A/N: PLEASE READ!Hey y'all! :) Sorry, for some errors I might've missed. My eyes are like, melting from sitting in front of the computer for so long! (I'm such a dork, I know. But you are too, for reading this story.) Anyways, I hope you like it and I hope it makes sense!
Disclaimer: I only own my OCs. Anything that you've read in the Harry Potter series doesn't belong to me, but to the incredible J.K. Rowling!
Ciao! Lovelies! :)
YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!
'What an arrogant ass whole.' Sabrina thought. Making fun of her clothing and speaking to her in that ridiculous kingly tone. 'Who the hell did he think he was?'
She looked around her surroundings again. It seems that she was still at Hogwarts and that she had just fallen asleep during detention. She couldn't help but wonder how on earth did she wake up in the middle of the third floor corridor. She was in the trophy room next to Filch's office. And that Riddle dude. She'd never seen him before. Never. Never even heard of such a name—wait, why did it seem so familiar then?
Sabrina looked up at him. Her breathing almost stopped at what she saw. She certainly couldn't deny that the Riddle dude was beautiful. And even that was an understatement.
'How could someone so bitchy, be so...' she didn't have any words to describe his beauty. And she despised him for that.
Riddle had pale skin. Glowing pale skin the color of moonlight, with thick midnight tresses combed into a neat hairstyle—that complimented his complexion beautifully. He had features that would make Angels cry in envy. He had a straight aristocratic nose and high cheekbones, as well as a sharp jaw-line that was smooth and hairless. His eyes were a dark—very dark, even darker than her own—shade of poisonous blue. They were entrancing. He was entrancing. He was absolutely flawless.
Riddle rapped smartly onto large oak doors three times. They had suddenly stopped walking. Sabrina jumped a few feet, causing Riddle to quirk an elegant brow at her. She glared at him and then forcefully ripped her eyes away from him.
"Enter," a voice called.
The large oak doors opened with faint whoosh, revealing a decent sized room with multiple miscellaneous items scattered about. Portraits and paintings covered the walls, all of them whispering amongst each other. A few of them gave Sabrina disapproving glances, earning glares from her. Piles and piles of parchment and quills decorated the very small desk where a very colorfully dressed man was perched.
"Ah, hello Tom. How are you this evening?" he said kindly, albeit suspiciously.
"I am well Professor. How are you?" Rid—Tom answered, mechanically. Sabrina couldn't help but notice the slight frost in his words.
"Oh, I'm good. Just grading a few last papers. Who is this? A new student I presume?" the unusual professor asked, bright blue eyes twinkling behind a pair of half-moon spectacles. Sabrina decided that she rather liked him, though it was rather odd. She had never seen this professor either. She looked at his desk and read the name 'Property of Headmaster Armando Dippet'.
That was when she realized there was something horribly wrong with the whole scene. 'Where the hell am I? Where's professor McGonagall?! Where's—'
"Yes professor. I found her in the third floor corridor. She claims her name is Sabrina." Tom informed him.
She frowned at him, disliking the disbelieving tone of his voice. Sadly, she would have to play along with this charade; until she could figure out what the hell was happening to her. She didn't trust this Riddle dude.
"My name is Sabrina," you great twat. "Sabrina Sloane, and I'd like to enroll myself into this school."
"Why, transfer students are quite rare and you are clearly not from England. But yes that can be done; I need you to take a few tests…"
She nodded her head slowly in agreement, careful not to let the gigantic dose of panic she felt seep into her face. 'What the fuck did I do? One minute I'm in Hogwarts and now I'm in—well, I'm still in Hogwarts. But it's not the Hogwarts I know. And—'
"How old are you Ms. Sloane, oh and what school did you attend before you decided to enroll yourself here?"
Sabrina gave him a blank look and then said, "Sixteen. I went to…uh…"
'Shit! What's an American school?'
"I went to the Salem Witches Institute. My family moved to London a year ago because of my dad's job…but…I don't really want to talk about it."
'That's believable, right?' She plastered on the most pain stricken face she could muster and kept her eyes open longer than necessary, waiting for tears to stream down her face.
And then they rolled. The kind, strange man looked down at her in pity and said, "Oh, I'm sorry for your loss. Those muggles are rather wound up these days."
She sniffled and swiped at her eyes in faux shame and embarrassment.
"It's fine, sir. I never got your name?" she realized.
The auburn haired man said, "Oh, silly me. I'm Professor Albus Dumbledore. I teach transfiguration here."
Sabrina suddenly felt nauseous. A million different questions swirling around in her head. 'Dumbledore? DUMBLEDORE?! He's supposed to be dead! What the hell is happening—"
"Will you need my assistance any longer professor? I'm afraid I have a few things I must attend to." Riddle's voice abruptly cut through her train of thought. She had almost forgotten about the annoyingly handsome ponce.
"Yes, yes. Can you wait outside for now? I need to speak with dear Ms. Sloane for a moment."
