Thank you for your reviews, meshalok, VanillaFieldsofGold, DarkLord0066 and Megii of Mysteri Ous Stranger! I accidentally replaced this chapter with the latest one for a few hours today and had to re-upload it, sorry about that :)
Sachita
Chapter Eight
Hogwarts Express, September 1940
Minerva listened to the soft rumbling sounds of the Hogwarts Express that carried her steadfastly through rolling English Hills back to school for her Fifth Year. For once, she had been nearly loath to leave home. For once, home did not mean abject loneliness and long cold hours spent perusing ancient volumes in the McGonagall Library, but it meant friendship and laughter; Abigail and Michael. Or rather Michael and Abigail? Get a grip, silly, the inner voice scolded. After all it wasn't as if they'd be returning to Hogwarts with her, and with her thoughts abruptly turning gloomy again, she stared out of the window.
Raindrops clashed violently against the smooth glass pane, ceaselessly and intensely, eventually merging to streams alongside the glass, then further along the thin metal hull of the train, driven by the force of the wind. Finally defeated by gravity and speed, they hurtled past the train as tiny water missiles that soon disappeared in the persistent English morning fog.
The interior of the train was nearly silent compared to the cacophony caused by the rain storm going on outside. Only muted sounds told of the world outside; a stone stirred up by the train's momentum coming up to clatter quietly against its hull, a twig of a random tree brushing wetly against the windows…
Minerva buried her fingers in the red upholstery of her seat and stared mutely over to Caelus, who was seated in his cage, squawking quizzically at her. Shuddering at the sudden sound, she directed her look again to the world flying by outside. Houses, cars, streets, trees, hills- all nearly swallowed up by light yet persistent mist.
She was not lonely, Minerva told herself firmly. Most definitely not. So maybe she had always found a seat amongst the other Gryffindors in the years before, but today she was not in the mood, seeing that Elma would undoubtedly glare at her throughout the whole trip and there was nothing she could say to the others. So she was maybe sitting on her own, but that did not imply that she was lonely. Most certainly not.
She had seen Tom on her way to her current seating place. He had been sitting in a compartment filled with Slytherins, both older and younger than him, and although he had been sitting directly among them, he had managed to seem detached, alone and king-like whilst sometimes receiving awe-filled looks from his- Minerva was almost tempted to use the term "followers". When she had passed the compartment, his impenetrable mask had not disappeared, but she had not expected it to. Whilst the other Slytherins had sneered some greeting at her, he had remained impassive, silent, cold even without saying a single word. In that moment Minerva had understood that she was not forgiven. Tom Riddle did not do forgiveness. Shuddering finally in the face of so much coldness, Minerva had turned around and walked to where she was now sitting.
Shaking herself out of her reverie, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Although Elma was not speaking to her, she had somehow got herself the reputation of a Minnie Mouse at the whole school and Tom might as well be a block of ice, she was not lonely. No, Minerva was not lonely. She opened her eyes as realization hit her. So maybe she was lonely. No use to deny it anymore. But she would weather this storm because she was strong. And that was the truth. It had always been the truth as far as Minerva McGonagall was concerned.
Hogwarts, Mid-September 1940
"The Ministry of Magic considers introducing a law prohibiting underage magic outside officially-authorised zones and buildings. However, if such a law should become reality, the Ministry thinks it best to wait with its introduction until the war-like conditions that our country currently finds itself in have passed ," Minerva read quietly, sitting on her bed in the Gryffindor Fifth Year girls' dormitory.
She was alone since it was dinner-time, but she had not felt like dinner today.
She had to take care of some things-writing letters to her Muggle friends- and wished to be alone.
Crossing her arms against a sudden chill, Minerva hugged the Daily Prophet close to her chest and walked over to one of the windows, peering at the stormy autumn countryside that lay wind-blown before her eyes in the falling dusk.
War-like conditions? War, she thought. That was how it was supposed to be called. Word of the deaths of several European wizard families in the last months had spread- they had been killed quickly, most of them at night, when they were less alert and as such easier to overpower. No-one knew exactly who the murderer was but all evidence pointed to the dark influence of Gellert Grindelwald, though there was no telling what the dark wizard aimed to achieve with his actions.
