence with his harsh words.
His voice was soft, a low, full baritone that brought a girl to her knees. Cultured, as though he'd been everywhere and seen everything, yet sensual. He could get anyone he wanted to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it done.
His figure exuded strength, power, masculinity- but served as a warning; appearance is how predators lure in their prey. And he was glaring at me like I was a particularly annoying piece of meat that he would -and could- rip to shreds.
I was in so much trouble. Of that, I had no doubt.
"You." He pointed an elegant finger at me, "how did you get here?" He snarled.
Assess, determine, reply.
I shrugged: "Accidentally wrecked a Time-Turner. Touched it and I guess it was a portkey, because I wasn't in Hogwarts before."
I just couldn't place his face... I had seen him somewhere before. On the telly or something. In a movie, perhaps? The words that I had described him with earlier also felt invariably similar to something I had once written...
He seemed rather irritated at my blasé remark. "Who are you?" He demanded.
I thought back to my encounter with Mulciber. Should I stick to my claim of being Snape's daughter? But I didn't know what time I had landed myself in. Snape may not have even been born yet. Or he may very well be dead already.
"Well?" He leered.
"Who are you," I countered, sidestepping the question and noticing how his eyes narrowed further.
"I am Tom Riddle, Defence Against the Dark Arts professor here. Now I'll ask you one more time, you stupid little girl. Who. Are. You."
I considered cracking a joke about how Tom Marvolo Riddle had become a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor of all things, but then it registered.
My eyes must have widened comically, because his own glinted with suppressed laughter.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
'I am Lord Voldemort.'
Bloody, fucking hell. Just my luck.
"Well, little girl?" He taunted.
Shite, he was still waiting for an answer.
Assess, determine, reply.
I took a deep breath, praying to any deity listening for Gryffindor courage.
"What year is it?" My voice was barely a whisper and Anke had started growling at -gulp- Professor Riddle. Not the level of confidence I had been looking for in my reply. Lovely. Now he was going to think that he could walk all over me.
"1946," he responded, looking for all the world smug.
Voldemort had been rejected from this position twice, the first time having been immediately after he finished school. Which should have been earlier this year.
He was only eighteen. That made something inside me leap for joy; he wasn't too old for me...
Wait! what the fuck was I thinking?! I hated Lord Voldemort! Give me Darth Vader, or even the bloody Terminator, but please, keep Voldemort. I snorted internally- he didn't feel remorse? Lies! He had committed genocide! How could he not be reeling from that? Although, I'm pretty sure he's sociopathic...
And what was with this anyway? Had I been thrown into an alternate universe or something? Conked my head on something especially hard whilst I was asleep? I had the uncanny ability to sleepwalk myself into some pretty strange things, so had I hit my cranium on a piece of furniture?
"I-I need to see professor Dumbledore, sir."
A sneer curled his angelic features into something more sinister, especially after I uttered the respectful endearment. "I will take you," relieved, I felt my shoulders drop. "After you tell me your name."
"Joanne Rowling," I lied, keeping my mind blank, lest he attempt to test out his Legilimency on me. What? It was the only name I could think of! I was Russian really, so Anastasiya Nikitichna Zolnerowich was my real name. How two Russians met, fell in love and moved to England always confused me. For the Motherland and all that.
I idly wondered where the wand I had filched off Mulciber had gone. I could end the entire nightmare right now. Or if this was reality, save Harry's parents.
It was odd, in retrospect, how closely this Tom resembled the Tom Riddle from The Chamber of Secrets, but who knew about the rest of the characters? Perhaps this Harry actually had green eyes. I suppose I was going to have to wait another thirty-three years to find out.
"Well, then. How rude. Take me to Dumbledore, please, professor. If memory serves, he'll be much more useful than Dippet.
"Don't order me around, child," the yew wand was drawn and shoved in my face threateningly. "You will find that the consequences may be- quite unpleasant." A smirk contorted his features again, making him appear more wicked.
Indignation flashed through me, blinding me momentarily. Child?! I'm seventeen! You're only a year older than me, arsehole! But I honestly didn't feel like dying, so I chose the safer path. Snorting, "Kill me and you may very well destroy the space time continuum. So please, go on then." I spread my arms out like 'shoot me' and raised an eyebrow at him. Yeah, scratch the part about not having a death wish. My smart mouth was going to get me into so much trouble with this one.
