Chapter Text
New York, New York, October 31, 2029
Hope was used to being a disappointment. In fact, it was one of the things she excelled at. She also excelled at swordfighting—well, fighting in general; painting, murder, and binge-watching cooking shows. It was why—as she made her way back to the place she’d sworn never to return to—she remained focused on cleaning up her mess, rather than succumbing to the emotions boiling harshly under her skin.
She seriously had to figure this whole Tribrid thing out.
Glancing out her window, she thought about the trajectory of her life thus far. Her greatest mistakes were driven by a desperate bid for connection, and an outrageous impulsivity—costing her the lives of some of the only people she ever loved: her Uncle Elijah, her friend Josh, and both of her parents.
Her mother had raised her to be good, to see the best in others, to believe they could change, and most importantly: to forgive…
“...Especially those who are immortal,” she always added.
Hope was still working on that last part—actually, she was still working on all of it. She knew her mother was talking about her dad when she said this, and she grew to believe her…somewhat. She no longer blamed him for his years of silence, or Roman for what his mother did to hers. Besides, blaming others was pointless. It was a coping mechanism silly humans used in order to avoid feeling powerless. She, on the other hand, was far from powerless. She couldn’t blame Roman, but she could blame herself. What good was being a Tribrid if she could be manipulated by anybody who showed a hint of interest in her?
She should’ve sensed Roman’s deceptive nature and stopped him.
As she made her way to Mystic Falls, she vowed not to cause another unjust death. She was going to save the life of the vampire whose blood was staining the seat of her Bentley, and then she was going to continue living her own life—alone. And she wasn’t going to let anything, or anyone, get in her way.
Every time she drove, she was reminded of her Uncle Elijah, who taught her to drive this very car and left it to her after he died.
As a way to remember him, she supposed…or as a shitty apology.
The day they spent together in Mystic Falls had shown her the truth of who Elijah really was: A man who took on a lifelong responsibility, far before he was truly ready. He spent the entirety of his 1000 years crippled by that burden, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was terrified that she would make the same mistake.
She knew what it was like to bear the weight of a responsibility you didn’t deserve, but that didn’t stop her from resenting him. Honestly, their likeness made her resent him more. Both for the part he played in the death of her mother, and for allowing her father to sacrifice himself.
In her last conversation with her dad, she swore to him that she would make him proud…
“I’m gonna go back to school, and I’ll be ok,” she said, “Because I’m a Mikaelson. And I promise you, I’m gonna do right by our name.”
So that’s what she did—return to school, that is—three weeks after he died. She decided she would bury her head in the sand, attend her mandated therapy appointments with Emma, and resume her role as sweet, quiet Hope Marshall. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans for her…
…
Salvatore School, Mystic Falls, Virginia April 2028
“How are you doing, Hope? Considering everything,” Emma asked, her British accent tinged with concern, and a pity that made Hope want to crawl out of her skin.
‘Considering everything.’ Funny.
“Fine, I guess,” was all she could bring herself to say.
“Many members of the faculty here have made me aware of recent changes in your behavior. I was hoping you might be able to give me a little more to work with than ‘Fine, I guess.’”
“What have they been saying?”
“Well, both your Chemistry of Magic and Magical Agronomy professors have reported that you’ve stopped participating in their classes altogether. You sent Alyssa Chang to the infirmary last week after you sprained her arm playing dodgeball in PE, and you’ve missed every lecture in Your Bloodline and You since you’ve returned.”
“Chemistry of Magic is unbearably boring, and I don’t see a need for me to be enrolled in Magical Agronomy. Using magic to grow plants and flowers is not something I need to be instructed on. I could do that when I was 2. As for Alyssa...I didn’t mean to hurt her. I’m not used to being this strong, yet.”
“And as for Your Bloodline and You?”
“My family has already taught me everything there is to know about our bloodline,” she said flippantly.
“There is another matter I wish to discuss.” Emma hesitated before she continued. “I’m sure you’re aware that earlier this week, a fire took out nearly the entire east wing of the school.” Hope nodded, slowly. “Now, I don’t want to be accusatory here, but your magic has been known to act…erratically at times. Even before your transformation.”
“My magic, or me?” Hope questioned defensively, her eyes narrowing.
“Your magic,” Emma clarified. “Despite the power you contain, I’ve never once seen you use it for harm. But I am curious about how it’s been for you, not only in adjusting to your lycanthrophic side, but having your magic develop as well.”
Hope shifted in her seat, desperate for the session to be over. Emma was right. Her magic was always unpredictable, and it had grown since she triggered her curse, which terrified her.
Lately, she had even been losing time—escaping to the woods on the outskirts of the school when she felt herself losing control, only to awake amidst a disarray of broken branches and birds dead at her feet. The day of the fire, she had been doing particularly terribly, and had once again blacked out, this time waking up in the werewolf dungeon…which happened to be located in the basement of the east wing.