Not only was the wizard population in disquiet though. Air raids had started on several British cities, including London. The reports had come in in early September; only days after school had begun again. The Daily Prophet, for once in a strangely subdued mood had written: "Bombings on London leave several hundreds dead and more homeless."
There had been no mention of the word "Muggle" in the whole article although the attack had naturally been on Muggle London and Minerva had set the paper down in grim realisation as to why the term had not been used: They were all together in this predicament, Muggle and Wizard alike.
Sighing quietly, she withdrew a stack of ordinary Muggle paper from underneath her bed and walked over to the window sill, setting the stack down on it. Abigail had made her promise to write, daily, if possible. Daily was certainly out of the question, but she could easily do weekly.
Setting a quill down on the blank paper, Minerva watched how it formed a puddle of blue ink that sank into the structure of the paper quickly. Hissing in frustration, she withdrew her wand and erased the blue spot.
Putting the quill down again, she finally wrote: "Dear Abigail, Dear Michael". Frustrated she put the quill back into the ink pot and rested her head on her hands. Dear Merlin, having Muggles as Pen Pals was more difficult than she would have thought. I have made Prefect. No, she couldn't write that. Or maybe she could. "I have made Prefect," she wrote and crossed it out, annoyed. That had sounded pompous. Finally she settled for an innocent "School is as usual. I work hard, but sometimes it just gets boring."
Having finished the letter, Minerva was displeased when she realised that it contained barely anything than pleasantries and empty chit-chat.
But she couldn't write "What was funny today was that Seamus Smith managed to set Professor Dumbledore on fire in Transfiguration and then forgot that he is a wizard, trying to extinguish the flames helpfully with his pot of ink". Minerva snickered a little at the memory of an ink-drenched Professor Dumbledore. He had wrung his beard out and had sent a glare in Minerva's direction due to her ill-concealed fit of laughter. "Do try to contain yourself, will you Miss McGonagall?" he had asked but the twinkle had been present in his eye and Minerva had promptly started out in another fit of giggles, while the Professor just shook his head at her...
Smiling fondly, she finally snorted. Oh and yes, while she was at it, she could conclude with "I did tell you I can do magic, didn't I? Oh and by the way, Kelpies are real." Now that would go over well. She had to stick to the pleasantries; there was no way around it.
Opening the window to the evening air, Minerva whistled for Caelus. Pompous and arrogant owl that he was, he much preferred a tree to the owlery and thus, Minerva had given up going over there. It had been the cause for many disputes between them as Caelus often took his time to answer to Minerva's calls and was not reachable since he was not in the owlery.
This time, however, he came on swift wings and Minerva tied the letter to his leg quickly. She had instructed him to deliver it to a Muggle post box, having equipped it with what she hoped was the proper amount of Muggle stamps- alright so maybe it looked a little...colourful...now, but she had decided that she would rather be safe than sorry. Caelus had been indignant but Minerva was quite sure that Muggles would react strangely to an owl delivering the mail.
Waving after Caelus as he disappeared in the dawn, Minerva inhaled the cold evening air deeply. It tasted of snow and approaching winter. She exhaled quietly, her thoughts returning to the war raging somewhere beyond the horizon, there- there- not far away at all. Dark clouds were gathering in the distance. A storm was coming, and if the reports from the Continent were anything to go by, Europe would have a hard time weathering it.
The time ahead would be a balancing act, gaping chasms on each side of the thin rope they walked on, and no-one could say whether they would arrive safely on the other side.
Outside, it was beginning to rain.
It was a few days later and Minerva was sitting in Professor Accuratore's class, suppressing a long yawn. She couldn't detach herself fully this time though, as she usually did in his lessons. Ever since Tom had managed to make her fall from grace with the Professor, he had been blatantly ignoring her whenever she put her hand up, so there was no point in paying attention to him ranting about things she already knew.
This day, however, things were different.