Then again, if this all really was a dream, I could do whatever I wanted with no consequences. I would have to push the boundaries later to find out what this was all about. Discover if this was a figment of my innovation, though I was fairly certain it wasn't. If I was imagining this, I would want to meet the main character. Dreaming about Riddle instead of Harry was practically blasphemy. It was like dreaming about Mass Effect but never seeing Shepard! It was like dreaming about Star Wars but never meeting Luke! It was like dreaming about Assassin's Creed but only meeting Lucy! If you're going to give me a side character, give me Shaun!
His eyes were calculating and cold as they perused me and I'm fairly certain he was considering the option.
"It's your funeral, Riddle. Or mine, rather, but since you could tear the fabric of space-time, it might be all of ours." I mused, holding out my hand to Voldemort for a handshake. "Nice knowing you. Best of British and all that."
"Don't be insolent, stupid girl," he scoffed, "I will take you to Dumbledore."
So it seemed that despite his hatred of the teacher, he knew Dippet was much more incompetent. I wanted very much to pester Riddle by asking him why he didn't call his colleague by his first name, but I didn't have a death wish. Well, as stated earlier, I probably did have a death wish. That was what all of the shameless provoking I was doing pointed to, anyway.
Voldemort gripped my arm tightly, like he could -and wanted to- break it as he strode quickly to our destination.
And I thought I was a fast walker- he was practically dragging me. "Will you slow down?!" I demanded, ripping my forearm out of his grasp and nearly dislocating my shoulder in the process.
His jaw clenched and he resumed his strides, his pace only slightly reduced.
"Arsehole," I muttered, tugging on my dog's leash.
Professor Riddle glared at me, "If you're admitted to this school I can't wait to start giving you detentions."
"You're assuming that I'm a troublemaker," I gave him a dark look, "and you know what they say about assuming."
"Two weeks as soon as you're Sorted." He snapped, "my office, twenty hundred unless I say otherwise."
"Aren't you a little young to be a teacher, Riddle?" I reached inconspicuously into my pocket and felt the missing wand. Of course the wood was splintered into two pieces, rendering it useless. "How do I know that this isn't an excuse for you to do naughty things to me?"
"You think that I would want to fuck you?" Riddle's brow lifted, his eyes firmly fixated ahead of him. His language, I'm sure, was meant to unsettle me, but had the opposite effect.
I went to public school in the twenty-first century.
"You're what, eighteen?" I choked on my laughter, "I'm sure you've had dirty thoughts about loads of your students," I emphasised the word suggestively. "Tell me, professor, do you always give the new student two weeks detention before she's even a student?"
"It isn't often that Hogwarts gets a new student. From the future, nonetheless," he supplied.
"Wow. Never would have guessed that," I noticed the subtle clench of his jaw at my sarcasm. If I had to be here, the lest I could do for the Golden Trio was piss off the junior Dark Lord. "How far is the Transfiguration room anyway?" I wondered aloud.
"Tired?" He grinned wickedly. "I, for one, have fantastic stamina."
"Was that a sexual innuendo?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. It was really hard to make me blush, especially since I'd gone to public school, but this was Lord bloody Voldemort! And he had the nerve to flirt with me?! "And I thought you didn't think naughty things about your students?" I retorted.
He smirked, "For that insinuation, another week."
"What-?" I argued immediately, but he interrupted straight away.
"Arguing with a professor," he tsked, "shame, Miss Rowling. That's another week."
White hot fury nearly blinded me and I felt my hands clench, "Sodding prat-" I began.
"Two more weeks. Keep it up and you'll only get more-"
But my temper clouded my judgement. Stupid bloody Dark Lord, giving me a sodding detention! Who did he think he was? Alternate universe be damned, I was going to-
"-Avada you and mutilate your body until your own mother can't tell who you are anymore!" I finished, realising that I had been muttering before and that my rant about killing him had been shouted.
His lip curled, "Shame that my mother is dead then." Sardonic laughter followed his statement, a rich, warm sound with an odd musicality to it.
