Hi! Oh dear, I realise it's been ages since I last updated this and I am really sorry! School tried to eat me...:P...no, but it was a lot of work in the last months. We had to write a 20-pages-essay about a specific topic- mine was the Great Depression in the USA. That unfortunately killed my spare time and whenever I was free, all I could think about was the American industrial output in the 1930s, so I thought that it probably wouldn't be fair to you if I wrote a new chapter in that strange mood. However, now I've finished the new chapter and I hope you like it...the next one should come very soon as I have holidays in two weeks. Thank you for your wonderful reviews, VanillaFieldsOfGold, tartan-angel, Delilah Anne Marie and Charlieaus ! Hopefully someone is still reading this story S-:...please tell me what you think about this update! I hope that they are still all in character...

-Sachita (-;

Chapter Five

Hogwarts, Christmas Soiree, 1939

Christmas had rolled around earlier than expected this year, Minerva thought, and watched happy couples sway to the beat of American jazz music. From where she was sitting, she had a good view of the whole room. Mistletoes in over-abundance hung from the ceiling, sometimes gently moving along with some imaginary wind breeze or the other.

The ceiling had been charmed to represent a starry winter sky. There were even thick white snowflakes falling toward the ground and the dancing couples only to dissolve somewhere in the middle for no apparent reason. Minerva, fascinated by the complexity of the charms, had spent hours loitering around in the Great Hall watching the teachers fire off spell after spell only to be chased away by the caretaker, Mr. Penibel. Still, being fascinated by the preparations for the Soiree did not explain why she had come to the actual event, sitting all by herself at a table.

Minerva scoffed darkly and adjusted her position on one of the chairs adjacent to the tables at the sidelines of the dance floor. All pupils from fourth form up were invited, so why shouldn't she come? It was a rule that made the fourth-graders feel adult and superior to the younger students, who were only allowed to come if they had been invited to dance by someone older than them. Thus, Minerva was present too, even though she had no dance partner. Another scowl crossed her face, when it occurred to her how lame this reason sounded to her own ears.

„All alone tonight, Miss McGonagall?" She looked up from where she had been brooding over a pint of butterbeer and smiled when she found the twinkling blue eyes of Professor Dumbledore looking at her. "Yes, Professor." He smiled gently: "Well, I daresay, the young men here are just not good enough for you." Minerva's smile became genuine, as she noticed how the Professor tried to comfort her without actually saying so about something that she didn't even need to be comforted about.

There had been an offer or two, but she had always declined. Few boys had approached her- she was not like any of the other girls- giggly, adorned with lipstick and supremely superficial and silly- and thus, many probably thought her boring. She did not care, had never cared for shallowness. The few offers she had got had been from some Hufflepuff boys and a Ravenclaw who had not found someone else. Still, she had not sunk quite as far as that. Minerva would never settle for being second-best, and that was exactly why she had also declined those offers.

Sitting here, now, sipping at her butterbeer, she had to admit that it was getting to be a little tiresome. She might know why she had declined the offers, but others didn't, thus she was the recipient of many looks that night; some pitying, some smug. Why had she even come?

Professor Dumbledore, who had been sitting silently next to her so far, remarked, effectively shaking her out of her musings, "Your friend Miss Gladys seems to be enjoying herself."
Minerva looked over to Elma, who, swathed in pink tulle that clashed horribly with her red hair, was swung around by the Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team.

"Yes," she said placidly.

Dumbledore nodded and got up slowly. "Well, I'll see who else an old man can find to annoy here," he stated. "Take care, Miss McGonagall."

"Bye, sir," Minerva replied and cut her eyes back from his retreating form to stare at the couple she had been staring at all evening if she was honest with herself.

It was Tom- no, not Tom. Riddle, dancing with Myleena O'Reilly, Slytherin.

She was beautiful, of course, Minerva mused sardonically. It had been Tom who had asked her in spite of her being older than him- he could have had any of the Slytherin girls and probably also a lot of the female members of the other houses. But he had chosen Myleena, which was only to be expected. Tom only settled for the best- and Myleena was undisputedly one of the best-looking girls of the whole school.