Had she started it in one of her fits of anguish? Maybe…
Afraid her uncertainty would count as a confession, she remained silent. All she could do was look away.
“This has been a challenging year for you, Hope. And as your therapist, I want you to know that you can be honest with me. Whatever is said in this room stays in this room.”
“In your professional therapist-opinion, how do you think I’m doing?”
“Well, you’ve returned to school, which can be seen as a good sign. Many in your…position would’ve taken much longer than a three-week leave of absence.”
“I didn’t want to fall behind,” Hope shrugged. “And what do you mean by, ‘can be seen?’”
“Some seek refuge amongst their friends after tragedy strikes, as they provide them with a sense of normalcy they’re so desperate to cling to. If that were your case, I would consider your return as a good sign. But the truth of the matter is that over the past year, you’ve seemed to alienate yourself from most of the student body. And in the weeks that you’ve been back, I’ve not seen you talk to a single student.”
“I talk to Pedro.”
“Good try, but he’s 7. What about Lizzie and Josie? I thought you three were close.”
So did she.
“They’re two years younger than me, Emma. We just aren’t on the same level of maturity anymore.”
A half-truth.
Josie had been avoiding her as of late, and Lizzie had been struggling with demons of her own. They hadn’t even invited her to their 14th birthday party last month.
“And as for the rest of the students here?” Emma implored.
“Well, it’s hard to make connections with people when they don’t even know my real name,” Hope snapped.
“I see…Have you considered being honest with them?”
Hope laughed. Genuinely laughed. For the first time in weeks.
“The last time I was honest about my identity with a student here, he aided in the murder of my mother. So no…I haven’t really considered being honest with them.”
“That’s fair. You know, that’s the first time you’ve brought up either one of your parents this entire conversation.”
No shit. Why couldn’t therapists ever just say what they wanted to say?
Hope was silent.
“Do you want to talk about them?”
“What is there to talk about?” she let out a humorless chuckle, fighting the tears that welled in her eyes.
“Whatever you’d like.”
“My mom is the reason I ended up at this school in the first place. She said I deserved to live a ‘normal’ life. To be amongst kids my age. To have friends, and crushes, and grow up in an environment where my identity was accepted instead of feared. My father thought I was beneath all of that,” she recalled with a soft smile. “He said I wouldn’t need friends, since I’d be too busy being ‘the greatest witch in the world.’ I used to think he was being too paranoid when he said that, but now…”
“I think it’s hard to attach oneself to the perspective of a child when you’ve been alive for over 1000 years, Hope,” Emma interjected. “Your mother was right. You do deserve to live a life as normal as you desire, and to make connections with whomever you see fit. You’ll have plenty of time to focus on magic throughout your life, without it being the sole focus of your existence.”
“You mean once I die and become immortal?”
Emma looked at her, a quiet compassion filling her eyes.
“What good is being deserving of a normal life if I can’t ever achieve it?” Hope shot, her fury tearing across the room, as she felt the magic building inside her. “I was born a witch, with an unactivated werewolf gene and vampire blood in my veins, I mean, WHAT even is a normal life? I know my mom thought what she wanted for me was possible on some level, but being back here makes me realize how wrong she was. I tried to have friends, to have crushes…be normal. But even in this school of supernaturals, I am one of one. How am I supposed to achieve acceptance if I CAN’T EVEN SHOW PEOPLE THE REAL ME?!”
Upon instinct, her magic exploded across the room, slamming her therapist into the wall and rendering her unconscious. Hope wanted to help her, but that initial release seemed to grant her magic the permission to act on its own accord, surging uncontrollably and shaking the entire school. She watched in horror as blood poured out of Emma’s eyes, her human body unable to handle the intensity of Hope’s volatile magic.
Not again.
Before she could leave the room, she heard the hiss of an arrow from across the room. Her magic subsided, like a tornado dying down, and the world slowly faded into darkness.
…
She awoke in the infirmary, alone. Emma was nowhere to be found. As she made her way to her room, she heard voices in Alaric’s office arguing.
“...She could’ve killed her!” Alaric fumed, trying to be quiet, but unable to control his anger.
“Clearly it was an accident. If she truly wanted to kill her therapist, she would’ve,” a familiar voice rebutted in her defense.
Freya. This was not good.
“Oh, well that’s comforting,” he sneered. “Look, we have tried to be sensitive after she lost her parents, but I cannot put the students and faculty of this school in danger any longer! First the fire, now this? Do I need to remind you that there are children here? Children who won’t wake up if they’re caught in the crossfire of one of Hope’s magical panic attacks.”
“The fire—what fire??”
“Four days ago, there was a fire that nearly burned down an entire wing of the school.”
“And you think it was Hope.”
She could almost hear her aunt’s jaw tighten.