Finally we must have reached Dumbledore's office, because he came to a stop.
"This is where I leave you. I do have another class," he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up only to fix it a second later. "And to answer your earlier question," he leaned closer to me and said in a low voice: "I am only eighteen." His lips brushed my ear, sending shivers down my spine as his warm breath coasted down my neck. "That's eight weeks total, Miss Rowling."
I screeched in annoyance as he loped languidly away, chuckling.
Dumbledore was a bit shifty here. It may have been because he was considerably younger than in the books, but his eyes didn't twinkle like they were supposed to and the smile lines weren't as pronounced as they were sure to be.
He was a stunning auburn though, his beard considerably shorter. Maybe he wasn't feeling the need to compensate for anything at this age? Half-moon spectacles were perched low on his crooked nose, magenta robes with periwinkle vertical stripes implying he was just a bit eccentric. Or gay.
The Transfiguration room looked like a near replica of his office in the movies, knickknacks situated in any free space. Notes and quills covered his desk and large bookshelves housing positively ancient tomes made up the perimeter of the classroom.
The possibly useless, probably broken silver instruments were perched atop the shelves rather precariously. Fawkes was on his perch, looking at me curiously.
Dumbledore was still benevolent though, giving me all of the books I would need to be a seventh year and offering to tutor me without many questions. I had a feeling he had used Legilimency (however subtly) on me though to find the general story out.
We worked meticulously for a few hours to find out just how much I knew from the Harry Potter series (which he found to be quite an amusing aspect as I had only explained it to be about him being the headmaster of Hogwarts since I didn't want to wreck the timeline) and what I needed to learn.
We very quickly found that I was adept in potions, considering it was practically the same thing as cooking and that I knew more spells for duelling than anything truly practical. Though I only knew the incantations not the wand movements, so it was a moot point.
Transfiguration, Charms, Astronomy and Defence Against the Dark Arts seemed to be the classes I needed the most help in. Herbology seemed to be more about memorising the appearance of each specific plant so that I could put the knowledge to practical use. Considering I had the periodic table memorised, that wouldn't be an issue. Arithmancy was all about numbers and theories which I found fascinating and -since I loved maths- understood. Ancient Runes was just intriguing. I had loved languages when I had went -it felt odd to be saying it in the past tense- to a muggle school so this subject was sure to be a blast. It was about remembering which rune stood for what word, so memorisation would come into play here as well. History of Magic was dull as all hell, especially considering Binns was still teaching the subject -alive, though- and so I opted out of that. Dumbledore had made me swear to read the history book, as it would seem strange if I didn't know the history of my people.
I had nearly snorted; I was not a witch.
Divination was a load of sodding bullshite, so I could make things up as I went along.
As for Muggle Studies... Come on, really? I was so going to pass my Nastily, Exhausting Wizarding Tests for them.
I, of course, had to pass my O.W.L.s first though.
And that was the position I found myself in later as I sat in Dippet's office, wearing a set of clean black robes that Sparkly Eyes had provided me with.
Instantly, I disliked the headmaster; he seemed like a pushover, screamed gullible, and bought the story of me being from the future too quickly. He could at least have had the grace to act surprised! Though I'm fairly certain he had fallen asleep during Dumbledore's explanation anyway. Yeah, it appeared old Sparkly Eyes had figured it out by using that freaky mind reading shit, but I digress.
Back to Dippet; It was only too easy to picture him being fooled on important matters with his mental capacity. Or lack of.
Not to mention Voldemort had tricked him into expelling Hagrid when in his fifth year, meaning he had unknowingly -and unwittingly- let Voldie get away with murder before. When he was fifteen, no less.
I began wondering how far the man's ignorance went and just how far I could push his limitations.
He was blabbering on about integrity and I'm sure it was all very important, but Professor Voldemort was here for some reason and he was simply examining me. I wasn't even sure why he was here. He had just come in wordlessly before the meeting had begun, along with three other teachers I didn't know.
"-and that is why Professors Riddle, Wilcox, Stella and Dumbledore are here, but more on that later! Let's get you Sorted and then we can figure out your tutoring schedule!" Dippet clumsily plucked the Sorting Hat off the shelf on which it had been resting, almost dropping it in the process and knocked over half the bookshelf.
