"Say it."
She glowered at him, her eyes narrowed to slits. The air crackled as the both drew power, preparing for the battle they both knew was coming. He hissed at her again, his voice more insistent. "Say it."
A frown twitched at the right corner of her mouth, drawing her elegant face into a sneer. "Never."
He raised his wand menacingly, and she spat out another spiteful phrase. "Muggle-born."
The rage was raising in his scarred and twisted face, an eerie wind raging around them. "Say it!"
His voice got louder as the growing wind drew the words from his lungs. "Never! Filthy Mudblood." "Say my name!"
The spiraling current carried her mocking laughter to his ears. "Ha! You think I'll say it? That ridiculous, childish name!"
He lifted his wand closer to her. "Say it, you ungrateful wench!"
She laughed again. "Riddle!"
The single word was enough to make him lunge for her, his hands preparing to grip her throat. He couldn't seem to reach her, the wind to powerful and her laughter ringing in his ears. "Tom Marvolo Riddle! You filthy, pitiful excuse for a wizard! You'll never be anything more!"
The wind howled, and his fingers finally closed around her throat only to find empty air. The wind died down, and the mocking girl was nowhere to be found. Her coarsely accented taunts rang in his mind, repeating that awful name again and again. He clapped his palms over his ears, trying to shut out her voice, but her wicked laugh would not go away.
I.
She pulled the cloak tighter around her, attempting to keep it from falling off her shoulders altogether. It was a tattered, formerly green cloak built for someone a great deal taller, and wider than her five feet nine inches. She wandered aimlessly through the strange Muggle streets, her odd appearance going mostly unnoticed by the early morning foot traffic. You learn easily how not to be noticed when you're not wanted, she'd discovered so long ago. It didn't matter even if she was seen. It wasn't as if she had a place to be anywhere. The few moments of sleep stolen in a dry doorway had brought her only more torment as the dream had surfaced again, the cold London night air only making the all-too-familiar scene more real. Her glasses were crooked, bent but not broken and falling off her nose. A stray drop of rain landed on the inside of her right lens, obscuring a tiny portion of the cracked sidewalk beneath her feet. She clutched the threadbare cloak more tightly around her, in a futile attempt to stay marginally drier in the event that the heavens opened up again. London was awful in the spring, although she had a nagging impression that it might be just as miserable in every other season. She longed for the oppressive New England summers, humidity making it hard to breathe; making the heat real and alive as it grips you even in the coolest of nights. The others had always complained; the open windows in the house trying to catch breezes that didn't exist, and the shower water never cold enough to cool anyone for more than a few precious minutes. She felt safe then, lying wrapped in the dense air, the golden sunlight trapped in the unmoving air. Drifting off to sleep on those endless summer afternoons, she'd been free of him for so long.
Coming here had been a mistake. She never should have traveled across the ocean, to this wet and lonely island lightyears away from what was safe. She walked on, stiffly shuffled one exhausted foot in front of the other, wrestling with the events of the past few weeks and the decisions she'd made so rashly. It was a mistake.
She caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye, an out of place scene attracting her attention. Two figures in bright capes were paused on the streetcorner across from her staring intently at a piece of paper. Even as those Muggle contraptions sped by between her and the two, she could see the shapes on the paper moving. An owl was enclosed in a wicker cage by the one wizard's feet, lazily stretching its wings to rearrange tightly packed feathers. It caught her eye and squawked. She quickly moved forward, weaving deftly in between fast-paced Muggles before the owl's owners could see her. She blindly moved on, not certain of where to go but determined to keep moving. She couldn't say how long she had been walking, but the sun was high in the sky when she came upon the alley. It was the movement of the caped figures that caught her attention, and her observant eye memorized the motions which opened the way. Checking thoroughly around her, she quietly slipped into Diagon Alley.
II.
She paused in front of the bank, searching in her pockets for the reassuring bundle of money. It was Muggle, and American, but if it were exchangeable at all, it would be here. She entered, trying to remain as calm and collected as possible in the busy and bustling space. She hated loud noises, she hated crowds, and she especially hated loud, noisy, crowded places. Gringotts during peak business hours was definitely all of those things. She quickly found a sign advertising money exchange and joined a line. She sighed, suddenly realizing that her feet were every bit as exhausted as the rest of her. Tired and ready to collapse, she was finally able to reach the counter.
She held up several twenties.
"Can you please tell me if you can exchange American Muggle money for wizard currency?"