There was a kind of nervous tension hanging in the air, as evident in the hunched shoulders of her classmates whose eyes kept flickering nervously either over to the window or the door, waiting for something, anything- a message saying that London was destroyed, that their family was dead, the house was gone, their siblings had not returned from Continental Europe or even that their cat had died of a stroke- anything was possible these days. It was only getting worse with each day.
A persistent light tapping finally alerted Minerva to Andrew McFadden ceaselessly drumming his fingers on the table in front of her. Professor Accuratore twitched every time Andrew's fingers impacted with the tabletop.
Finally, fed up, he barked a sharp: "Quit it, McFadden!"
Andrew, who probably hadn't even been aware of what he was doing, blushed beet-red and stilled his hands. "Yes, sir," he murmured contritely.
The Professor frowned and turned back to his notes, then waved his wand to jot down some keywords on the blackboard in his spidery handwriting. The class, knowing what was expected of them obediently raised their quills and for the next few moments all that could be heard was the diligent sound of feverish scribbling. Minerva, who was passive-aggressively rebelling by not taking notes about things that she already knew, took the opportunity to study the Professor more closely.
She had noticed it before; he did look quite frazzled today. His normally so-correctly done shirt was half-sticking out of his waistband, his tie-bow was quite sloppily-fixed and Minerva was quite sure that there were coffee stains on his cuffs.
Feeling the strain, eh, Professor? She thought darkly. I can imagine being a spy for Grindelwald is exhausting. There has to be proof somewhere of him being a traitor! It has to.
Finding that evidence would of course mean that the Professor would finally be arrested and then she would never have to suffer through one of his rants again. Oh yes. That alone was reason enough. So she just had to- TAP- she had to- TAP TAP- she had- TAP TAP TAP- she- TAP TAP TAP TAP-! Oh Merlin!
"Andrew," Minerva hissed venomously, "could you keep it down?"
Andrew half-turned around to her, brown eyes glittering aggressively.
"Shut it, McGonagall!" he snapped and turned away.
If anything, the tapping on the tabletop got louder. Minerva sighed. Oh well. Andrew had never been of the polite sort, though he had miraculously ceased his antics when Professor Accuratore had reprimanded him. Maybe she ought to become a teacher, too. Then he would listen to her. Professor McGonagall. A soft chuckle escaped her. Now that had a ridiculous ring to it.
But back to Professor Accuratore and his espionage activities, she reminded herself sternly. The man in question was still going on about something, gesticulating wildly and as usual, getting nowhere.
Frustrated Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose. She couldn't believe that someone who clearly was a traitor could work at Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore knew about the message- why hadn't he done anything yet? Or if he was trying to do something, why hadn't he succeeded? It had been months since they had discovered that message.
"Alright, class, that's it for today. Remember to write that essay. And McFadden, don't make noise in my class again or I will take so many points from Gryffindor that your classmates will make you regret your negligence."
"Yes,sir," Andrew murmured dully, yet defiantly.
Minerva trudged slowly to the door, still deep in thought.
"Miss McGonagall!"
Surprised by the harsh summon, Minerva looked up.
Staring right back at her with a murderous expression was Professor Accuratore.
"Professor," she stammered, her heart suddenly beating wildly. As ridiculous as that sounded, she feared he might have read her thoughts.
"Miss McGonagall," the Professor repeated coolly, "please come with me."
Playing for time, Minerva raised her eyebrows, attempting to appear collected and unperturbed. Her eyes darted to the door, which slowly closed behind the last of her classmates.
"Is there something you need, Professor, or can we deal with the matter here?"
The Professor smiled unpleasantly. His eyes were hard as he surveyed her with a frown.
"Since you left me little choice, I am unable to leave you much choice either. You will have to come with me. I am not asking, I am demanding."
Minerva's heart thudded wildly in her chest. She backed a few steps away and let her hand wander surreptitiously to her wand pocket. Her other hand found the door handle behind her back.
The Professor hadn't moved. He just regarded her levelly. "I suppose there is a considerable amount of interest on your side to see your friend unharmed, is there?"
Frozen to the spot, Minerva could only gape at the Professor. Tom-? How?
"What have you done to him?" she spat, while her hands started to tremble.
