18th August, 1942
I went to university to be a teacher. My mum had encouraged me to choose a subject to do my degree in that would benefit me the wider world, a subject that showed I had a good rounding of knowledge and abilities. After much arguing with her, I finally decided not to do a degree in Education, where the only possible career at the end was teaching. I finally chose to do History instead, my best subject all the way through school and college. It was a good thing I did, too, because six weeks into my first semester at university I decided, for the first time in fifteen years, that I absolutely did not want to be a teacher. My trip to 1942 and Harry Potter land showed me that I had definitely, one hundred percent, made the right decision.
"So, the first group to match the word cards to the picture cards gets – can you listen please? Be quiet! Come on now, let's all look at the cards. Kids! Be - Will you all just SHUT UP!" I'd finally had enough. I slammed a book down on the table so loudly the whole room vibrated. The snot-nosed children suddenly ceased their incessant chatter and giggling and stared straight at me. I sighed in relief. Finally.
"Right, if you could all listen to me we're going to - Timothy Dobbinsif you so much as think about throwing that paper aeroplane I will throw you!"
I heard the door to the teaching room creak, and looked past the desks to the back of the room. Tom Riddle was stood, arms crossed, leaning gracefully against the back wall, a smirk plastered on his face.
"What do you want?" I snapped, exasperated. "If you want to take a few of these little buggers then be my guest." But he didn't need to take them, because as soon as they had become aware that he was in the room, the ten children I had been attempting to teach suddenly scuttled back to their designated desks and sat, backs straight, facing the blackboard (yes, blackboard, not white board or interactive board). They had all suddenly gone pale and their eyes were glued to the instructions I had written on the board. They really were scared of him, then.
Since my arrival at the orphanage a week ago, I had heard rumours about the infamous Tom Riddle, who patrolled the corridors at night and hung rabbits from rafters (Billy Stubbs was still very upset about that, so he told me). I had yet to have much interaction with him, though, as he kept to himself. One girl, Amy Benson, had kind of latched herself onto me. She had told me that no one went near Tom Riddle, that he was a nasty freak who was dangerous and belonged in an asylum – which is where he was rumoured to spend the school year. There were no other girls in the orphanage Amy's age, well, I guess my age too, since I was suddenly inexplicably 15 again. I couldn't stand Amy's incessant giggly and immature jokes, and after that first conversation with her, when I was informed all about Tom Riddle and subjected to some awful gossip, I had been avoiding her like the plague. I guess if I was mentally 15 then it wouldn't have bothered me that much, but despite looking like a schoolgirl, I still had the mind of a 19 year old university student, one who had already been through the silly teenage stage and who had a heedful of knowledge and maturity to match. That was why I had volunteered to look after the younger children in the teaching room.
During the day, the children over ten had chores to do all day, and were given a list to do each morning. This didn't bother me as much as Mrs Cole had hoped it would. She was doing her damndest to make my life hell. My list consisted of non-stop work, including things for the neighbours down the street. I wasn't finishing until seven at night, when everyone else finished at five, and I was starting at seven in the morning, an hour earlier than everyone else. I had juggled three jobs the summer before I started university to save money, and once at university I had two jobs that mostly consisted of evening work in a bar, as well as lectures and assignments. At 19, I was no stranger to long working hours and little sleep, yet a normal 15 year old girl would have suffered under the workload I had been assigned. It was my mentality which kept me going, and it was dealing with a boss from hell in one of my jobs at university that helped me bite my tongue when Mrs Cole was on one of her rampages. When I hadn't appeared at all affected by her chores and lists, Mrs Cole had put me in the teaching room, where the children under ten spent their day doing schoolwork. Some of it consisted of homework their school had assigned, and the rest was made up by Mrs Cole. Poor kids, being made do schoolwork during their school holidays. Usually, Mrs Cole's assistant, Jenny, led the class. She to help Mrs Cole interview for new employees, and wanting me to face a new challenge, I had been placed in charge of the teaching room. I think Mrs Cole thought that putting a 15 year old in charge of teaching ten kids would send me running for the hills, but like I said before, I only looked 15. I had the mentality of a 19 year old. Yet, the little brats were still running me ragged. And now Tom bloody Riddle was smirking at me, amused.
"Thank you for quietening the class, Tom," I said through gritted teeth. It felt strange to say his name; to be talking to someone I previously thought was fiction.
"It was my pleasure, Miss Harrows," his voice was mocking. He pushed himself off the wall and sauntered up to the front of the room.
"I am to take over here," he told me, thoroughly enjoying telling me this. "You could hear the racket from the third floor. Mrs Cole would like to see you."
The children suddenly erupted in cries of protest, promising to be good if I didn't leave them with Riddle.
"If you'd all been good and done as I said to begin with, I wouldn't be leaving!" I said sharply to them, and shut the door loudly on my way out, silently fuming.
I slammed the door to my tiny room, throwing myself ungracefully onto the bed. Mrs Cole had informed me that, come tomorrow, I was being sent to someone called Mr Hillsbury out in the countryside every morning. His wife had died a few years back, and the modest country house had descended into disarray. He needed a cleaner, someone to cook his meals and look after the house. Mrs Cole had volunteered me. It meant I had to leave the orphanage at 5am everyday to get the bus out of London, so that I could arrive at his house for 7:30am to begin his breakfast and my daily chores. I would not be arriving back on an evening until 8. Anyone would think Mrs Cole didn't want me around.