She kept her voice polite although every bone of her body was ready to nervously bolt from the scene. She wasn't much good with people, and goblins scared her half to death. She'd led a sheltered life back in Connecticut. She hadn't really been joking all those times she had referred to it as living under a rock.
"It'll take a few minutes," the clerk responded, taking her money and leaving the desk to consult with another, more authoritative goblin. She sighed. This was most definitely a long day.
A few hours later she found herself sitting in some sort of tavern establishment. It seemed pleasant enough, and not too many of the people were much different from what she was used to. She spent a few minutes resting her weary legs before attempting to get what she was really dying for. She walked up to the counter, gently brushing past a few conservatively dressed witches.
"Please tell me you have coffee."
The man behind the bar smiled, and reached for a steaming pot of the dark liquid. A voice spoke up from the corner.
"You're a long way from home, aren't you?"
The man handed her a large mug, and she passed over some coins. She nodded at the wizard: an aged man, wit a distinguished air. She was certain she was supposed to recognize this person. She strode over, sipping her coffee. Naturally, it was her favorite kind perfectly sweetened with just the right hint of fat-free milk. She vaguely recalled how hard it had been to find a decent cup, never mind a perfect cup, of coffee under Muggle disguise. The man gestured to a stool next to him and she sat down, resting her mug on the bar next to her.
"Dumbledore."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me?"
He extended a hand.
"My name. Albus works also."
He was pleasant, and she relaxed slightly. Her childhood, or what history would refer to as her childhood, had finely honed her judge of character. Her gut told her he was okay, and her gut was hardly ever wrong.
"Laura. Just Laura."
He smiled behind his woolen beard, his eyes also smiling in a genuine fashion.
"Well, Just Laura, I believe you've traveled quite a ways in a rather short fashion. I have some business to attend to, but I believe there are some things we would do well to discuss."
"That there are," she responded cryptically. She had no doubt that he knew exactly what she was referring to, and was someone who could be trusted with the information. She had a distinct feeling that nothing she told him would be new to his ears. She settled into her seat as he walked away, sipping on her coffee and feeling slightly relaxed for the first time in ages. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and the instant sense of Him snapped her back awake, her heart ready to burst out of her chest. She felt herself jump slightly before her senses could assure her that he was gone. She glanced nervously around the establishment, her eyes wide open and intensely scanning every face she could see, half expecting his leering grin to appear in front of her.
She glowered at him, her eyes narrowed to slits. The air crackled as the both drew power, preparing for the battle they both knew was coming. He hissed at her again, his voice more insistent. "Say it."
A frown twitched at the right corner of her mouth, drawing her elegant face into a sneer. "Never."
He raised his wand menacingly, and she spat out another spiteful phrase. "Muggle-born."
The rage was raising in his scarred and twisted face, an eerie wind raging around them. "Say it!"
His voice got louder as the growing wind drew the words from his lungs. "Never! Filthy Mudblood." "Say my name!"
The spiraling current carried her mocking laughter to his ears. "Ha! You think I'll say it? That ridiculous, childish name!"
He lifted his wand closer to her. "Say it, you ungrateful wench!"
She laughed again. "Riddle!"
The single word was enough to make him lunge for her, his hands preparing to grip her throat. He couldn't seem to reach her, the wind to powerful and her laughter ringing in his ears. "Tom Marvolo Riddle! You filthy, pitiful excuse for a wizard! You'll never be anything more!"
The wind howled, and his fingers finally closed around her throat only to find empty air. The wind died down, and the mocking girl was nowhere to be found. Her coarsely accented taunts rang in his mind, repeating that awful name again and again. He clapped his palms over his ears, trying to shut out her voice, but her wicked laugh would not go away.
I.
She pulled the cloak tighter around her, attempting to keep it from falling off her shoulders altogether. It was a tattered, formerly green cloak built for someone a great deal taller, and wider than her five feet nine inches. She wandered aimlessly through the strange Muggle streets, her odd appearance going mostly unnoticed by the early morning foot traffic. You learn easily how not to be noticed when you're not wanted, she'd discovered so long ago. It didn't matter even if she was seen. It wasn't as if she had a place to be anywhere. The few moments of sleep stolen in a dry doorway had brought her only more torment as the dream had surfaced again, the cold London night air only making the all-too-familiar scene more real. Her glasses were crooked, bent but not broken and falling off her nose. A stray drop of rain landed on the inside of her right lens, obscuring a tiny portion of the cracked sidewalk beneath her feet. She clutched the threadbare cloak more tightly around her, in a futile attempt to stay marginally drier in the event that the heavens opened up again. London was awful in the spring, although she had a nagging impression that it might be just as miserable in every other season. She longed for the oppressive New England summers, humidity making it hard to breathe; making the heat real and alive as it grips you even in the coolest of nights. The others had always complained; the open windows in the house trying to catch breezes that didn't exist, and the shower water never cold enough to cool anyone for more than a few precious minutes. She felt safe then, lying wrapped in the dense air, the golden sunlight trapped in the unmoving air. Drifting off to sleep on those endless summer afternoons, she'd been free of him for so long.
