Hi everyone. It's been a long time since the last update...but I must say I was quite disappointed with the total lack of reviews. A writer lives from reviews and I am no exception )-: ...Still, I will continue this story- regardless of the amount of reviews. i think it's wrong to base updating a story on the amount of reviews. But if you like this story (or not), please leave me a review! It would absolutely make my day, no, my week! Finals are next week and so I am quite stressed at the moment- a review would make everything better. I'm not saying that you have to review or anything, I would never do that, but please know that I would be so very happy about a review. It doesn't have to be much- just a word or two would be enough for me.

That having been said, I will update soon again. I didn't have the chance to update because school was hectic these last months (the lack of reviews was not the reason, but it did slow me down considerably).

And- did anyone decipher the meaning of the message- or at least in parts? Below is the "solution" (-;

So- I hope you like it.

Greetings,

Sachita (-:


Chapter Seven

Hogwarts, Early Summer 1940

"Good Lord, Tom," Minerva groaned quietly. "Is this really necessary?"

She found herself in an awkward position indeed, pressed against Tom in a niche that had surely been used as a wardrobe in earlier times, as a very rusty ancient coat peg over their heads proved. However, as time had passed one had found it convenient to add wood panels to the room they were currently in, but one had not deemed it necessary to be that exact with the paneling. No, instead one had left some space between the wood panels and the wall here where the wardrobe had been standing, creating that hiding place they were currently squished inside. One had clearly left this bit of space for purposes like the one they were currently pursuing: spying. On others. In their office. One could have left a bit more space to allow the spy to breathe, Minerva thought surly. Clearly, one had been stupid. It was hot. It was uncomfortable. She was sweating. She wriggled around a bit, earning a hissed "Quiet!" from Tom and a bony elbow jab to the ribs.

"Tom!" she hissed angrily. "That hurt!"

"Will you finally be quiet, Minerva?" he growled back in obvious frustration.

Irritated, Minerva stared at him and shook her head, but not at Tom. Rather, at herself. What on earth was she doing here? In Professor Accuratore's study, none the less. Stuck together with Tom bloody Riddle in a space so tight that she could feel his every breath? Spying on the Professor to see if he worked for Grindelwald from so absurd a hiding place? Dear Lord, it sounded like a chapter taken out of a crime novel. The worst part, however, was that she wasn't afraid at all. It all felt rather like an adventure to her- and she was determined to find out what the Professor was up to.

Heavy footsteps came closer and stopped in front of the door. "Here he comes," Tom whispered and Minerva almost used her own elbow against him this time. They had already established that talking was not warranted, hadn't they?

They both held their breath though as the door creaked open. The wood panels in front of their little hiding place had little knotholes and so the two observers realised that the one entering the room was, in fact, the man they had been waiting for; Professor Accuratore.

He moved slowly, only as quick as his heavy mass allowed. Nothing happened for the next few minutes; the Professor only shuffled some papers around on his desk, then he sat there for a long time, staring into the flames of his fireplace. Minerva felt how the heat of the flames made her drowsy- the added body heat of Tom didn't do much to change that. Her eyelids slowly slipped shut.

A long finger poked her in the side. She turned her head to glare at Tom, but the angle was unfortunate. Thus her eyes widened comically since she found herself nose-to-nose with Tom, whom merely gave her an amused look. Minerva felt how a blush stained her cheeks. His breath ghosted over her neck as he leaned closer and his look changed. Minerva couldn't have described it, though it looked like some kind of hunger that was hidden in his eyes.

Minerva's heart thudded in her chest. Was he going to kiss her? But just as he leaned in, a sudden groan coming from Professor Accuratore's chair made them freeze. Minerva hastily turned her head away and saw Tom doing the same.

Focusing on the Professor again as though nothing had happened, they saw that he had got up and was stretching to get the kinks out of his back.

Minerva suddenly froze. Dust motes had somehow managed to get into her nose. She could feel a sneeze coming up. Desperately she pinched her nose and when that did not seem to help matters, she squeezed it with her fingers. Tom, who had realised what was happening, was suddenly holding his hands in front of her face, too, trying to muffle any sound that might escape. Minerva, for a moment, contemplated how surprisingly calloused Tom's hands were before the sneeze building up in her made her drop the matter quickly. "AAH-CHOO!"

It had been quiet, muffled by Tom's hands and Minerva's attempts to remain silent, but still Professor Accuratore jumped up from his seat and stood still as a statue, trying to determine where the sound had come from. Minerva and Tom remained perfectly still, but Minerva was sure that her heart would surely alert the Professor as it seemed to beat as loud as if she had jumped up and screamed "Here!" Tom put a calming hand on her arm. It didn't help matters.

The Professor came very close to their hiding place and looked at the wood panels closely for some long agonizing moments, then withdrew his wand. "Show your secrets!" he thundered and pointed the wand at the panels. Nothing happened.

Humming contemplatively, the Professor finally sat down. "Probably nothing," he mumbled to himself. After torturous minutes while they dared not to move in the slightest, Professor Accuratore picked up a stack of papers and exited the room.

