Chapter Text
The first time it happened, Nora was ten.
It had begun long before that—Nora had always been odd, something people quietly (or loudly) chalked up to being the daughter of a teen druggie, but even fetal drug ingestion couldn’t account for Nora’s propensity to know things she shouldn’t.
Five year olds, after all, were not supposed to read untranslated copies of the Iliad aloud at bedtime. Nor were they supposed to mix up the normal alphabet with a surprisingly accurate rendition of Younger Futhark runes.
Nora was not supposed to know that Sheila Bennett was a witch, or that her father hunted vampires, or even that such things existed.
She was most definitely not supposed to know that Grayson Gilbert, beloved town doctor and PTA dad extraordinaire, smelled wrong.
It was because of Grayson Gilbert’s wrong smell that Nora got separated from her tour group. She had remained at the edge of Mystic Falls Elementary’s cluster of fifth graders in order to avoid him, even as their class wound through the busy streets of the nation’s capital.
One moment, she was admiring the cherry blossoms on her field trip, and the next, Nora had been bustled into by no less than four busy-looking young men in ill-fitting suits and cheap shoes, and landed in a heap of grazed palms and bruised knees at the edge of the sidewalk.
None of the men apologized. They simply rushed on, crossing the next intersection at a run. Nora looked back towards her class, only to find the group vanished. Not a single clue remained to inform her where they had gone off to. She was alone.
Nora felt a hot tear carve a path down her face. `She blinked furiously, attempting to stop any more from following. Being knocked over was humiliating enough, but crying about it? Jeremy Gilbert would find out and tell his sister, and Elena would never let her forget it.
Nora was attempting to brush the tiny pieces of gravel from her bloody palms when she felt a large, cool hand envelop hers. A handkerchief entered her line of sight. Nora sighed, looking up to see who had witnessed her humiliation.
Bright blue eyes, eyes that haunted Nora from her own reflection, gazed back at her. She knew this man. Before she had even processed it, the name fell from her lips.
”Niklaus.”
And in a moment, Nora was somewhere else. The crisp spring air of Washington, D.C. was gone entirely, 18th century architecture replaced by thatch-roofed huts, streets by a thick, age-old forest. Gone was the scent of the Potomac and cherry-blossom perfume, instead Nora breathed in the woods and the heady scent of various herbs.
Even her clothes were different. Nora looked down at the unevenly stitched, roughspun dress that hung over her frame. Despite the weave, it felt smooth and light. She ran her fingers over the bodice. It was flax linen, a fabric her stepmother Carol paid hundreds for.
Oddly, despite the displacement, Nora felt at peace. She smiled, feeling the sunshine on her skin. From the corner of her eye, she spotted movement.
There!
Nora chased the movement through the forest, gulping in the clean, sweet air as she ran faster and faster. She wasn’t sure what she was following, but she caught glimpses of it every few steps.
It was large, and fast, and furry. Nora, despite being small and not very furry at all, would be faster. She ran and ran and ran, chasing the figure through the trees and shrubs, until she saw an opening before her.
Nora pulled her body to a stop before a familiar waterfall. Rocks, displaced by her movements, flew over the cliff's edge and crackled as her hometown’s eponymous falls crashed over them.
Nora swallowed. That could have been her.
A soft yip pulled Nora’s attention from the waterfall. There, laying along the edge of the cliff, was a massive wolf.
The animal laid its head on its paws, watching her from below. Nora felt drawn to it, even as nerves settled in her chest. After all, she had chased the wolf all the way here.
Nora walked to the wolf and lowered herself by its side. It showed no sign of aggression, merely letting its tongue loll out of its mouth. Nora found herself wrapping a paw in its fur, and closed her eyes at the soft, thick, luxurious feeling.
She opened her eyes to fluorescent lights.
Nora was lying on her back in a hospital bed. She panicked, realizing her clothes were gone. She couldn’t even feel underwear beneath the pink hospital gown she saw someone had put her in.