Coming here had been a mistake. She never should have traveled across the ocean, to this wet and lonely island lightyears away from what was safe. She walked on, stiffly shuffled one exhausted foot in front of the other, wrestling with the events of the past few weeks and the decisions she'd made so rashly. It was a mistake.
She caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye, an out of place scene attracting her attention. Two figures in bright capes were paused on the streetcorner across from her staring intently at a piece of paper. Even as those Muggle contraptions sped by between her and the two, she could see the shapes on the paper moving. An owl was enclosed in a wicker cage by the one wizard's feet, lazily stretching its wings to rearrange tightly packed feathers. It caught her eye and squawked. She quickly moved forward, weaving deftly in between fast-paced Muggles before the owl's owners could see her. She blindly moved on, not certain of where to go but determined to keep moving. She couldn't say how long she had been walking, but the sun was high in the sky when she came upon the alley. It was the movement of the caped figures that caught her attention, and her observant eye memorized the motions which opened the way. Checking thoroughly around her, she quietly slipped into Diagon Alley.
II.
She paused in front of the bank, searching in her pockets for the reassuring bundle of money. It was Muggle, and American, but if it were exchangeable at all, it would be here. She entered, trying to remain as calm and collected as possible in the busy and bustling space. She hated loud noises, she hated crowds, and she especially hated loud, noisy, crowded places. Gringotts during peak business hours was definitely all of those things. She quickly found a sign advertising money exchange and joined a line. She sighed, suddenly realizing that her feet were every bit as exhausted as the rest of her. Tired and ready to collapse, she was finally able to reach the counter.
She held up several twenties.
"Can you please tell me if you can exchange American Muggle money for wizard currency?"
She kept her voice polite although every bone of her body was ready to nervously bolt from the scene. She wasn't much good with people, and goblins scared her half to death. She'd led a sheltered life back in Connecticut. She hadn't really been joking all those times she had referred to it as living under a rock.
"It'll take a few minutes," the clerk responded, taking her money and leaving the desk to consult with another, more authoritative goblin. She sighed. This was most definitely a long day.
A few hours later she found herself sitting in some sort of tavern establishment. It seemed pleasant enough, and not too many of the people were much different from what she was used to. She spent a few minutes resting her weary legs before attempting to get what she was really dying for. She walked up to the counter, gently brushing past a few conservatively dressed witches.
"Please tell me you have coffee."
The man behind the bar smiled, and reached for a steaming pot of the dark liquid. A voice spoke up from the corner.
"You're a long way from home, aren't you?"
The man handed her a large mug, and she passed over some coins. She nodded at the wizard: an aged man, wit a distinguished air. She was certain she was supposed to recognize this person. She strode over, sipping her coffee. Naturally, it was her favorite kind perfectly sweetened with just the right hint of fat-free milk. She vaguely recalled how hard it had been to find a decent cup, never mind a perfect cup, of coffee under Muggle disguise. The man gestured to a stool next to him and she sat down, resting her mug on the bar next to her.
"Dumbledore."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me?"
He extended a hand.
"My name. Albus works also."
He was pleasant, and she relaxed slightly. Her childhood, or what history would refer to as her childhood, had finely honed her judge of character. Her gut told her he was okay, and her gut was hardly ever wrong.
"Laura. Just Laura."
He smiled behind his woolen beard, his eyes also smiling in a genuine fashion.
"Well, Just Laura, I believe you've traveled quite a ways in a rather short fashion. I have some business to attend to, but I believe there are some things we would do well to discuss."
"That there are," she responded cryptically. She had no doubt that he knew exactly what she was referring to, and was someone who could be trusted with the information. She had a distinct feeling that nothing she told him would be new to his ears. She settled into her seat as he walked away, sipping on her coffee and feeling slightly relaxed for the first time in ages. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and the instant sense of Him snapped her back awake, her heart ready to burst out of her chest. She felt herself jump slightly before her senses could assure her that he was gone. She glanced nervously around the establishment, her eyes wide open and intensely scanning every face she could see, half expecting his leering grin to appear in front of her.