"Oh nothing yet," Professor Accuratore replied nonchalantly, smiling in face of her fury. "And give me that- expelliarmus!" Minerva's wand came flying, while she was still caught off guard. "You see, everything depends on your cooperation."
Minerva- helpless and wandless -could only stare at him in shocked silence. Tom? How could he have found out what Tom and she had done? Had Tom been attempting to find out more about Accuratore's activities and had been caught red-handed by the latter? That the Professor was a spy was now more than obvious, seeing that he had dropped all pretences.
Minerva did not even react to Professor Accuratore shoving her along the corridor roughly; she went rather willingly with him. All concerns for her own safety vanished when she thought of what that vile man might have done to Tom.
She stumbled into Professor Accuratore's study, courtesy of a particular rough shove and nearly heaved a sigh of relief. Sitting tied to a chair in a corner of the study was Tom, pale and defiantly-glaring, but otherwise unharmed.
Relief still forced Minerva's legs as she rushed over to him. "Tom! Oh Merlin, Tom, are you alright?"
Before he could answer, Accuratore chimed in: "Well isn't that lovely...How helpful of you to go over there." A moment later Minerva knew what he had meant with that statement as she found herself bound to the chair as well and sitting back to back with Tom.
"What a wonderful ingenious and innovative way to rescue me," the sarcastic Slytherin muttered behind her.
"Well, what would you have done?" Minerva shot back. A small part of her relished in hearing Tom's voice, seeing that he had ignored her since that fateful meeting in Hyde Park. But she really had no time for that now.
"He had me cornered, alone," she continued, "and he took my wand."
Tom scoffed and snorted harshly, a sound that reverberated in his chest and made the fine hair on Minerva's arms stand on end.
"So you shouldn't have let him corner you. And you definitely shouldn't have gone with him. You should have brought help."
"If it had been you instead of me would you just have left me here?" Minerva asked incredulously with just a hint of hurt in her voice. She was proud of herself for hiding it so well.
"No." Tom sounded impatient. "I would have brought help. There is a difference, careful consideration and deviousness being the point of the matter."
Minerva rolled her eyes. "Oh, how very Slytherin of you!"
"And how very Gryffindor of you to try and mount a one-woman-rescue-mission without thinking of the consequences first," Tom retorted, but there was something indefinable in his voice, something different and fond that Minerva couldn't place but which made her secretly quiver inside.
Conversationally, she asked eventually: "So if you are so devious, how come you are here, tied up with me?"
At this point Professor Accuratore stepped in. "I hate to interrupt this lovers' spat," he announced sarcastically, "but I am somewhat eager to get down to business."
Minerva glared at him, her confidence restored by the fact that Tom was right next to her, alive and well.
"So," Professor Accuratore began conversationally, "after I had found young Mister Riddle here hiding behind the wood panelling of my room trying to spy on me, I decided that the logical conclusion was to retrieve you, Miss McGonagall, as well. You both don't have your intelligence for nothing." He paused, then continued in a tone, that although not overly threatening, made shivers race down Minerva's spine.
"Having to assume that it was also you who alerted Dumbledore to my...shall we say...second profession, I knew that it was becoming more and more dangerous for me to pursue my activities, certainly more tiresome because Dumbledore started breathing down my neck. And I knew who I had to blame."
He glared at them. "But, he added, starting to pace, "I was prepared to make my exit, was prepared to disappear without anyone knowing and leaving you to it. Then, I discovered Mister Riddle spying on me."
Suddenly he advanced menacingly on them.
Minerva backed away the farthest she could, pressing herself against Tom's solid warmth behind her as the Professor touched her cheek with his wand, outlining the contours of her face. "Such a stupid girl," he muttered, then touched Tom's wavy mess of hair with the tip of his wand next. "And such a stupid boy. There is glory to be found in the service to a Dark Lord, did you not ever contemplate this? You might be young, but you, both of you with your wit and intelligence could truly go far, very far…" Tom and Minerva remained silent and very tense.
Accuratore once again paced the length of his study, shifting the wand from one hand to the other, obviously still undecided as to what to do with them. Minerva sucked in a sharp breath as she suddenly remembered something Elma had told her once. "Know your enemies' weaknesses," was what her mother had told her once- the only thing her mother had ever told her that she could benefit from now.