Tom nodded and began walking back out of the room. He shot a skeptical glance at her and then shut the oak doors behind him. Sabrina rubbed at the back of her head. It felt like a hole had been burned into it.
"You are a very convincing actress Ms. Sloane, a very good one indeed." Dumbledore said, after the door shut with a soft thud. He smiled fondly at her as she swallowed the bile in her throat. Blue eyes twinkling knowingly.
"Now, why are you here really?"
Sabrina inhaled and exhaled deeply before answering, if there was anyone in this alternate universe who would be able to help her, it was Dumbledore; "I don't really know where I am or how I got here. All I know is that everything is completely wrong. I was in the trophy room serving detention and then I guess I might've fallen asleep. But when I woke up, I was on the floor in the middle of the third floor corridor and I don't know how the hell I got there, since I wasn't even anywhere near there, and I've never even see that Riddle guy, ever! My name really is Sabrina Sloane and my parents are really muggles, but they're alive…at least I think so. And if you're Dumbledore, then why does your desk read 'Property of Headmaster Armando Dippet'? I really am American and my family did move to London because of my dad's job, but it wasn't recently. We moved to England when I was around nine or ten and I've been attending school here since I was eleven. But this isn't really Hogwarts, but it is and—"by now she was rambling and hyperventilating.
"—Merlin! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!" she yelled, concluding her bizarre tale.
An amused smile etched itself into Dumbledore's kind face. His expression as calm as ever. The poor girl hadn't figured it out yet.
"Would you like a lemon drop Ms. Sloane?" he said, holding out a tin of candies to her.
He watched as her panic stricken faced morphed into one of bewilderment. She looked at him as if he was a mad man—well; he kind of was a mad man. But since when had he ever been sane? He couldn't help but chuckle lightly at the bizarreness of her situation.
"What year did you come from?" he asked her.
She looked at him startled and said (rather nervously), "Two-thousand twelve."
She dreaded the answer that was to come as she suddenly realized what she had done.
"That is certainly a long way from here. Ms. Sabrina Sloane, welcome to 1943!" he said rather enthusiastically. A wide and amused smile was present on the auburn haired professor's face.
"N-nineteen forty-three…" Sabrina echoed. "M-my parents' aren't even born yet…WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK DID I JUST DO?!"
"I must ask you to refrain from using inappropriate language Ms. Sloane." Her face flushed into a deep magenta, rivaling the vividness of Dumbledore's robes.
"Sorry."
"I wonder how on Earth you managed to come back this far, but you will have no choice but to stay here for the time being. And as for the bit about the desk, it used to belong to Headmaster Dippet. But he got a new one and replaced it." he told her, standing up.
"You will be using the same alibi you told me and…"
He left the room for a minute and retrieved the musty old sorting hat.
"…I shall provide you with all the things you may need in this time. Now, would you please take a seat here?"
Sabrina went and sat down on the chair in front of his desk, still not believing what had happened to her. 'What will my friends do once they realize I'm missing? What about my parents? Oh! What about—'
'Hmph! So we meet again Sloane.' The hat drawled, putting a temporary end to her ramblings.
'I suppose so hat. But that doesn't make any sense, since we haven't even met yet…' she thought back.
'It makes perfect sense. I don't know time. Hmmmm, now what do I do with you? You're still the same reckless, stubborn fool I met in your time—'
'Will you please just get to sorting me, you sodding piece of faux leather.'
'—the same cheek and the same uncouth mouth…hmmm…I see you've grown some brains over the years—'
'Why! You vile, cruel hat—'
'—oh what's this? Ambitious, sly, cunning…better be…'
'—and you're still the same snarky moldy hat in—'
"SLYTHERIN!" the sorting hat bellowed.
Sabrina froze. She couldn't believe her ears. She had heard the hat wrong. She knew it! She heard it wrong!
'I take it back hat! I take it back! Anything but—'
"What an excellent choice. Lovely. Now—"
"Professor! I demand to be resorted! There has to be a mistake—I was supposed to be sorted into Gryffindor! This—this is all wrong! That sodding piece of faux leather is playing games!" Sabrina exclaimed, she was close to hyperventilating again. It was all wrong! That hat is playing tricks on her!
Dumbledore only smiled at her. He bit at his tongue to keep from laughing; it certainly wouldn't do to upset the poor girl even more.
"Child, I am sure that the hat made no mistake. You might have been a Gryffindor in two-thousand twelve, but the hat says you are a Slytherin in nineteen forty-three. The hat is never wrong."
"But—" she started and then stopped. It was pointless arguing with him. She has no choice but to listen and wait for his instructions. She sighed dejectedly knowing full well that he was right. If she wanted to get back home, she would have to keep herself sane for the time being.
"Ok."
"Good. I have already delivered a trunk full of clothes and books and whatever else you may need up to your dormitories. Mr. Riddle will escort you up to your common room. And now all we have to do is test your knowledge…"
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