I stood up and walked over to the mirror. My head wound was healing nicely, and the grazes on my knees had virtually gone. I was still getting used to my long hair, but had taken to keeping it in a messy bun, piled on top of my head. The drab, grey dress of the orphanage made me look pale and washed out. On my first day at the orphanage I had been sent into London with the money Mrs Cole had allocated me. I had purchased four dresses (not that I had worn them yet as everyone had to wear their grey uniforms in the orphanage) with stockings, underclothes and shoes, as was on the list she had given me. I had bought a bar of soap and some hair ribbons; although I preferred to use the hair bobble I had brought with me in my purse from 2013. The money Dumbledore had given me would have covered some make-up, and I was pleased to find that 1942 had the make-up I was used to. Lipstick, face powder, rouge, and mascara filled the shelves. However, Mrs Cole had told me she would inspect my bags when I returned, and I knew she would want to know where I had got the money to purchase the make-up from. Therefore, my pale skin remained make-up free for the first time in five years.
A knock on my door startled me, because everyone was meant to be doing chores. I hoped it wasn't Amy Benson, she barely stopped to take breath when she talked. Opening it, my eyes widened at the sight of Tom Riddle stood there, arrogantly.
"Can I help you?"
"I just though you may want to thank me," he said, his voice smooth.
"For what?" I asked incredulously.
"For amending your abysmal lesson downstairs, of course. What has the wonderful Mrs Cole got you doing now?" his face was calm and composed, but his cool eyes danced with mirth. Stepping back from the door to open it wider, he took it upon himself to walk right by me and scrutinize my room. It was bare, and not much to look at.
"I have to travel to the countryside everyday to be some old man's housekeeper," I told him reluctantly. To my surprise, he snickered. I raised my eyebrows at him questioningly.
"It is no secret that Mrs Cole does not want you here, your sort are never welcome. If you have to stay here, the least she can do is get you out of the house as often as possible, this was obviously her solution," he told me airily, eyes still appraising my room.
"What do you mean, my sort?" I asked, affronted. I still had one hand on the door, hoping he would take it as an invitation to leave. From what I knew from reading the Harry Potter books, Tom Riddle was not sociable in the orphanage, did not have any friends, and certainly did not go inviting himself into muggle girls' rooms. So what was he playing at?
"You know what I mean. Mrs Cole believes you to be a lady of the night," he said it so matter-of-factly, and without looking at me, that it took me a minute to realise what he had said.
"Excuse me? She thinks I'm a, a... a prostitute?!" I stammered out. "Why on earth does she think that?" I gasped. He just raised his eyebrows at me, and smirked that God awful smirk of his. Of course, the clothes I had arrived in battered and bruised, escorted by a police officer. It certainly explained a lot of her actions towards me, but seriously – I'm meant to be 15!
"I take it she is incorrect, then?" I just gaped at him. Then I became angry, how dare he? How dare he judge me when he was going to go on to commit crime and murder?
"Just get out, Riddle! Get out now! Don't think I've not seen you, watching me from your stupid little corner in the rec room, you pervert. Is that why you came here, knocking on my door, hoping for a quick shag? Well piss off, you hear me? Get the bloody hell out of my room and stay away from me!" He actually looked startled for a second. Then his composed mask was back in place. Flipping his hair off his forehead, he looked at me, eyes narrowing. In that second I could see the face of the future Lord Voldemort, the face that every wizard and witch would come to fear. The anger practically radiated off him and his eyes flashed, his jaw set.
"My, my, my, such language for a young lady. I see Mrs Cole may have a point after all. I actually came here to tell you that you are to go to town with Jenny as she is done with the interviews now, not for a 'quick shag', as you put it. Such foul language, Miss Harrows," he was circling me now; I could feel his breath on my neck. I refused to be intimidated by this boy!
"Why didn't you tell me Jenny wanted me as soon as you saw me, then? I'll be keeping her waiting" I rounded on him, eyes blazing with anger. He was such a bloody prat! I was not going to back down to him like he wanted.
"Because I am curious about you, Miss Harrows. You have caught my attention. I think you are very interesting indeed, and I want to learn more about you." With that, he stalked from my room, leaving my head spinning.
How had I made him curious, I had only seen him twice in the week I'd been at the orphanage? Had he been watching me in secret? Why was he curious about me, what had I done to get his attention? Well, I assumed I would find out soon enough. After receiving the mysterious note from Dumbledore, I had re-read it every night before bed, and I now thought I knew what I had to do. If the prologue never happened, then that meant that harry never got his happy ending? Voldemort was defeated before the prologue, so does that mean he came back? That the wizarding world was once again plunged into disarray? If so, why wasn't Harry fighting to defeat him again? Or had he tried and failed?
Either way, there was only one thing I was certain of, and that was what I was meant to do in 1942. I was meant to stop Tom Riddle, and that meant getting his attention, getting to know him so that I could discover his weakness. It still all seemed like a dream to me, but after our recent confrontation, I had seen his anger and fury seep through, and I knew undoubtedly that he had the potential to become Lord Voldemort. The world of Harry Potter was still very much seen as fiction to me in my mind - but the world I was in now? That was very much real, and Tom Riddle was existing in it too, and he would grow up to become the most evil person ever. I had to stop him, I had to save this world from him, because it was the world I was living in, and I did not want to see it ruined. I refused to be a victim of Tom Riddle. From now on, I was going to do everything I could to stop Tom Riddle, because as well as saving everyone who would become his victim, if I did my duty, I had hopes that I may get to go home.
A/N - Well, thanks for reading. I am off on holiday for two weeks now, but will update when I get back. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and followed/favourited this story, I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. Thanks for your reviews!