Myleena with her sleek blond hair expertly pulled up in an elegant knot- Minerva tugged at her own black strands haphazardly tied up in a messy bun. Myleena with the perfect make-up that added weight to her blue gaze- Minerva had snagged one of the other Gryffindor girls' lipsticks for this special occasion, feeling as if she had committed a crime when she had put it down. And Myleena, Myleena with curves all in the right places, even though she was Minerva's age- Minerva looked down at herself and sighed. No. She was definitely not going there.

Suddenly she froze mid-motion as it dawned on her what she had been doing. She had been comparing herself to Myleena, who was currently dancing with….Tom…with Riddle. Oh dear. That meant…Downing her butterbeer in one go, she shot to her feet. Few spared her a glance as she exited the Hall hastily, her dignity being the only thing that kept her from running.

However, a pair of dark blue eyes followed her.

Several students glanced up as a loud shout of "Ouch!" followed by several curses that made some of the more conservative teachers gasp, interrupted the dance. Myleena, with the long train of her elegant dress torn by the shoes of her dance partner, glared at the aforementioned, who was standing frozen in place, eyes fixed on the exit.

"What is the bloody matter with you, Riddle?" she shrieked, all perfection forgotten as red blotchy spots appeared on her cheeks, a sure sign of her anger. Several male students grinned at the spectacle- many of them had been put down by Myleena before and now enjoyed her misfortune- an activity that had been dubbed "schadenfreude", a word that had been around for about twenty or thirty years now. Everyone was only slowly getting used to it, but no one could deny that it filled a hole in the English language many had not even been aware of. Some other girls' expressions were filled with that very word as well; it was written on their faces in bold letters. Myleena was not a gentle soul- in fact, a lot of the students would have found quite nasty words to describe her if asked and so no one felt particularly sorry for her.

"Nothing," Tom finally replied coolly to Myleena's query and left her alone in the middle of the dance floor, ignoring her outraged cries. Upon passing Abraxas Malfoy, Riddle lifted a cool eyebrow and the blond boy nodded. Satisfied, Tom disappeared, knowing that Abraxas would take care of the din the girl was making. It was an even better feeling than he had thought to have them all groveling at his feet. He was not sure where he was going with their devotion, but he'd sure find a way to use it one day. For now he was content with them obeying him. A small smirk graced his face as he thought of how he had showed them his power…but no, he was not going there now.

Minerva. Right. Hesitating, he paused on his way to the Gryffindor dormitory. Finally coming to a decision, he shook his head and changed direction. Minerva would have to wait. She couldn't have the impression that he was paying attention to her every mood- even though he was, he admitted to himself with a disgusted sneer at his own weakness. But she could not know. He had other things to do than dote on her at any rate- the restricted section of the library had long since become a favourite haunt of his. The restriction spells merely constituted a minor hindrance for him these days and Tom smiled, as he fingered his wand with pale fingers. He was destined for greatness and he knew it.

Minerva, meanwhile, was standing in front of a mirror, or better, the mirror. The fourth year girls' dormitory only had this one mirror, which had led to many catfights in the past. Now, however, she was all alone. The dormitory was dark and silent. Minerva stared at her reflection and fought the sour taste of bile in her throat. Having spent the last quarter of an hour throwing up her meals of the last three days- or so it had felt to her- she was not in the best moods and it showed in her expression.

She was pale and dark bruised rings surrounded her blood-shot green eyes. Her dark hair was hanging loosely around her face, sticking up at odd ends. She groaned, feeling queasy.

"That's what too much butterbeer imbibed in too short a time does to a stomach not habituated to alcoholic drinks, my dear," the mirror said sympathetically.

Minerva nearly fell backwards on her behind and shrieked. Having recovered her wits, she glared though she felt a little silly staring at herself like that. "Since when do you talk?"

The mirror giggled. Minerva had the disconcerting feeling that it was a she-mirror.

"I have always been able to talk, but I often chose not to." The mirror paused. "You look sick, child. Maybe you should consider lying down."

"I am not tired," Minerva snapped. Then she groaned. "I am confiding into a mirror. How much worse can it get?"

"That's how I feel sometimes, too, dear," the mirror assured her cheerfully. "Especially when communicating with my cousins."

