A/N: in case anyone isn't familiar with 1940's slang (if anyone is, well, feel free to correct me on anything that's wrong :) ), a blue noser is a prude.
It has been said that how a person is raised shapes them for life.
Minerva McGonagall was one individual who would disagree. The problems of her home life were, in her mind, something she ignored, not a problem that affected her day to day life at Hogwarts.
_
November 12th, 1942
"I can't believe it! He-he-"
We all looked on helplessly as Vera collapsed into tears, not even able to finish a sentence.
"Vera, dear, what happened?" Evelyn said, carefully approaching our distraught roommate, placing her hand on her shoulder.
"It's Jack! He-he said he doesn't lo-love me anymore!" Vera choked out, tears pouring down her face.
Elsie and I looked at each other, for once agreeing on something.
Jack Harkiss was a typical sixteen year old male. Vera might not have been able to see that, but we certainly did.
Elsie, ever the cynical one, was quick to point that out.
"Well, that much is obvious. What boy says he's in love at the age of sixteen? Next thing you know, he'll have moved from you, Vera dear, to Barbara Oakby, and then on to Olive Hornby just for the thrill of it! You can't trust men, they're all twits."
I couldn't help but roll my eyes at Elsie. She really wasn't good in these sorts of situations.
But then, none of us were. Who was I to talk, with no relationship experience under my belt?
"He-he said he's taking Virginia Page to Hogsmeade!" Vera said, hysterical.
Well.
That was an interesting development.
Page was a Slytherin, hence not really a respectable person to be seen with. Jack Harkiss, it seems, had really gone nuts.
"He'll probably come around, Vera. I think he really does love you." I said, trying to cheer her up, glaring at Elsie as I did so.
Of course teenage boys were capable of love. Anyone who'd seen Jack look at Vera last year would know that.
"Oh, shut it Min. You're such a blue noser." Elsie retorted.
"I am not!" I gasped, folding my arms across my chest.
"Oi!" Jo said, interrupting our bickering by stepping between us.
"Now's not the time to fight. Elsie, go down to the kitchens and see if you can fetch Vera a hot chocolate, will you?" Jo said, and Elsie, looking murderously at me, stalked out of the room.
"I have rounds." I said suddenly, looking for an escape route.
I did, technically have rounds, but not for another two and a half hours. You see, crying, hysterical girls with relationship issues were not my forte. Anything was preferable to that.
I followed Elsie out of the dormitory, taking a seat next to the fireplace, intending to wait for Cattermole to appear so we could start rounds.
"Are you Minerva McGonagall?"
I turned, startled to see a very small first year boy standing near my armchair, clutching a sheet of parchment.
"Yes." I replied, eyeing him warily.
"The Headmaster asked me to give you this." He said, handing me the parchment before bolting up the boy's staircase.
First years were so jumpy; I swear I wasn't that odd when I was eleven.
I quickly unfolded the parchment, my eyes scanning the message.
Miss McGonagall,
Your father has had an unfortunate accident. Please report to my office as soon as possible. The password is 'snidget'.
Headmaster Dippet.
My eyes read the message, and my brain processed it, but my heart removed itself entirely from the equation. I walked to Headmaster Dippet's office, turning into the mindless girl I was whenever I was around my family. I shut out all emotions, refusing to feel anything about this 'unfortunate accident'. Knowing my father, he'd simply passed out somewhere whilst drunk.
He'd done that before, though I'd never been called to the Headmaster's office over it.
"Snidget." I said to the gargoyle, stepping onto the moving staircase, keeping my mind deliberately blank. I never liked to think of my family unless it was absolutely necessary. Even now, called to Dippet's office on family matters, I didn't want to deal with them until it was absolutely necessary.
I think most people are like that with things they don't like. It's much easier to ignore something than face it head on, I've found. I'd never admit that to anyone, though. It was too much of a Slytherin characteristic to be openly admitted by aGryffindor.
"Ah, Miss McGonagall. Have a seat."
I did so, smoothing out my skirt carefully as I sat down in the hard chair, keeping my face clear and composed.
"You asked to see me, Professor?" I asked, raising my eyes to meet the Headmaster's.
"Yes. As I said in my note, your father has had an accident. It seems he had… ah…that he had a bit too much firewhisky earlier, and took a rather nasty fall. He's in St Mungo's under observation, if you'd like to go visit him you are most welc-"
I cut him off, having no desire whatsoever to sit at the bedside of my drunk father, who, more often than not, yelled at me just for entertainment purposes.
"No, thank you, Professor. I appreciate being told, but I'd rather stay here." I replied diplomatically, keeping all traces of disgust and hatred of my face, a skill I'd developed well over the years.
I expect the only person who ever had an inkling about my real feelings for my father was my mother. She'd felt similarly, I knew. She'd told me as much on her death bed, wasting away from the stress of being married to a drunkard.
Watching my parents had made me only more certain that I'd never marry.
I quickly left Headmaster Dippet's office, retreating to my frequent source of solace, the library.
It was quiet, as per usual, with only a few students about. Most were spending their Thursday afternoon in their common rooms, cosy around the fires. There were a few harassed looking seventh and fifth years present, also a normal occurrence. They ignored me, too absorbed in their studies.
I headed to the Restricted Section, passing the librarian Madam MacAlister as I did so. She'd grown accustomed to my regular visits in the past year, as I'd progressed to studying the more advanced Transfiguration texts that were only found in this section of the library.
Apparently on this particular Thursday, I wasn't the only student passing time idly in the Restricted Section.
I watched Riddle out of the corner of my eye as he browsed the Dark Arts section, skipping over many books, pulling out only the occasional one before putting it back.
"Hello, Miss McGonagall." He said, his face still turned to the bookshelves, a worn old book in chains clutched in his pale grasp.