Stiff and sore from having remained in one position for so long, they hastily crawled back through the narrow tunnel that they had used to come there. The tunnel's exit was near Gryffindor Tower, but in a hidden corridor. Tom had known about it, claiming that it was a "secret" when Minerva had asked him how he had found it and not in the mood to argue with him, she had let it go. They fell rather than climbed out from behind the statue that hid the entrance. Landing in a tangle of robes and limbs, it took them some time to sort themselves out.

When they had made sure that everything was accounted for, Tom sat up and glared at Minerva darkly. "What the hell," he growled.

"I can't help having to sneeze," Minerva defended herself, then got up, dusting herself off. "I am not doing that again," she said firmly.

"What- trying to find out if Accuratore is striving for world domination?" Tom shot back cynically.
"No, Tom," Minerva replied primly and he glared at her tone. "I am not going back to that hiding hole."
Tom jumped to his feet elegantly and Minerva envied him for his easy grace.

"Oh come on," he said impatiently, "you know that Accuratore is involved in Grindelwald's business."

"No," Minerva snapped back. "I don't. How would you know?"

Tom gave her a look that would have put an elementary school teacher to shame. "The notice," he replied flatly in a "smarter-than-thou" –voice. Minerva did not care much for his tone and she said so. Tom scoffed impatiently.

"The letter," he said. He shook his head and pulled her into an empty classroom. "The German letter," he repeated.

"So what?" Minerva actually enjoyed being difficult and seeing how his pallor faded for an angry red skin colour.

"It was an encoded message."

"And I suppose you decoded it?"

"Of course," Tom said slowly. "Don't be so dense, Minerva. Actually I had presumed you had done the same, but alas, seeing that you haven't-" He withdrew his wand and drew the translated words of the message in the air.

The bumblebees are buzzing again. The bee hive, however, does not know anything about the new source of food. The bear has done a good job. Hermes's flight will take place. Watch out for the were-wolf.

"Bumblebee," Tom tipped at the word with his wand until it vanished as thin smoke, "stands for Dumbledore. Dumbledore is somehow active in his fight against Grindelwald and Accuratore thinks he knows something. The beehive," and he touched that word next, "is the Ministry. They don't know anything, as usual, poor fools."

He sneered derisively. "The source of food, well," he paused, "that is for us to find out. It's his plans. The bear is probably a spy or someone who tries to convey false information about Grindelwald to those in positions of authority. Maybe it's even Accuratore himself. Again, that's for us to find out. And finally, Hermes."

He waved his wand at the word and it changed from its original white smoky colour to an angry red. "It's a message. A message with information that should not leave the country, but we have no way of knowing if it already has and we probably also have no way to find out. The were-wolf is when that message will arrive. By the next full moon- but, how old is this message? Is it the last full moon? And were the original plans to send that message to the time still executed now that Accuratore has lost the notice and Dumbledore knows about it?"

"You say," Minerva said finally slowly, "that Dumbledore has already figured it out too?"

Tom gave her a clearly pitying look. "Of course he has," he replied. " You are the one who always speaks of him so highly. My, you are slow today, aren't you? So we can't really help him there. Intercepting the message is not what we can do. But maybe we can find out more information."

"Still not going back to that hiding hole," Minerva replied stubbornly.

"Fine!" Tom seethed and threw his hands up. "Have it your way!"

Angrily, he exited the room. Minerva folded her hands across her chest and stared after him levelly. Then she turned to the window and sighed. This was worse than she had thought- and she was thinking of two things. One- her crush on Tom bloody Riddle had not gotten better. Two- Professor Accuratore was a spy for the enemy but they had no proof.

Staring at the clouds, Minerva wondered where it would all lead. She felt suddenly very helpless.


The rest of summer until the holidays passed uneventfully. They did not find out much regarding Professor Accuratore's activities. Minerva had never gone back to the hiding hole, much to Tom's annoyance.

On a sunny summer afternoon in the last week before the holidays, Minerva wandered through the school, attempting to find Tom to ask him whether he had found out something new. And also, because she wanted to see him, she amended somewhat angrily, but only angry at herself for being so weak.

When she found Tom, he was surrounded by a herd of Slytherins. Myleena hung at his arm and Minerva scoffed in anger. Myleena- that good-for-nothing, oh-look-I-am-beautiful- no, she was not continuing this. Why did she care what Tom did with Myleena? It was his business.

"Tom," she said politely, but coldly, not to be deterred by the Slytherin death glares she received from all directions from his followers, "can I speak to you for a minute?"

"Why would you need to speak to me?" he had the audacity to ask arrogantly, putting a heavy emphasis on the "you". The Slytherins snickered.

Minerva was seething, but she did not show it. "Oh, dear boy," she said sweetly, "did you forget about the "love star" map we have to do together for divination?"

"Love star map? Divination?" Tom stared at her, while the other Slytherins tried to keep straight faces, not wanting to risk his anger. But by giving such an awkward answer, he had managed to lose his credibility. Minerva nearly laughed as that dawned on him, too.