"Wait a minute." Minerva raised an eyebrow at her reflection. "You mirrors talk among each other?"

"Of course!" The she-mirror, and yes, Minerva had decided, that it most certainly was a she-mirror, stated indignantly. "How little intelligence do you think we mirrors possess after all?"

Minerva, choosing not to answer that question, asked quickly: "Do you perchance know what Tom Riddle is up then? If he is in the vicinity of one of your cousins?"

"Tom Riddle? Dark-haired young Slytherin, Third Year?" The mirror inquired politely.

"That's him." Minerva nodded, fully expecting that she would soon get the reply that Tom was happily dancing the night away in the Great Hall.

"Sure, sure, wait a minute." The mirror abruptly became blind and Minerva stared, aghast, at her now shadowy reflection. She shook her head once more. "It can't get much worse than that…"

The mirror cleared its throat- or at least it sounded like it. "Dearie, your friend is currently in the restricted section of the library. Silly child, delving into dark corners like that. You should keep away from him."

"Who are you, my mother?" Minerva snapped, ignoring the little nagging voice that told her that the mirror's concerns were nothing but justified.

The mirror sounded a little insulted. "Only trying to look out for you."

Minerva groaned. She had no energy left for this. Chancing a last glare at her reflection, she muttered moodily: "I look like a bloody witch."

"You are a witch, darling," the reply came even as Minerva slammed the bathroom door shut behind her.

Sinking on her bed, she closed her eyes against the gentle spinning of the room. So Tom was in the restricted section of the library. She had always thought that he had been there at least once before- sometimes his amount of knowledge had dumbfounded her, since she had been sure that he not acquired it in the usual books available at the library. Well, now she had her answer. Minerva stemmed herself up on her elbows, suddenly appalled at herself. She had not even contemplated going to Professor Dumbledore with her newly acquired piece of knowledge, had only thought of how much this helped her to decipher the literal Riddle at hand. What only intensified her disgust and insurrection at herself was, however- she was still not thinking of confiding in Professor Dumbledore.

What on earth had she become?

Hogwarts, January 1940

The icy January winds whipped angry snow cascades up and pelted ice chunks against the windows of the proud castle.

It had been icy and snowy for weeks now and the Scottish countryside was frozen in wintry silence. Everyone did their best to stay inside, as the harsh winds bit and stung even through multiple layers of clothing.

Minerva, currently seated in one of the school's classrooms, tried to hide a yawn. Bored she traced the smooth surface of the tabletop and tried hard to follow the Professor's words. Professor Accuratore, as always impeccably dressed in a long dark cloak that was v-shaped and allowed only small glimpses of the pristine white wife-beater he was wearing underneath and the bow-tie, which looked like an extension of the Professor's pudgy chin, was making very important-looking hand-gestures and talking animatedly. It was however, more of a monologue, or even a soliloquy, as no one seemed to be listening.

Deducing that he was still yammering on about the charm that made cats speak and the possible consequences, which was an excerpt from an essay by an Australian wizard named McLeigh published sometime last century that Minerva had avidly perused- but that had been months ago and so she didn't wish to hear it again- she concentrated again on the tabletop.

She had been doing something for her education in her free time, thank you very much, so why did she have to hear it again? Couldn't there be a regulation that allowed students to leave whenever they felt that they knew all about the current lesson topic? Logically examined, it would make sense. Minerva was drafting a petition regarding her problem in her head, when the door suddenly opened with a loud thud.

Professor Accuratore twitched. Minerva, fully expecting one of his volatile rants, raised herself into a sitting position in interest. But the rant didn't come, only the Professor's mustache quivered in poor restraint. No second later, Minerva could see the reason for his silence, as Headmaster Dippet stepped into the room.

"Excuse our intrusion, Professor," he offered. Our intrusion? Minerva raised an eyebrow, wondering if the Headmaster was speaking of himself in pluralis majestetis. "But," the Headmaster continued, "I find myself in need of your assistance."

"Yes?" Professor Accuratore barked roughly, still indignant about having been interrupted in the middle of what he liked to call "vital speeches". There were some snickers.

