Written for the Secret Santa event at The Leaky Cauldron. Prompts: air, chill, and knife.
This was finished just before the start of 2018 :')
I'm writing Tom/Minerva on New Years? Gah. For the time of new beginnings, I write about a ship that goes nowhere. hahahahaha. Like my relationships, imma right? ;) HAHAHAHA jk
Written for... Celinarose~ (here you are, honey muffin!)
Un'beta'd. Sorry, it could be better, but... :( This was written with the idea that the horcrux — after being created — would contain all the magic/emotion that was used to create it. Plus, it's obvious that Tom could... well, I'll leave that up to you to read, dear readers. ;)
At eleven years old, it didn't take much to scare Minerva into shivering. Despite her wish to be Sorted into the House of the brave and couragous, she still shivered like she had been dunked into the lake as their Head of House hustled them into a long line outside the Great Hall to be Sorted. Marcus always liked to tease her on the brutal ways they made the young ones get Sorted and even though she didn't believe in anything that her older brother told her with that certain gleam in his eyes... even though, all those stories were coming back to haunt her at this moment.
How pleasant.
For once, Minerva felt very grateful for her short frame as she huddled around the bulking build of one of the meaner looking kids in the pack.
There was a flicker besides her and she tilted her head to look. This boy in raggedy clothes seemed to have the same idea about hiding behind the tallest kid. He stood straighter and taller than most of the hunched children surrounding them.
She whispered to this strange boy. "You don't look nervous."
When he looked at her, she realized — belatedly — that his eyes were wide and anxious. His lips were pursed into a scowl that didn't suit him at all. Minerva vaguely remembered reading somewhere that people looked mean when they were nervous.
The boy was one of those people.
"Why should I be?" He answered with challenge in his eyes.
... Oh. He did look mean.
Minervra was at lost for words so she fumbled about with her answer. "Uh... well... what House are you going to be Sorted into? I'm hoping for Gyffindor."
Yes, real smooth, Minnie, she scolded herself.
The boy was looking closely at her. "Probably... " There was slight hesitation in his voice. "Slytherin."
"Oh..." Minevra bit her lip. "You don't look like a Slytherin." He didn't. Minerva fancied that he looked a bit more like a Ravenclaw.
He frowned at her. "You don't look like a Gryffindor."
"What do you mean?"
"You looked scared out of your wits. You're shivering."
She straightened up and gave him her smartest look. "One doesn't have to look brave to be brave. It's the action that someone takes that determines their... personality."
That didn't sound right. Minerva had tried for the most intelligent sounding answer she knew, but an odd reply fell from her lips before she knew it and she felt very foolish.
He didn't look that impressed either.
At fifteen years old, it didn't take much for Minerva to get asked out on dates to Hogsmeade. Which puzzled her more and more as the years went by. She wasn't pretty like some of the popular girls in the school. Her long hair was always placed in a simple side-braid and her dark eyes were seen as almost intimidating by most of the student body. Minerva wasn't an eager achiever that carried around a bag bursting with textbooks. She was interested in all subjects and understood them after studying.
She was normal.
So... her heart pounding and this fog that seem to have descended on her mind was normal. Right?
Staring at someone she liked... while hiding behind a bookcase... was normal.
Right?
Her eyes trailed over the table before settling on a slightly torn bag that looked like it had seen better days. It was stuffed with textbooks.
Ah. It would seem that Tom Riddle was one of those people.
With one hand, she smoothed down the front of her skirt. This was simple. Just ask Riddle out on a date, right? He was a friendly guy. Good grades. So handsome that it made her head spin a little.
The young scowling boy she had met in front of the Great Hall had vanished some time around Second Year. Revealing a friendly and social creature.
Then again, most Slytherins were social creatures. But not always friendly.
Minerva crept out from around the bookcase and grabbed a random book off of the shelf. So it looked like she was doing something positive in the library, she thought to herself while making her way over to the table that Riddle occupied.
Somewhere down the line, she tripped.
At the time, she might've stumbled... but she was Minerva McGonagall and Minerva never stumbled.