He shooed the other Slytherins away with a simple hand movement. "What do you want, Minerva?" he finally growled coldly.

"Nothing anymore, Tom Riddle," Minerva hissed venomously, all amusement forgotten. How dare he treat her like that! As if she was like his Slytherin followers, eager for a kind word from him! How dare he!

"How dare you, Minerva?" Tom was angry, but oh, so was she. She lifted a hand and slapped him before she even knew what she was doing. For a moment, hurt and confusion clouded his features. Then he showed only cold fury and Minerva knew that she had to run.

Tom slowly raised a hand to his burning cheek, but he put a hand on Abraxas Malfoy's arm, as he raised it to fire a hex after Minerva's slim frame.

"Leave her," he said. As his fellow Slytherins turned away, Tom raised his eyes.

"You will regret that one day, Minerva," he said softly. "But not now."


London, Late Summer 1940

The summer holidays passed soon, without a word from either Tom or Minerva. One day, though, Minerva's mother decided they needed to get out- to London.

Summer was in its last vestiges. The City of London was filled with lots of people- many of them clad in greenish or brownish uniforms. The air was filled with hectic and unease. Minerva felt insecure and she thought of what Tom had once told her: "I am located in trouble's centre." She could now feel what he had meant- the war was much more present in London than anywhere else in the country.

So felt better when they arrived in Hyde Park, where the atmosphere seemed less strained. It was bathed in golden light. A little girl in a pale dress skipped merrily through the wet meadows, whilst her mother was calling for her in annoyance from where she was standing on one of the paths that snaked their way through the park. The little girl did not heed her mother's cries though. She was still running; her little hand clutched her hat that was adorned by a loosely flying red ribbon and her face was alight with wonderment as she chased after an errant butterfly. Minerva smiled wistfully as she observed the little girl's antics through the window of a Muggle Car.

Her parents had taken her with them because they had to be "present in high Wizard society which is naturally located in the capital," her mother had put it. Her father, on the other hand, had seized the opportunity to pursue his scientific interest in the Muggles- he saw them more as some kind of zoo exhibits- and to travel with one of their Machines. So now Minerva and her mother were cooped up in the leather backseat of a black "Ford", as their Muggle driver had called the car. Her father was sitting in the front seat animatedly chatting with the driver while closely observing the latter's expressions and answers which disgusted Minerva for she knew that her father's interest was the same interest one would have for a dog: one might value him, even like him but in the end the dog was an animal and one was superior. Adelaide McGonagall pursed her lips and Minerva had to stifle a smile at her mother's expression; she had only put up with her husband's eccentrics for she feared that he might abandon his lenient position regarding Mrs. McGonagall's countless sumptuous and costly social events and force her to cut back on them.

Minerva shook her head ignoring her mother's glare and stared again after that small girl. Sweet Merlin, how she envied her. Of course, now she saw that the girl had slipped in the mud and her mother came running toward her, but her shouts were of concern and not of anger. Minerva observed how she helped her daughter up, smoothed a hand through the blond locks and even had a warm smile ready for the little girl as she- already recovered from the shock of her fall- enthusiastically pointed after some birds. Minerva's eyes were stinging and she forced herself to look away quickly; telling herself that it was only the sun's glare.

With a small cough, she smoothed her silky green dress down and folded her sweaty hands in her lap. It was silent in the car. The outside sounds were muted by the thick glass panes. Minerva hated it. She smoothed the dress down again and fiddled with her hands. Feeling her mother's searing glare on her, she abandoned the motion and stared straight ahead. A few locks had escaped her strict hairdo and were dancing merrily around her face with the motion of the car, but Minerva did not have the will to push them behind her ears. She could only sit there straight-backed and stare out of the front window.

"Ho!" A man stood next to the path. He was dressed in a long blue uniform coat with golden buttons, official-looking. A hat was perched on his balding head and Minerva saw that sweat beads were gathered on his forehead. He looked annoyed and a little bored. Maybe his job- whatever official function it entailed- was very uninteresting. Out of boredom, she wondered if he was married and had her answer when she spotted a gleaming gold band on his ring finger. The man nodded at them and then turned to speak with their driver, who had stopped, one of his large hands still on the steering wheel, the other occupied with opening the window.

"Excuse me, Sirs," the man spoke hesitantly in a broad Yorkshire accent over the sounds of the park that accompanied his speech. His annoyance was seemingly forgotten and Minerva knew that it was probably due to the finesse of their clothes that indicated a higher social standing. She suddenly had the burning desire to rip them off so that the official would voice the annoyance still dormant in his eyes. "Do you have a special permission? The passage through this park has been prohibited for motor vehicles."