Noticing his lack of respect, he tacked on a "Yes, Sir?"

Dippet turned around an indicated the herd of black-clad pupils gathered behind him to come into the room. Slytherin Third Years, Minerva realised uneasily with a look at their green-and-silver ties. She shifted in her seat and saw several other Gryffindors do the same. Mixing Slytherins and Gryffindors was never a good idea.

"I am leaving them under your supervision for the time being. Professor Tanner has fallen sick and we don't have staff to spare."
Professor Accuratore, clearly thrown off at that invasive interruption of his lesson, coughed.

"Well," he intoned strictly, American accent coming to the fore, "you heard the Headmaster. Find a seat, all of you."

The Slytherins complied reluctantly, casting contemptuous looks at the Gryffindors as they did so.

Minerva only looked up when a thump indicated that someone had slid into the empty seat next to her- Elma had preferred to sit somewhere else in the last weeks.

"Tom," she acknowledged flatly, not even looking up.

"Minerva." The smirk was audible.

She didn't look at him, just kept on ignoring him. Another sound came from her right- it sounded suspiciously like a poorly repressed laugh. "What do you want, Riddle?"

"I want to know why you are ignoring me."

Minerva glared at him. "I am not ignoring you."

"Not right now, no," Tom pointed out. His face had lost its amusement and his dark eyes searched hers intensely. Minerva felt how her face flushed under his scrutiny and his stare changed to something bordering on hungry. She was reminded of a snake fixating its prey- or a magpie intent on getting to the jewelry on a rich woman's wrist.

"Stop staring," she snapped, trying to cover up her sudden discomfort.

"Whatever you say." The amusement was back, making his eyes dance in his ridiculously handsome face. He had adapted to the latest hairstyle sometime over the last weeks and the wavy dark fringe hid his renewed glee largely from view as he turned away from her and her annoyed snort.

Minerva, pointedly turning away from him, too, tried to concentrate again on Professor Accuratore's words. Why was she ignoring him? A good question. She had been doing so since the Soiree, but why she had done so was something that she didn't know. Or she did know, but she did not want to admit it to herself. Annoyed, this time at herself, she eventually sighed. Fine. It was because of him. She, Minerva McGonagall, had a crush on Tom Bloody Riddle. Fantastic.

Someone glared holes into her side. "Didn't Professor Tanner give you some additional work so you won't get bored while he is sick?"she growled.

"Oh, he did." Tom sounded cheerful, but when she looked over to him, his face betrayed nothing of his mirth. "I finished it already. Wasn't that hard."

Minerva went back to ignoring him. Professor Accuratore was ranting at the front:"…so the charm to make cats speak is a complex one, but it can be learned in six easy steps. The first incantation begins with the vowel "a", but not spoken like the common "a" rather like the "a" in the Latin word "addo", which is also the first part of the charm…followed by "adepto", meaning to acquire, to obtain…"

Minerva, her irritation forgotten, turned to Riddle. He was looking back at her and she raised an eyebrow at him, while he nodded. So he did also think that-

"Professor!" No! What on earth was the idiot doing?
"Tom," she hissed. "You can't…"

"Yes- Mr. Riddle, is it?"

"Yes, sir." Tom's charming façade was all in place, but Minerva could see the cunning glimmer in his eyes. "You mixed the order of the charm up, sir."

Minerva could practically see how the Professor's anger mounted. First only one vein in his forehead was pulsing- a terrifying, angry red- and then a second one started to appear next to the first.

"Well-done," someone whispered behind them. "The old geezer is about to have a heart attack."

"Mr. Riddle!" Professor Accuratore all but roared. "You are not allowed to interrupt my lesson with your disqualified remarks! This charm is barely covered by a Fourth-Year's knowledge, so, pray tell me, boy, how you could even know what it entails!"

Minerva felt her hackles rise. She despised injustice, had always despised it. And this was injustice as Tom was clearly right. "But Professor-"

"No Miss McGonagall! I am disappointed with you! Detention, both of you! You start with your detention now and you stop only when I tell you! Come along!" It was five minutes before the lesson ended- it was the last lesson for today, so Professor Accuratore did not have to worry about removing two pupils from one of his colleagues' classes.