"Riddle." I replied, studying his back carefully.
"What are you looking up?" I asked, curious.
Riddle, despite being a year below me, was most probably more brilliant than anybody in my year. Myself excepted, of course. After all, neither one of us had managed to best the other all through Duelling Club last year, despite many tries. I wasn't entirely surprised to find him researching the Dark Arts. He'd shown an affinity for them the many times we'd duelled.
I still had trouble banishing the image of his eyes, narrowing in anger anytime I blocked a particularly impressive spell of his.
Clearly, he had anger issues.
"There's a concept in Defence that I'm rather interested in." He replied vaguely, opening the book as he did so, scanning the contents page quickly before placing it back on the shelf.
"You?" He asked, turning to face me.
"Oh," I stalled, rather startled that he was speaking to me. All through Duelling Club last year and the odd Prefect round we'd shared, we'd never had a real conversation.
"I have a passion for Transifiguration." I answered, heading over to that section as I did so.
We both resumed searching for books, neither one of us speaking. I could hear him occasionally removing books, opening them, and putting them back, but he never read any further than that.
Obviously he was looking for something specific. I couldn't help myself from wondering what. Riddle was still quite confusing. I couldn't figure him out at all. He was far more mature than anyone else in his year, or mine, or indeed anyone in seventh year. He was intelligent, everyone knew that, and all the Professors adored him.
With the exception of Professor Dumbledore, which was rather odd since he tended to adore everyone. Though, as he was my favourite Professor, I might have been biased.
Riddle left the library around an hour after I arrived, leaving all the books behind him. Evidently, his search had been unsuccessful. I caught a glimpse of his face as he left; he look angry, in a calm, calculating way. His face was determined, only his eyes betrayed the frustration within him.
I was coming to realise that his eyes were the only part of him that ever gave away anything.
As soon as he was out of sight, I walked around to the Dark Arts section, browsing some of the books he had looked at. I couldn't find anything in common at all in any of them, asides from the general theme of Dark Magic. Annoyed that Riddle remained as much of a mystery as ever, I left the library and headed for the common room in time for rounds.
"How were rounds?"
I collapsed on to my bed, exhausted, before answering Eve's question.
"Awful. Two second years tried to hold a duel in the dungeons, which of course we stopped, but not before a stray jinx hit Slughorn's entire stock of frogspawn. Hence why I smell like this." I said, lethargically cleaning my robes with my wand, something I hadn't thought of until now.
Tiredness, it does that to me.
"Plus, I interrupted no less than four couples in broom closets. Honestly, what is it with fifth years and broom closets? How is that romantic in the slightest? Or in any way proper?" I grumbled, causing Jo and Eve to laugh.
Vera wasn't present, probably off moping over Harkiss in some hidden corner with a vat of hot chocolate, and Elsie was doing Merlin knows what at this how.
It was past curfew, what an earth could she be doing?
"Minerva McGonagall, I cannot believe you've been having secret meetings with your one-and-only in the library and neglected to tell us!"
Speak of the devil. Elsie had appeared, storming in to the dormitory and accusing me of-of such things!
Where on earth had she heard that?
And he was not my 'one-and-only', thank you very much!
"You have?" Jo gasped, sitting up straight and staring at me. Eve had a similar reaction, more incredulous than excited, however.
"I have not." I said indignantly, glaring at Elsie.
"Really?" She asked, smirking at me.
"So you weren't both in the Restricted Section earlier?" She said, to a gasp from Jo.
"Well, yes, we were, but he was looking up Dark Arts stuff, whilst I was doing Transfiguration-" I said, but they'd stopped paying attention.
"Dark Arts?" Jo repeated, clearly unable to understand why Riddle would be fascinated with something so evil.
If there was anyone in Hogwarts capable of being wicked, it would be Tom Riddle, as handsome, mysterious, intelligent and persuasive as he was.
Actually, the fact that he was mysterious and persuasive was part of the reason I was convinced his intentions with the Dark Arts weren't entirely honourable.
Unfortunately that made him even more of a puzzle.
"Surely not. He's too proper for that! He's a Prefect, after all." Eve said, trying to keep Mr Riddle's flawless (in her eyes, at least) reputation intact.
"I've got it!" Elsie said, already having forgotten all about my supposed rendezvous.
"He must be researching all that magic so that he can rush off and put an end to Grindelwald! He'd certainly do something heroic like that." Elsie said, with no mind of how ridiculous that sounded.
"Please." I scoffed, rolling my eyes at my friends.
"He's a fifth year. There's no way he'd be the one to stop Grindelwald, who, by the way, is thousands of miles away, and in no position to be thwarted by Riddle. I think he's researching a concept of some sort that intrigues him, he said as much." I said, and yet again, I'd said too much.
Elsie quickly jumped back on the 'Riddle and Min' ship, coming up immediately with a million possible hidden messages behind this comment. I did what I always did, hid my real emotions and extracted myself from the conversation, fading quietly into the background, choosing to complete my Charms reading rather than ponder hidden meanings that didn't exist in everyday conversation.
I guess that was one thing I'd learn from my experience with my father that was useful, how to go unnoticed. I didn't do it often, mind you. It wasn't really my style, to be part of the backdrop. That sort of thing was much more suited to Evelyn. Elsie and I were usually the ones out in front, forever in the spotlight.
Usually fighting each other for it, but that was irrelevant.
It was eventually decided that Riddle must want me to help him research this 'concept'; otherwise he wouldn't have mentioned it. I thought that ridiculous since he'd shown no inclination of needing help the entire time we'd been in the library.
He was simply interested in something and wanted to one else to know. Whatever it was, it was just another thing that made Riddle who he was: a man of mystery.