Their driver nodded- Minerva saw the rim of his tartan-patterned cap go up and down- and handed the official a folded slip of paper. As the latter studied it, she took the time to look outside. A group of boys had gathered around their vehicle Minerva realised with discomfort. Their clothes were shabby, but they were clean and well-mended. The boys' faces were smeared with dirt and Minerva might have smiled at them if the derision plastered so firmly on their sneering little faces weren't aimed at her. She forced herself to ignore their silent stares and chanced a look at the official. He had put some glasses on and was now examining the paper very closely. Their driver had taken his cap off and raked a frustrated hand through his wavy brown hair. Minerva knew what his face looked like as she had seen it when she had gotten in the car: he had a boyish face with freckles and light green eyes. His smile had been infectious and she had found herself smiling back at him only stopping as her mother had shaken her head at her. Right now, she was sure, the driver wasn't smiling.

His Cockney Accent rang loudly through the air as he argued with the official whose Yorkshire undertones were getting more and more pronounced. All the while, the workers' children had been silently staring at them, now they had found a new victim. Minerva looked outside as they lined up in a row yelling at someone who was still out of her visual range.

"Workhousers! Workhousers!" They chanted. " Got no bleedin' penny, got no mother, got no nothings!"

Finally Minerva could see who their cruel shouts were directed at. In rows of two, grey-clad orphans marched along the path. Their expressions were shuttered, of course, Minerva thought, it was very unpleasant to be shouted at that way. Their uniformity was striking though. The boys all wore a tie and a suit made out of rough grey fabric and the girls were clad in knee-length skirts in the same shade of grey combined with white knee socks and white blouses with black bow ties.

And then- and it caused Minerva to sharply suck in some much-needed air- there he was. Tom. Among the rows of the boys with the neatly-parted hair, his face paler than she had ever seen it and faint blue rings under his eyes. He looked sick and unwell.

Then, he lifted his head and he stared straight at her. Minerva held his glare, unable to look away.

His gaze was still as sharp as ever, the midnight eyes avid as they surveyed her, though certain lifelessness seemed to have taken up residence on his face and as Minerva's gaze swerved over the grey uniformity of the orphans and Tom's rigid stance she began to comprehend this look. Of course he had told her that the orphanage was bad and she had believed him, but she had never been able to picture the misery- not just the material poverty, but the lack of positive feelings as well- although Minerva's parents were cold people, she still had Fletcher- and of course her beloved elder brother, Andrew. Who did Tom have? The answer came to her like a cold gust of air as she stared in his eyes. No-one.

At Hogwarts, it was not as striking as it was here for Minerva: Tom was all alone in the world. And somehow, he seemed alone even among the children, his fellow orphans, as they, though being close to him simply through the manner of their marching formation, held an almost imperceptible distance to him. Minerva shivered a little as she imagined what had happened to make Tom so isolated. "I made them pay…" his voice rang in her ears and she suddenly remembered a conversation on the school roof a year ago. Pay? How could he have possibly made them pay? And why? What had they done to him? A little warning voice inside her head told her that she was being far too subjective- she had not yet asked herself what Tom had done to the children, or if he was really the innocent party.

With a jolt Minerva suddenly became aware of Tom standing right on the other side of the car window. The other orphans marched on, but he remained rooted to the spot, his grey-blue gaze riveted to her face. She could not look away, even as the cool voice of her mother asked behind her: "Minerva- why are you staring at that- that uncivilized boy? Stop it this instant!"

But Minerva would not look away. Tom's burning eyes made her quiver inside; she longed to reach out and touch him and she would have done so if it were not for the glass barrier between them. All that passed between them the last time they had spoken didn't seem to matter anymore. Instead both of them felt the burning attraction that was between them every time they met. Minerva put a hand on the window and Tom did the same from the outside.

"I'm sorry," Minerva mouthed at him. Tom's shoulders fell down.

"Me too," he replied in kind without raising his voice and although she knew that this was not the last they would say about their latest argument, it did not matter in this moment.

"Minerva," his lips formed.

"Tom," she whispered.

"Hey! You! Yes, you boy! Get lost!" The driver had noticed Tom, too, and he got out of the car, as he saw that Tom wasn't thinking of moving. The official was still looking at his papers, Minerva saw from the corner of her eyes. She did not dare to look away from Tom's searching blue gaze. Goosebumps came into existence all over her body at his look. Though it was warm in the sunshine, she felt cold all over and too hot at the same time. How odd. Her ears were ringing, though all was silent.

"Minerva!" Her mother grabbed her harshly at her neck and forced her to look at her. "Don't stare at that street urchin, I said!" Minerva broke her hold harshly and turned quickly back to Tom. But some of the disgusted look and the anger she had just before shown to her mother must have still been present on her face, for an odd expression flitted over Tom's otherwise so unreadable face. He looked confused and humiliated, but worst of all he looked hurt. Minerva had never seen that look before; she had not even known that Tom's face could look like that. And she certainly hadn't wanted to know. But before she could shake off her frozen stance, Tom had already turned away. Minerva shook her head frantically, but the car was already pulling away. Tom had turned around and was now walking faster to reach his fellow orphans that had gone off without waiting for him. Minerva could see that the grey-clad herd of children Tom was heading to was standing in some kind of formation, almost like a choir. As Tom reached them, the elderly Lady who accompanied the group quickly ushered him in the second row of that strange formation. As Minerva looked on through the back window of the car, it suddenly occurred to her what was going on.