There was absolute silence and Minerva felt how her face turned beet-red. Detention! She had never had any form of punishment in school before. Tom next to her looked nonchalant and he stood up indifferently. Some of the Slytherins, Minerva noted, looked at him with something akin to hero worship. The Gryffindors, however, stared at her in undiluted shock. Some of them whispered among each other. She stood up on wobbly legs and felt how she grew more and more humiliated witch each step she had to take. When she got outside, to where Tom was already standing next to Professor Accuratore, she was shaking.

They marched to an empty classroom in stony silence. Minerva dared not look up. She had never been more ashamed in her entire life than in that moment. The Professor turned to them when they had stepped into the classroom.

"You'll scrub the whole floor and you won't use your wands as I will confiscate them," he hissed in white-faced anger and extended his hand with an impatient look. Minerva handed her wand over in ashamed silence; Tom's stare was defiant. "Come on, boy," Professor Accuratore growled, "shall we take this to the Headmaster?"

"Tom," Minerva whispered with a sinking feeling.

Tom finally relented and gave the wand to the Professor, not without a dark glare.

Pocketing the wands, the Professor stared them down, which was an easy feat considering that he had at least three heads on Minerva and two and a half on Tom. "When I return there shall be stainless stones! Stainless stones!" With that, he strode out of the door.

"Stainless Stones?" Tom shook his head and laughed. "That bloody fool shouldn't be waxing poetry."

Minerva, however, had a bone to pick with him. "You landed us in detention, Riddle!" she yelled.

He lifted an elegant eyebrow. "We landed ourselves in detention, separately," he pointed out.

"I only got myself into this mess because I was trying to help you!" There was a place beyond anger and Minerva could feel herself steadily heading there. She was trembling and tried to control herself by balling her hands into fists. Tom's mocking face was but a pale shape in a sea of red fury around her vision.

"Oh?" Tom queried disdainfully.

"Yes, Oh!" Minerva couldn't have said why she was getting so worked up about all this, but the last month had been one of the worst in her entire life- being ignored by Elma, that nightmarish Christmas Soiree, now the detention- somehow, Tom seemed to fit as the culprit in all cases. And everything because she had cared. Minerva had had few friends growing up wind-dishevelled and red-faced in the lonely, roughly beautiful wilderness of the Scottish Highlands save for their faithful House Elf and the odd meeting with muggle children, acquaintances that she hadn't been allowed to keep for long. Elma had been the first real friend she had had.

People just didn't approach her on their own volition. She was not sure how to deal with them and often covered it up with sternness and seriousness- the Highlands had taught her a lot about pride, majesty and the beauty of an undisturbed sunrise, but not how to deal with jest and laughter. "Minnie Mouse" had been her nickname all too soon, but it was not as if she were shy: she just didn't know how to deal with people. And then Tom had come along. Tom Riddle, smart, infuriating, handsome, yet at the same time cold and unapproachable. In spite of her own doubts, she had let him in and now he was repaying it to her with disdain?

Helplessly, aiming to draw him out of his mask, she spat at him: "I know what you did!"

"Oh? And what would that have been?"he asked crisply.

If she hadn't been so angry, she might have taken a moment to reflect on her words. As it were however, she didn't think long before replying furiously:

"You have been reading books from the restricted section of the library!"

Tom's expression abruptly became shuttered; the smug smile disappeared. He let his hand sink that he had lifted in animated speech and prowled, there was no other word to describe it, closer. Minerva shivered under his hard gaze, but did not back down.

"Know that, do you?" he asked nearly gently, but it was the kind of gentle calm that prevails before a storm strikes.

"Yes," Minerva squeaked and hated herself for it.

"Well, you're not about to blab, are you?" Tom queried, slowly walking around her. Minerva stared straight ahead with burning eyes, pale and motionless and yet Tom kept on circling her again and again until he suddenly stopped and-
"ARE YOU?" he thundered abruptly.

" No," she very nearly whimpered. "I am not."

"Good," he purred like a sated cat. In that moment Minerva hated him. "You want to share, right?" he suddenly asked curiously. "Take a look at those books yourself."