Later in her bedroom that night, she would fume that it was horrid Hufflepuff who had tripped her, because Hufflepuffs had the secret agenda of making a fool out of all Gyffindors.
Luckily, her reflexes kicked in and she managed to twist herself just before landing. Then, of course, like most friendly and social creatures, Riddle leapt forward to catch her before she hit the ground.
It was a mess.
Minerva scrambled to get up while muttering appologies, her face burning bright red. For being the top student in some of her classes, she really was a dunce sometimes. Her right hand brushed up against some of the books that fell from the table.
...
Her heart stopped.
Anger. Hate. Resentment. Sadness.
All these emotions and more.
She shivered and froze as a cold chill went through her bones. It was freezing. Minerva couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs. It was death and darkness. It was surrounding her, choking her and breaking her apart. Like a knife was digging into her gut. With a gasp, she jerked away.
And it faded.
It was like death.
...
"Miss McGonagall." Riddle's face swirled in front of her, in and out. His dark eyes stared at her with concern. "Are you okay?"
How fake.
Minerva shook her head. Where had that thought come from? "I'm fine. Thank you." She managed a weak smile despite her head was pounding.
That feeling had been like someone was taking her soul and twisted it in their hands, what was...
Breath, Minerva. Breath.
She glanced behind her to find the source of what she had brushed against. What could've fallen that would invoke such strong feelings in her? Her gaze fell upon a small leatherbound book that had fallen closet to her arm. As she reached out to grab it, Riddle smoothly encircled her wrist, stopping her path.
His hand was very warm, she noted, Minerva tried to catch her breath. But for once, it wasn't from being in front of someone she fancied. It was from the powerful feeling she had experienced moments earlier.
"Allow me. It seems some of my textbooks fell." Riddle smiled at her. "I can pick them up after I tend to you."
His hand might have been warm, but the longer her wrist stayed in his grasp, the tighter it seem to become. After Riddle had helped her from the floor, Minerva twisted her wrist out of his grip and watched as he picked up the leatherbound book and a few piece of scribbled parchment off of the ground.
"I'm sorry." Minerva rubbed her wrist absently. "I tripped."
"It's quite alright." Riddle gave her another smile — just warm and nice as the first one, but Minerva wondered when it had started to look distant on his handsome face.
Maybe around... a minute ago...
Her gaze lingered over the book that had made her feel so ill. What kind of forbidden magic would cause such a reaction by merely touching it? Why did everything about Riddle seem so much darker than a few minutes ago?
"Did you need something?" Riddle was leaning up against his table and met her dark eyes intently.
That's right. Minerva was going to ask him to Hogsmeade next week. Maybe one date with just the two of them. Slytherin or not, he was the top student in his Year and she would love to finally talk to some boy intelligently for once.
"I..."
Anger. Darkness. Drowning. Desperate.
Her breath hitched.
"Yes?"
"It was nothing."
Riddle stared at her. "Nothing?"
"Yes." Minerva paused to gather her thoughts before speaking out again. "I just wanted to say..." She gestured around the table at all of his books scattered around. "You are just as much as a Ravenclaw as I predicted when I first met you."
Riddle chuckled. "If I'm to be honest, I've changed quite a bit from our first Year." He started to stuff the textbooks into his torn schoolbag while she watched. Minerva was pleasantly surprised he remembered their brief encounter as children. "The House of knowledge seeking children would never suit me." He slung his bag over his shoulder. "Although, it would seem you haven't changed at all."
Minerva frowned. She had changed in so many different ways in the past four years, in the past few days, and... even in the past few moments.
"Why do you say that?" She narrowed her eyes at him as his lips turn up into a smirk, as if he was enjoying her confusion.
With a few steps forward, Riddle stood in front of her and some stubborn part of Minerva refused to step back, but another part of her ignored it.
She stepped back.
Riddle spoke, ignoring her question. "Of course, I would love to go to Hogsmeade with you. It would be interesting to talk to someone intelligent for once."
...
For the second time that night...
Her heart stopped.
What?
"But to answer your other question..." Riddle leant down to speak his next words in a soft whisper.
"You're still shivering after all these years, Minerva."