"I've always wanted to have a picnic." Tom's derisive voice from a year ago rang in her ears. "Ever since I saw those toffs in Hyde Park with their white breeches, their arrogant demeanour and their insincere smiles, who had a picnic while listening to our oh-so-splendid-voices. We had to sing in front of a whole party of them. Of course- because we're orphans it must surely mean that we always want to sing in front of those, who benevolently grant us money for us threadbare clothes and our watery stew!"

Minerva balled her hands to fists and pressed her lips on one another to keep a sob from escaping. Her eyes burned- what had she done? She ignored her mother's furious accusations and stared out of the window at the innocent London sunshine. Oh sweet Merlin, what had she done?

Later that evening, as she lay in her bed, Tom's face burned in her mind. How pale he had been! She closed her eyes and saw him: the burning blue eyes that formed a stark contrast against the pallor of his face, the bloodless lips, the scalding betrayal and hurt in his expression and the dark shadows under his eyes. He must have thought that she despised him, even looked down on him only because of his social status. As was to be expected of a witch of her social standing. Minerva escaped a harsh sob as her eyes burned. Oh dear Merlin. Tom- what had she done?


Scotland, Early Autumn 1940

The grey dawn hung on the horizon, as Minerva , being careful not to make too much noise, quietly slipped out of the front door of the McGonagall Manor.

The sun was rising as a pale red strip beyond the green mountains, pale in the light of the new day. Flocks of birds rose with sharp cries from some firs that stood scattered and few in the wild landscape. Minerva's home had few trees; at least the immediate surroundings of the Manor were bare of trees. Down in the lower plains there was a dark blue lake, perfectly reflecting the broad-leaved forest that encompassed it in its dark depths. On good days, when the sun came out, the lake was nearly azure; brilliant blue and seemingly bottomless. Minerva knew what it looked like on all days- she loved this place, she loved those mountains, the gently rolling hills that led to the lake; the trees and even the Muggle Village. There was a Muggle Village, some miles away, grey-bricked houses that lined a gravelly path. Few cars were seen here, as most of the people living in the village did not own or could not afford a car. They were too far away from the bigger cities to be influenced by them; life seemed to pass much slower than anywhere else.

Minerva dearly loved to observe the Muggles, but she had never dared to show herself in the village. Mother had forbidden it, and even if she hadn't, Minerva wouldn't have gone there. She was not shy, but she still couldn't deal with people very well, be it those Muggles or other Wizards. Still she admired the villagers; how they struggled with their daily chores and still had a smile ready at the end of the day. If she thought of her mother, who had much more to her disposal than these people, she could still not remember ever seeing her smile.

Minerva sighed and drew her coat tighter around her body. The skirt she was wearing did not do much to keep the cold away; instead it crawled up her body and snaked under her clothes. It was early September and school would start in just a few days. She frowned as she remembered Caelus's arrival a few days prior- she had sent him to London with a letter for Tom, a letter in which she had tried to explain her behaviour in Hyde Park- Caelus had come back, the letter still attached to his leg. He had looked defeated, as much as it was possible for an owl to do so, but there was little worse for the proud messenger than not to be able to deliver his message and so Minerva had understood what the owl had wanted to tell her: Tom had not even looked at the letter.

Grey mists encompassed her pale legs as she looked down to where she was standing in between some knee-high bushes. Dewdrops still hung upon their leaves and Minerva smiled in lonely delight as she brushed her fingers over them. Quiet laughter made her look up. It seemed to reverberate strangely in the morning silence, which had seemed nearly sacred until then. A few birds took wing at the unexpected sound, and for some reason, Minerva didn't step away, but instead came closer to where the laughter had come from.

At the edge of the forest, the laughter came again. It was an untroubled, oddly cheerful sound and Minerva smiled. Her eyes fell on a thick-set tree- it was gnarled and old. Its branches nearly brushed the ground, so it was nigh impossible to see who or what was hiding inside. Without fear, Minerva slipped inside and found herself facing a girl of her age, who was hanging upside down from the tree. Shocked, Minerva stifled a small scream of surprise and saw that the girl looked as surprised as she felt.

"Hello," she managed finally after having stared at the other for what felt like ages. Still, Minerva reasoned, it was surely also not normal among the Muggles to hang upside down from trees, so her reaction was probably justified.

The girl smiled very sheepishly and climbed down from the tree. Smudges of dirt still adorned her pale cheeks and she gave Minerva a small smile as she extended a hesitant hand.

"Hello," she replied simply. Minerva stared at the hand for a while, until it occurred to her that it was custom among the Muggles to shake hands. She grasped it and the girl shook her hand heartily.

"Do you often climb trees at 6 am in the morning?" Minerva finally ventured.