"It was not glory for you though, was it, Professor?" The steps on the mahogany boards faltered and stopped. The Professor stood still with his back to them, a white-knuckled fist clutching his wand.
In the weighty silence, Minerva ploughed on, feeling Tom becoming even tenser behind her.
"They killed her. That's why you decided you had to join up, no? To punish those who were in your eyes responsible for the death of your wife."
"They were responsible!" Accuratore's reply was a tortured scream. "Not only for Eleanor's death! They took Lucy, my beautiful daughter, as well. She had your hair colour. And she did not deserve to die. All because of some drunk Muggle car driver."
He took a few steps toward them, his face a mask of fury and grief, looking for all sounds and purposes like a man possessed.
"So I have to punish them, don't you see? For what they did to my family! Grindelwald tells us what to do. It's for the Greater Good, he said, and I believed him. No wizard shall ever feel that same sense of loss again because of the brutality and crudity of those Muggles!"
His hot breath hit Minerva's face and she recoiled in disgust, but then sat up as straight as the bonds would allow her. "No, Professor," she said clearly. "Your family is dead. But that is not the fault of all Muggles. Your daughter is dead and that is horrible, but what right do you have to make other parents suffer? What rights do you have to take their daughters?" Minerva paused and then added coldly: "None."
The Professor reared back as if she had slapped him. Then he laughed, a sound that started off as slightly maniacal but then just sounded very sad.
"Tell that to someone who cares, Miss McGonagall," he said clearly. "I might as well be dead. But I won't allow this cause to falter. First I am going to burn the evidence."
With these words he walked over to his desk and swept a stack of documents in the fireplace. The bright flames eagerly devoured the parchment and Accuratore watched them for a moment with a satisfied smile. Then he turned to them. "You left me with no choice."
But as he raised his wand, the sound of hurried footsteps came from the outside.
Accuratore took a long look at them and at the door, then he walked unhurriedly over to the statue of a grim-looking goblin situated on the southern wall of the room. He tipped at the goblin with his wand and said coldly over his shoulder: "I'll leave you to it."
A passageway, barely big enough for a man to fit through was revealed as the statue of the goblin swung, similar to a door, to the right. Accuratore disappeared in the dark passageway without saying another word and the statue swung soundlessly back to its original place.
Mere seconds later, the door was wrenched open. First most was Professor Dumbledore – Minerva had never been gladder to see his wise face- then Professor Klein, the professor of the Astronomy, Professor Merrythought who taught Defence against the Dark Arts and finally Madam Scrittura, the Librarian, who was very pale.
"The passageway," Minerva yelled before anyone could have said anything, "he went that way." She pointed at the statue of the goblin. Dumbledore nodded, while Professors Klein and Merrythought hurried over to the statue. It didn't take them long to figure out how to open the entrance to the passageway and soon they had too both disappeared in the darkness. Dumbledore meanwhile cut them loose.
Minerva and Tom came shakily to their feet, both avoiding looking the Professor in the eye.
"That was a very dangerous venture, Miss McGonagall, Mister Riddle," Dumbledore finally stated gravelly.
"We're sorry," they both said, but while Minerva was genuinely contrite, defiance coloured Tom's words.
"However," Professor Dumbledore continued, "it takes courage to do what you feel the ones who are responsible for have failed at. I honour this and thus award both of your houses with ten points each. But I must ask you to refrain from such reckless endeavours in the future. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Professor," Minerva mumbled and Tom merely nodded.
"How did you know we were going to be here?" Minerva eventually asked what she had been wondering about the last minutes.
"You didn't turn up to our weekly tea session, Miss McGonagall, and Miss Pomfrey informed me that she had seen you leave with Professor Accuratore. It wasn't difficult to guess the rest." Dumbledore's words were short and conscise. Minerva cringed inwardly, for she knew that he was most likely still angry with her, for his way of speaking normally resembled meandering hills and meadows, rich with elaborate metaphors and intelligent plays on words. At the moment though, he spoke as if handling a butcher's knife; short and to the point.