His warm breath ghosted over her neck, but Minerva shook his spell off.

"Go scrub the floor, Tom," she tossed over her shoulder and thrust a mop in his hand, casually moving away to get a bucket of water. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw his disconcerted expression and in spite of her shaking hands, she couldn't help the slow smile of triumph that spread over her face, nearly sickeningly sweet and satisfying like too much honey spread on too little bread.

Hogwarts, March 1940

Minerva sat with a quill in the hand on the window sill, gazing outside into the black night. Behind her, the other girls were giggling and chatting among each other, yet Minerva ignored them. Black drops of ink splattered the parchment, above which the quill was hovering shakily. She exhaled noisily and her dark hair, hanging loosely around her face , swung along to the soft breeze coming from the opened window.

"Close the window, will you, Minerva?" one of the other girls called. It was Aimee, whom Minerva was somewhat fond of as she proved to be relatively reasonable sometimes.

"Yes," she called back taciturnly and closed the window with a sigh, leaning against the cool surface of the glass. Closing her eyes, she thought on what had happened today…it already had the unreal quality of a dream to her- or maybe rather a nightmare.

The cold stones had felt alive under Minerva's searching hands. She had shivered, as her breath had formed bizarre ghostly clouds in the frigid air, barely visible in the greenish light of the old hallways.

Minerva had never cared much for the cold dungeons of the Slytherins- they were all green light, cold air and silver stones; as opposed to the golden fire, candlelight and red tapestry of her Gryffindor realm.

"Tom?" she had called shakily, wincing as her voice echoed strangely in the silence.

Sarah Dubois had told her where she might find Tom- Sarah had always been rather helpful for a Slytherin, Minerva had reflected as she had made her way through the hallways.

There had been no reply, but then she had thought to have heard something- a slight hissing sound maybe, or the sound water makes when released from a water tap. Carefully, Minerva had inched closer and had peered around the corner- to make the most horrifying discovery.

A figure had been kneeling on the ground in a dark robe- it had taken her some time to determine that it had indeed been Tom. Something had prevented her from calling out to him though. He had been focused on something in front of him, while he had turned his back to her, crouching on the ground. But then he had turned in her direction and she had frozen where she had stood.

The light of the candle standing next to him on the ground had cast flickering shadows on the wall opposite of him and Minerva had squinted to make out the small shadow next to Tom. As he had moved aside a bit, however, she had been able to see that it had been a spider. Tom had been pointing his wand at her….and Minerva had never heard any spider make a sound, but she could have had sworn, that the spider was screaming. Screaming and in obvious pain.

The expression on Tom's face had been hard to read for his face had been mostly shrouded in darkness, but when he looked up and the light of the candle fell on him, Minerva had been able to see that it was a twisted mixture of disgust, something indefinable- and pleasure. She had looked again to make sure, but there had been no mistaking it. It had been sheer delight on his face as he had looked at the writhing spider.

Minerva had whirled around and she had run away as fast as her legs had carried her. Once back in Gryffindor, she had thrown up. Afterwards, she had walked over to the window sill and that was where she had been sitting since then, a dripping quill in her hand and a blank expression on her face.

Sighing, she finally got up. "It's way past bedtime, Minerva," Aimee called. "Why don't you go to sleep as well?"

"Yeah," another disgruntled voice, that of Mary, piped up. "We are trying to sleep, you know."

Elma was silent. Minerva didn't reply to the others, but she changed into her nightclothes and crawled under the cover after a quick trip to the bathroom. She couldn't sleep however. The screams of the spider- or whatever that horrendous noise had been- kept ringing in her ears.

Later that evening Minerva lay safely cocooned in her mound of blankets in her bed, listening to the regular breathing of the other girls and clutching her blanket with sweaty hands. On the bed locker next to her the light shape of a roll of parchment glared at her. It said "Professor Dumbledore, Sir, I have something to tell you and I only can do it in written form", but it had not yet been completed.

Minerva carefully made a grasp for that roll of parchment, but when her fingers touched it, she withdrew her hand hastily. She did not touch it again, but was lying motionlessly in her bed for a long time afterward, staring with burning eyes into the darkness.

tbc...