The girl laughed, again that oddly cheerful sound. "Sometimes. But don't tell Ma, she gets mad if she knows that I did it again."

"Don't worry," Minerva answered, maybe a little stiffly, she noticed, angry at herself. "Why do you do it?"

The girl shrugged and a few strands of auburn hair fell from her bun, curling on her shoulders. Her pale eyes were mischievous as she grinned widely. "It is fun I suppose."

"Fun?" Minerva repeated doubtfully. "Really?"

"Yes. Come on, try it." The girl didn't wait for an answer, but climbed back up on the tree nimbly. Soon she had disappeared nearly entirely from view, only the hem of her skirt was still visible. Minerva stared after her for a second, then she shook her head and followed. Propriety be damned- Minerva had never been one for it anyway. Diligence and Properness, yes, but propriety? Why should she care what others thought of her?

It took her some time until she had reached the girl. The tree was higher than she would have expected and she was climbing slowly and carefully, seeing that she had never climbed trees before. The bark was rough under her hands and she found certain patterns in it, the structures in which the tree had grown over the years.

"Hello again." The girl was smiling at her from her perch on a thick branch just over Minerva's head, who followed the other's example and sat down opposite of her on another branch. For a while, they just sat there, looking at each other. Then another smile lit the girl's face.

"I am Abigail Mackenzie. And who are you?"
Minerva, a bit thrown off by that abrupt question, looked at her in surprise. "Minerva McGonagall," she said finally.

"How nice to meet you, Minerva."

"Likewise," she replied friendly and could not resist asking: "So what is so wonderful about this tree that you keep climbing it?"

"That," Abigail was quick to reply, "is something I can show you. Come over here."

Minerva obeyed wordlessly, but her eyes went wide when Abigail without much ado stood up on the branch. "Are you mad!" she exclaimed. "You are going to fall!"

"Relax," Abigail laughed, "and come up yourself."

Minerva rose on wobbly knees. However, she was not about to defer to Abigail- she Minerva McGonagall, Scottish witch and proud Gryffindor could do this, even if it earned her a broken leg- or two. The tree's green mass finally disappeared as she slowly righted herself in a standing position and she found herself standing right at the treetop, gazing at the Scottish scenery that unfolded in front of her eyes. The pale red strip at the horizon had made way for the morning sun, which broke abruptly through the fog and nearly blinded her. It lit the grey fog spheres and put glittering marks on the surface of the lake. A mild breeze rushed through the trees and the leaves quivered softly.

"Don't stare at the lake for too long," Abigail admonished quietly, "or the Kelpie will come and fetch you."
Minerva smiled slightly. Kelpies, commonly believed to be water horses that lured humans, especially children into the water so that they would drown and could be devoured by the Kelpie, were real in the magical world. It was unwise to underestimate them, that much was true, but a skilled wizard usually did not fall for their traps.

Humouring Abigail, Minerva turned away from the lake and around to her companion.

"It's beautiful," she admitted quietly.

Abigail nodded. "That's why I come here nearly daily." She twisted a lock of auburn hair around her finger and sighed. "I don't have much time left as I have to start work at 8 o'clock."

"You work?" Minerva wondered. Sometimes she forgot that Muggle children were required to work from an early age on in order to support their family. It was so easy to forget what world they were living in when she was in the magic community.

"Yes," Abigail confirmed. "I've been working for a year now, mostly helping Ma in the shop. My family owns a grocery store, you know." Abruptly, she shot Minerva a suspicious look. "Where did you say you are from again?"

"Um," Minerva floundered. "From up there," she answered finally vaguely, indicating the hills in the distance.

"Surely not from the ruins of that Manor up there?" Abigail stared at her, aghast.

Ruins? Oh dear Lord, the protection charm.

"Uh…no," Minerva lied quickly. "We live farther away. My parents don't like me to go outside much."

"Really?" The suspicion was still present on Abigail's face. "What does your father do?"
"Umm…" She couldn't very well say that he was a retired Auror, now could she? No- she needed to find a reason for Abigail never having seen her before and which would also explain her long spans of absence, the time that she was in Hogwarts. With a jolt, she remembered London and the building she'd read about only fleetingly, simply because the finance sector of the Muggles did not interest her. But it had sounded important enough, official, the work of the kind which would be a reason for an honest man to spend much time far away from home, at least in the mind of the Muggles- Minerva hoped. So she blurted out the few things she could remember- (that building she had read about had had something to do with money and with sales and exchanges):

"He sells money- at the LSE."

Abigail stared at her. "The LSE?"

"The London Stock Exchange," Minerva answered in a superior tone of voice and hoped that she sounded knowledgeable enough to convey the impression of all-encompassing wisdom regarding the London Stock Exchange.

"Oh," Abigail commented contemplatively, "it sounds like a lot of work."

Of course she would have never admitted to Minerva that she had no idea what the LSE was; but the latter couldn't have been gladder about the fact that Abigail seemed to have a proud if quite stubborn nature.