“I know it was Hope. There was a witness.”
“Who?”
“You think I’m going to tell you which student of mine reported your niece to me so you and your psycho family can hunt them down and torture them?” he asked, venom practically dripping down his lips.
Low blow.
Freya’s tone darkened, “Careful, Alaric. My family has had a rough few months. I wouldn’t want to offer them a reprieve from their sadness in the form of…”
Before she could finish, Hope entered the room.
“Aunt Freya! W-what are you doing here?” Hope asked, feigning innocence as if she hadn’t been listening to their conversation.
Freya pulled her in for a hug as she explained, “After what happened with Emma, we’re…worried about you and your magic. We were just discussing the ways in which this school could offer more support to you during these troubling times, isn’t that right, Headmaster?”
“Actually, I think it’s best if you leave the school,” Alaric responded, not even attempting to sound sympathetic. “I can’t have you putting the people here at risk anymore, Hope. I’m sorry.”
If his tone was any indication, he was beyond ready for her to be gone.
At least she no longer had to play pretend. But still, she made a promise to her father. And her word meant everything.
She had to try.
Hope closed the space between herself and Alaric, as she offered a compromise, “What if I…”
“No!” Alaric shouted, taking a step back.
Fear.
And then more quietly, “No. It’s already been decided. There is another student who will be taking your room by the end of the week.”
“How DARE YOU–” Freya began, her ancient Norwegian accent slipping through the way it did whenever she was angry.
“It’s fine, Aunt Freya. I’m over this place anyways. Let’s just go.”
She wanted nothing more in that moment than to break down, but she couldn’t let Alaric see how much he had hurt her. She wouldn’t. Her eyes glazed over as she led her aunt out of the office.
…
They were silent as she packed her bags. She looked around her room, teary eyed—the story of her past 8 years laid out in an assortment of grimoires and paintings. She saw her depiction of a tsunami, representing how she used to feel when her magic got the better of her.
Now, it felt more like a hurricane.
Then, there was the New Orleans skyline on a late summer night. Even through the painting, it was beautifully tainted with the buzz of jazz music and the ever-present hum of magic in its bones. Finally, a serpent eating its own tail—she shuddered at this one still—her former friends Lizzie and Josie sitting beside her in the town square…and her mother.
Her beautiful mother.
Each break, when she arrived to take her home, they would spend hours sitting on her bed, exchanging stories of what they’d been up to in their time apart. Hope would tell her about Salvatore School drama and her mom would share what she’d missed in New Orleans since she’d been away.
This room had been her safe haven, her home away from home. She wouldn’t tell her family, but she preferred it to her one in New Orleans, which she felt would be forever stained by her memories of The Hollow. None of that mattered anymore, though.
It couldn’t.
By the time they finished packing, the sun had started to set, a scarlet red peeking through the dark horizon, as if it were desperate for one last glimpse at the world.
…
Hope didn’t break her silence until they were in the car.
“I’m scared, Aunt Freya.”
“Of what?”
“Of my magic.”
No. This was Freya. She had to be honest.
“Of myself,” she corrected. “I could’ve killed Emma, or a student. And I don’t want to think about what would happen if…I just—I think I need help.”
“Listen to me, Hope. I’m not going to pretend like I know what it’s like to be a werewolf and a witch at the same time. But I’m going to help you with your magic. Teach you control. And maybe Keelin can help you with the wolf part. If you’re open to that.” Hope nodded. “Then you can decide whether or not you’d like to return to school. Regardless of what Alaric says.”
Freya paused for a moment before she continued, “And also…your parents would be so proud of you. For going back to school and giving it your best. I know the rest of us are. We love you, Hope. Always and forever.”
“I love you too.”
She closed her eyes, pausing for a moment to collect her thoughts and focus on her aunt’s words, instead of on Alaric’s face when he was talking to her.
It was one she knew well. One he wore every time he mentioned her father.
Genuine fear.
As if the mere mention of him would summon him to the school. ‘Klaus Mikaelson: The Great Evil,’ he called him in the book he published. She never thought he would look at her the same way though.
There was a time when she viewed Alaric as a second father. When the two of them would work together to bring new students to the school, or he’d take her off campus to the art museum when she missed her dad. She thought he truly cared about her, but today had shown her the truth. He was simply biding his time, waiting for an excuse to remove her from the very place he said she would always be welcome.
“I’m never going back there,” she decided.
“I can’t be in a school where the person in charge thinks I’m a monster.” She turned to face the window. “Not when I’m trying so hard not to be one.”
As they drove out of Mystic Falls, she opened her wallet to look at the only photo of her family she had. Apparently, they’d burned it almost as soon as it was taken, but Freya had searched her memories and replicated it with magic.
“I hope you understand,” she said softly, as she held it to her chest.
There was nothing there for her anymore.