Minerva’s frail hands skimmed along the surface of the velvet lined book. Squinting, she could see the words that had been etched upon the front cover: Love, Anonymous. It had been years since she had last seen him, years since her hands had touched his, years since she had stared into the eyes of the only man she had ever loved, the only man that she could never have: Tom Riddle. Or, as the world knew him now, Lord Voldemort.