So she only hmm-ed acquiescently and added, almost like an afterthought: "That's why he is often in London. And my mother is often at her sister's. Me, I am at a boarding school in Scotland." Minerva paused, realizing embarrassedly that she had sounded somewhat arrogant. Abigail, however, did not seem to have noticed. She looked absent-minded, then gasped.

"Oh dear, I better hurry!" With that Minerva's companion slid down from the tree. "I have to get back!"

Minerva looked at the time. "It's not even 7 o'clock yet," she called after the girl.

"No," Abigail laughed dreamily, "But I have to take care of some things before!"

"What things?" Minerva asked loudly.

"Catching butterflies," Abigail grinned at her and Minerva was left to stare at her back, as she skipped merrily through the wet meadows. The hem of her blue-white-chequered dress was at least six inches deep in mud, but she did not seem to mind. Minerva shook her head as she looked after her- if it had been anyone else she would have been insulted but Abigail- for some odd reason she believed her. Abigail, cheerful and sincere as she was, was really trying to catch butterflies.

The thought made her smile.


The next day found her visiting Abigail in the village. She had never been to the village before and had Fletcher give her a look-over before she went down to see the Muggles. "Miss Minerva, you should wear your hair in a simple style," he had explained. "And the Miss shouldn't take her best dress. The Non-Magic-People are hard-working and they don't have much time in the morning for elaborate grooming. They prefer functional clothes as they are less costly and much more practical to work in." So Minerva had found a simple blue cotton dress, completely different from what her mother had her wear whenever she had the opportunity to force her daughters to attend social events and had her hair done in a simple braid that nearly reached her waist. She clutched a bouquet of flowers to her chest as Fletcher had told her that it was customary among the Muggles to bring flowers when visiting someone.

It was nearing nine am in the morning when Minerva reached the village. Apprehensively she took a look around. A low row of old houses made of grey stones lined each side of a gravel road that ended in front of a church on the one end of the village while it led to the main road that passed the village in the distance on the other end. Only few people were on the street; the others were presumably working inside. An elderly woman with grey hair gathered in a simple bun was cleaning the windows of her shop with a rag that she wrung out in a wooden bucket from time to time. Her voice rang out clearly in the morning air as she joked with a man in a black suit who wore an eyeglass and leaned onto a wooden cane.

"Now, Doctor, why won't you agree with me that tis a fine morning?" she scolded lightly, while the man laughed and raked a hand through his sun-flecked greying hair. "Why, Mrs. Goodie, I believe you are right about this being a fine morning, but it is not fine weather. There I shall have to disagree with you because-"

He never finished his sentence because in this moment Minerva passed them and they both fell silent and stared at her warily.

"Good Morning," Minerva finally ventured timidly.

The old woman nodded at her, while the doctor added a quiet "Good morning, lass."

As the silence stretched on and the pair just looked at her with increasing curiosity, Minerva finally stammered: "Excuse me, but would you know where I can find Abigail Mackenzie?"

Immediately the look of the old Lady became warmer. "You're a friend of hers coming to visit her?" she asked in that unmistakable Scottish brogue that coloured Minerva's words too. She didn't notice it though; only when Tom laughed and commented on it from time to time. He had told her that he loved her accent and it had made her smile. It was hard to make Tom laugh and so she did not care if it was at her expense. But the thought of Tom only made her sad, so she pushed it away and nodded at the old Lady. "Yes, I am, Madam."

"Just go straight down the street until you come to the shop that says Mackenzie's. She should be inside, working."

"Thank you," Minerva curtsied politely and nodded at the Doctor.
"A lovely, polite young Lady," the old woman commented from behind her quite loudly to the Doctor and although Minerva did not turn around she felt how a blush spread over her cheeks. She was not used to being complimented by anyone else other than teachers.

There was still very little going on on the street, but when she looked in the windows of the few shops she could see people busy working away- the baker was arranging bread rolls on a tray, a woman was cleaning her windows and from somewhere came the sound of sheep and cows. An ancient-looking carriage stood on the side of the road next to a straw-filled handcart. Minerva smiled. It was so different from what she was used to; yet much simpler, much more honest in a way. Her mother would have been aghast, but Minerva liked it.

She had been avidly searching for the shop that said "Mackenzie's" in the mean time. It turned out to be a little house at the end of the street, a bit smaller than the others but also made out of grey stones. Tendrils of vine climbed up at the side and framed the small windows. The ground floor was made up of a bigger window that allowed a look into a small room. Apples were arranged in a neat row on the window ledge right next to the wooden door. "Mackenzie's groceries" it said in faded golden letters on a black wooden plague right above the entry.

Suddenly nervous, Minerva knocked.

"Come in, please," a cheery voice called.

Minerva entered and when her eyes had gotten used to the dim light, she could make out Abigail, clad in a simple brown dress with a white pinafore. "Oh, Minerva!" she commented. "How lovely to see you so soon again."

"Likewise," Minerva responded with a smile. She was really starting to like Abigail- her cheerfulness and her dreamy, easy-going manner made her to a wonderful person to be around.