Nora looked around desperately. The monitors surrounding her were largely meaningless, as they did nothing to inform the ten-year-old on how to retrieve her dignity. She settled for wrapping the bed’s thin blanket over her back like a cape and curling up into it when the door to her room opened.
A tall nurse with a brown ponytail walked in.
“I thought that was you waking up,” she said with a brilliantly white smile. “Your family just got here. They’re just having a chat with the doctor, but they’ll be in in just a minute.”
Nora was confused.
“What happened?”
“Well,” the nurse pulled a chart from the end of Nora’s bed, “it looks like you had a seizure. The man who found you said you had fallen right before that, but we couldn’t find a head injury, so we’re going to want to try to figure out what happened, but that should just take a few more tests. You’ll be out of here in no time!”
She punctuated her speech with another blinding grin.
“Um,” Nora tried to process this information, “where is here, exactly?”
“Oh! Right.” The nurse looked genuinely ashamed of herself. “You’re at Walter Reed, in D.C. Do you remember coming here?”
Nora thought. She remembered the field trip, but definitely not arriving at the hospital. She wasn’t sure which the nurse was asking about.
Luckily, she was prevented from asking that embarrassing question by the door to her room opening once again. This time, her whole family piled through the door, escorted by Grayson Gilbert, who had changed into a white coat.
Nora shivered. Dr. Gilbert, nice as he was, still smelt wrong.
Richard Lockwood, her father, approached the bed. Even all of these years later, he still intimidated Nora, but there was no sign of anger towards her in his eyes now. Nora relaxed a bit, letting her feet poke out of her blanket cocoon.
Carol Lockwood followed right after her husband, her hair still pulled back in a messy ponytail. Nora was touched. She had never seen the town’s first lady look this imperfect before; she had clearly rushed to her straight from gardening.
Mason, Nora’s uncle, had an arm firmly wrapped around her brother Tyler’s shoulders. She could see the vice grip the blond teen had on the younger boy’s upper arm as he stopped Tyler from pushing his parents aside to get to her.
“How are you feeling?” Richard’s voice was surprisingly soft. Usually, he left Carol to do anything emotional or nurturing.
“Confused,” Nora admitted, “but alright. I don’t even have a headache.”
Carol reached out to cup Nora’s cheek, stroking it with her thumb.
“We’re all so glad you’re okay,” her soft but firm voice filled up the room.
“Luckily, since Dr. Gilbert here has admitting privileges,” she continued, “You’ll be able to get out of here quickly. Just one more CT scan, right?”
Said doctor nodded. His warm, hazel eyes—Jeremy’s eyes—fixed on her.
“As soon as that gets done, you can head home with your parents. We can do follow-ups at my clinic.”
Nora tried very hard not to grimace at that prospect.
From there, things went quickly. Nora was wheeled down to the scan by the still-unnamed nurse, escorted back to the room half-asleep from the droning, whirring machine, and released to go home within a few hours. Carol, luckily, had brought her clothing (including underwear!) to change into for the ride home, and Nora soon found herself tucked between Tyler and Mason in the backseat of her father’s SUV, lulled into a trance by Tyler’s breathless chattering as he caught everyone up on the day’s gossip.
“So then, Mrs. Gilbert had to come to escort the whole class back, and she started just tearing into Ms, Donner and Dr. Gilbert, and Jeremy looked like he was gonna cry...” The overexcited 12-year-old went on and on.
A sudden thought struck Nora.
“What about that guy? The one who found me?” She pointed her question more at Carol, who was an expert networker.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Michaels. Such a nice young man.” Her stepmother rummaged through her purse. “I did get his card—he’s actually from London, that might be hard to send flowers—but you’re more than welcome to reach out, dear.”
Nora knew what answer Carol wanted.
“I’ll send him a thank you card.”
Carol turned back from the passenger seat to smile her approval. Nora shared the smile, though for different reasons.
She finally had a lead.