He began muttering "oh, dear" and picked up everything by hand, seeming to have forgotten that he was a wizard. No one made an effort to lift a finger to help him, not even Dumbledore.
My eyes flicked to Voldemort's at the same moment his moved to mine. We shared a private smirk, and I felt horrified at how little I seemed to hate him.
Well, that wasn't exactly true. My hatred stood intact, but my feminine side was crumbling under his appearance. This was how he had gotten so many followers, I realised, the charm and confidence he exuded naturally made him a magnet for the insecure, a god for their idolatry. And we all know how much the insecure want to fit it. What if the entity in front of said person was to offer them a place in an exclusive club that he had begun for 'special' people?
No, it wasn't too difficult to deduce how he'd acquired so many Death Eaters in his group at all.
"Right. Well, there are four houses, Miss Rowling. Now um, who wants to explain them?" Dippet floundered for an excuse for someone else to talk. "Ah, yes, Tom m'boy!"
Voldemort scowled and cringed at the endearment, but quickly turned it into a modest smile. "Oh, no sir, I don't want to steal the spotlight-" he protested.
But Dippet was already looking forward to being cut out of the ordeal and pressed on. "Nonsense, Tom m'dear boy! You've read Hogwarts, a History far more recently than I!" The Headmaster sat in the leather armchair behind his desk, relief clear on his face as he passed over the responsibility.
Voldemort's expression turned annoyed. "Right then. There's Gryffindor, home of the brave and chivalrous and headed by Professor Dumbledore. Next there's Ravenclaw, which houses students with wit and intelligence. Hufflepuff is for the loyal. Slytherin," his tone became slightly impassioned, "is for the ambitious and cunning."
"While that's all very lovely, I would like to be Sorted sometime today," I joked, giving a disarming flash of my teeth to pacify the professors.
Dumbledore let out a chuckle, Wilcox's face proceeded to scrunch up in a more constipated expression than before and Stella just seemed way out there.
Voldemort didn't appear by any stretch amused as his green eyes narrowed. "Yes, Miss Rowling, I had noticed your... impatience." I bet he wanted to say something rather rude or insulting in place of that and I chuckled quietly at the thought.
Good to know I could get under the Dark Lord's skin. I would have to make a point of it from now on.
"Well?" I prompted as Riddle continued to glare and all of the other professors just stood there. "What happens next?" At least I was smart enough to pretend not to know what happened during a Sorting.
"The Hat," Voldemort stalked towards Dippet's desk and snatched the Sorting Hat from it. He settled the magical headwear on my cranium, his fingers brushing my hair in the process.
Thankfully the Sorting Hat chose that minute to begin.
"Miss Rowling- or should I say Miss Zolnerowich?" The bloody Hat roared to life.
'What?' My eyes widened, 'how did you know about that?'
"You can't keep anything from the Sorting Hat," the ratty headwear replied slyly.
"Really? Referring to yourself in the third person? Is this a 'the Sorting Hat knows all, the Sorting Hat sees all' sort of thing?" I questioned aloud. Then in my head I added, 'well, what next?'
"We Sort you."
'Am I really a witch then?'
He laughed, "You were a witch before you met that Death Eater, Miss Zolnerowich. Your family is actually descended from a long line of Russian purebloods." He informed me knowledgeably.
My mouth fell open: 'But my parents-'
"Went to Durmstrang and moved to England to keep you away from magic."
I scoffed, 'And what of Hogwarts? They would have sent me a letter.'
"You read the books, Miss Zolnerowich. What happened in 1998?"
I thought for a moment, near certain that the Hat was humming the theme from Jeopardy. How did he even know that? 'The Battle of Hogwarts,' I realised, 'the castle was destroyed. But in the Epilogue, the kids were still going to school.'
"Indeed," the Hat agreed, "but the castle was never fully repaired. The only way your parents were going to let you go was if it had been completely renovated. McGonagall tried to fix everything, but the Ministry could only spend so much time and money on the project. They gave her a deadline and she failed to meet it, so they closed Hogwarts. They reasoned that at that point, it would take less money, time, effort and public scrutiny to build a completely new school. The funding stopped and the castle was doomed to fall to ruin."