Before Minerva could even start feeling awkward, Abigail continued:

"Would you like to help me with my work? I have to make some nets for the onions."

"Of course I would like to help you," Minerva was quick to reply. She had never made nets before, but it shouldn't be too hard, right?

Abigail smiled and moved to a small door at the back of the room. "Wait a moment, please," she called. Minerva took the time to look around. She was in a small room with stone walls and the only light source was the window she had seen before. Shelves hung upon each wall, filled with bottles or herbs in small pots. More apples were stacked up in a pyramid in a corner. A rough net made of brown yarn dangled over the apples from a hook fastened on the ceiling. There were a lot of other, free hooks, and Minerva counted them with trepidation. She counted twenty hooks in total. Well, still making nets shouldn't be that hard, should it? Quickly moving on, she let her eyes take in the room. A scale was propped up on the wall right next to Minerva and sausages were hanging from the ceiling in another corner. Before she could see more, Abigail had returned, her hands full of the same brown yarn Minerva had seen earlier. Oh dear.

Half an hour later, Minerva had to remedy her earlier opinion. Making nets was harder than it looked. Her fingers hurt. Her legs hurt. Everything hurt. Her head hurt, too, come to think of it.

"Can we stop now?" she sighed plaintively.

Abigail just laughed at her. "Where do you come from, Minerva?" she giggled. "We haven't even finished half our work yet. Canty, canty, Minerva!"

"Who says anything about being lively and brisk?" a new voice demanded from the door.

Abigail dropped the net she was working on and jumped up, hugging the young man that stood in the doorframe joyously. "Michael! How nice to see you! How long have you been home?"

The young man, Michael, chuckled and extracted himself from Abigail's grip. "Easy there, little sister. I've been home for just a minute before you decided to assault me."

Abigail grinned sheepishly and then dragged her brother over to Minerva, who had got up. "Minerva, this is my older brother Michael. He has returned from town today. Michael, this is my friend Minerva." Minerva beamed a little at the last part; it had been long since anyone had called her friend. Tom was not really a friend- he was well- Tom. That pretty much explained everything.

"Nice to meet you, Minerva," Michael said politely and extended a hand. Minerva shook it and stared at him. That was about all she had been able to do since she had first got a good look at him a minute before. Michael was quite tall, about her brother's height though much younger than Andrew- maybe about three years older than herself- and he was wearing a dark brown suit and a cap that he had taken off before shaking her hand. But that was not what made Minerva stare at him. Abigail's brother had the darkest brown eyes she had ever seen. She kept staring at him until he finally cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly and she realised that she had neither let go of his hand nor had she said a word. She was behaving like the world's biggest idiot. Oh dear.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," she blustered and blushed fiercely, "I- you- I mean- I- you just caught me a bit unawares. It's also nice to meet you. Michael."

His dark, neatly parted head bobbed up and down as he nodded, grinned and then looked down at their joined hands. "Would you mind letting me go then, Minerva?"

Minerva wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere and die. Oh dear didn't even begin to cover it.
"I'm so sorry," she gasped and let go of his hand as if burned. "I'm not myself today."

"What are you like when you are yourself then?" A cheeky smile adorned his face.
"Um..." Minerva floundered. Think of something witty! The inner voice thundered.

"Not like this..." she finally replied lamely. Yeah, not like that either. The inner voice sounded exasperated but Minerva had to concede that it was right.

"Very well then," Michael smiled. He had obviously the same happy disposition like his sister. "So what's new, Abby?" He turned to Abigail, who, Minerva saw, had been watching the whole thing with amusement. She should go now, she realised.

"I-" she began and paused as the siblings looked at her expectantly. Merlin, what was wrong with her today? She couldn't even string a coherent sentence together.

"I'm sorry but I have to go."

"Already?" Abigail sounded sad and it occurred to Minerva that maybe the girl was as lonely as herself. The village was not very big, so there were probably few girls around in Abigail's or her age.

"But I'll come back some other day," she offered.
"Soon?" Abigail sounded eager.

"Why not," Minerva replied easily. She was starting to consider Abigail a friend- and her first real one. Elma- well- didn't look at her. Had she ever been a real friend? Had she not just wanted to gain easy access to Minerva's homework? Minerva shoved the thought aside and smiled at Michael, who nodded at her. "We would be happy to welcome you here soon again." The smile he flashed made Minerva beam maybe just a little bit too much.

"Bye," she called cheerily and flung the door open with maybe a little bit too much enthusiasm. Abigail chuckled behind her. "See you soon, Minerva," she called.

"Yes," she yelled back and skipped back through the village, offering a cheerful greeting to Mrs. Goodie and the Doctor, who were still standing in the same place.

And it was not until Minerva had passed the blooming meadow, entered the dark manor, ran the wooden staircase up and stopped out of breath in her room to stare out of the window over to the village that she finally realised something. Something that made her pause and frown.

She hadn't spent one thought on one Tom Riddle for the whole day.


tbc...please, review! It would make my week!