'That doesn't comply with the Epilogue at the end of The Deathly Hallows,' I argued, 'not to mention why should I even believe this is real? It's probably nothing more than a dream. I never got up to walk Anke so this is a lucid dream.'
"I assure you, Miss Zolnerowich, this is not a dream. Also, do you really think that Rowling would want to write about something as depressing as the school where she received her education falling to ruin? No, everyone wants a happy ending."
'I suppose. So because Hogwarts was not an option and I lived in England, why didn't Beauxbatons contact me?'
"The influence of the Zolnerowiches as well as that of the Romanovs is great. A sly comment off the sidelines by your mother and an entire magical community -nevermind a school- could be wiped out."
"So I never even had a chance of learning magic," I breathed aloud.
"Correct," the Hat said.
'What about accidental magic?' I thought desperately; there had to be a way to prove that my parents had never lied to me!
They couldn't have kept something that important -something I was entitled to- from me. That just didn't fit with the image I possessed of my parents.
The Hat chuckled again, "You are severely underestimating the power of your ancestors. You do not realise how far their magical capabilities stretch. Do you even know who your namesake is?" He snorted.
I remained silent for a moment, 'You mentioned the name 'Romanov' earlier,' I prompted.
"Despite popular belief, Princess Anastasia survived. She faked her death and hid the corpse, able to do so because she was a witch. Your mother was descended from the Romanovs- one of the most powerful magical ruling families in all of Russia. Your father is descended from another magical family in Russia, strong in both magic and money. In all honestly," the Hat admitted, "you would have been better off saying that you were Anastasiya Nikitichna Zolnerowich."
'Any chance I could go back on that now?' I sighed, trying to contain my annoyance.
"Perhaps. Now let's get you Sorted."
'Anything but Hufflepuff,' I begged, 'my friends would make fun of me forever if I was Sorted into Hufflepuff.'
"Whatever," did he just brush me off? "You lied, Miss Zolnerowich and only decided to go back on it when I told you all of the perks of having your parents. Very selfish. You showed Gryffindor recklessness when you picked up the Time-Turner, but you also killed a man."
'He was a Death Eater. I was doing people a favour!' I defended.
"You stole a man's wand-"
'He was dead!'
"-and thought about killing another person."
'If you know everything then you know that Voldie is evil,' I justified.
"You're intelligent, but you don't possess the intellect you would need to make it in Ravenclaw. No, your intelligence only applies to muggle things."
'At least I know how to do quadratic equations. The Arithmancy students here would die if I showed them my calc textbook.'
"That doesn't matter here."
'If you put me in Slytherin, I will burn you. Dipper's office wouldn't be that difficult to break into.'
"See, this is what makes me think you are well suited for the house of snakes."
'No. I won't let you do such a cruel thing.'
"You can't tell me what to do, child." I could feel the Hat smirking. "SLYTHERIN!" He called out.
I rolled my eyes, swearing to get back at the blasted thing, make good on my promise.
Voldemort looked incredibly bored. Sodding git. Dumbledore gave me an encouraging smile that didn't quite reach his eyes- he was disappointed.
Old Sparkly Eyes handed me Anke's leash and the German Shepard puppy growled as she passed by Dark Lord Happypants.
"What now?" I stood waiting for directions that Dippet didn't seem willing to give. In fact, his head was on his desk and droll was dripping out of his mouth, so he had fallen asleep. Again. This man was excruciatingly useless.
"I'll show you to your common room," Dumbledore offered, ready to lead me to my escape, but Voldie intervened.
"Actually, Albus," so he only referred to him as Dumbledore in private? He also seemed to be more polite when in front of the Transfiguration teacher, as though he was still trying to fool him. Didn't he know that Dumbledore already was suspicious of him, already didn't trust him? My eyes flitted to the older man to see that sparkle, so often described by J.K, always directed toward Harry. Dumbles trusted the Dark Lord in training? "Wouldn't it make more sense for me to show Miss Rowling the way? She is going to be a member of my former house."
Dumbledore nodded in agreement and pat my head like a puppy or small child. I don't think it was meant to be condescending, but it was.