"Now before I shall ask you to return to your dorms, I would like to know what Mister Accuratore told you."
"He destroyed evidence of his activities as a spy," Minerva put in quickly and pointed to the fireplace.
Dumbledore hmm-ed acquiescently and a quick flick of his wand ended the dance of the flames and left only ash. "We shall see if we can recover anything," he stated calmly. "Now did he say anything else?"
"We learned about his motivations for his joining of Grindelwald," Minerva explained. In face of Dumbledore's sudden inquisitive look, she felt compelled to add: "The deaths of his wife and daughter-"
"Ah yes," Dumbledore mumbled, "Eleanor and Lucy. Regrettable, very very regrettable."
"But don't their deaths also justify his actions?" Tom suddenly interrupted.
Dumbledore looked at him sharply over the rims of his half-moon glasses.
"Do they really? Do the deaths of his family, as regrettable and terrible an incident it might have been, justify a man joining another man intent on bringing destruction and death over countless other families? I shall hope that your words were spoken in haste, Mister Riddle."
The look on Tom's face could only be called submissive, but for a second Minerva imagined to see an ugly sneer hidden just beneath the surface, like inherent darkness only revealed by a passing sunray.
"You are right, of course, Professor," he simply said.
Dumbledore shot a last sharp look at him and then nodded once: "Please return to your dorms now, Miss McGonagall; Mister Riddle."
No ten minutes later on that evening Tom and Minerva sat on the roof of the Astronomy Tower, neither feeling as if they could go to bed just now, no matter what the Professor had said. The day had been long and eventful and even though they were both nearly falling over from tiredness they were too wired-up to think of sleep.
Tom had brought a bottle of lemonade with from the kitchens and he took a long swig, then wiped his mouth with his hand and passed the bottle over to Minerva.
"Thanks," she mumbled and closed her fingers around the cool bottleneck.
It was a cold night and Minerva found herself shivering. Tom shot her a quick sideways look.
"Come over here," he said quietly, weariness taking some of the cutting edge that his words normally had away. Minerva wanted to argue the point, but fatigue and cold eventually made her give in. It was a bit awkward at first, having Tom's arms around her- not to mention improper, good Lord what would her Mother say! and she stifled a smile at that sentiment. However, he radiated warmth and that eventually eradicated all awkwardness.
"Tom," Minerva eventually started uncomfortably, "about that day in Hyde Park…"
He was silent and then simply asked: "Yes?"
"I wish to apologise," Minerva told him very quietly. "It was certainly not my intention to hurt you. My mother is very prejudicial and I am afraid we both misinterpreted some things. I hope you forgive me, for I do value your friendship."
Tom didn't say anything and then, after some minutes of silence, replied nearly roughly: "Forget it." If there was more to it, he didn't say anything , and leaning against him like that, Minerva couldn't take a look at his face.
She finally chose to interpret his words as Tom's own way of forgiving. She ignored her hurt pride- apologies had never been her forte. After all, it meant exposing a part of her to the public that she liked to keep diligently hidden.
Tom, oblivious to her musings, eventually asked: "What do you think?"
"Of what?"
"Of today," Minerva looked over to the persistent fog that clung to the dark hills, making them oddly ghost-like in the silence of the night.
"He is a madman," she said lowly and watched how her breath formed white clouds in the air.
Tom made a noncommittal sound and thus Minerva continued. "Did you mean it?"
"What?" he asked sharply.
"What you said to Dumbledore regarding Accuratore- that his deeds were justifiable due to his loss."
There was a pause and then Tom replied: "I never said they were justifiable, just understandable. Isn't it right to want revenge?" Bitterly, he added: "Personally, I can understand that he hates Muggles. They have never been good to me either."
"So you would also support genocide on them?" Minerva cried disbelievingly.
Tom was silent for a few minutes, too long in Minerva's opinion. Then he answered coldly: "No, of course not." His reply was monotonous, almost bored.
Minerva remained silent and stared over to the black contours of the Forbidden Forest, barely visible against the blue night. They picked their conversation up a few minutes later, but a hard-to-define sense of disquiet remained in Minerva that she couldn't shake off for the duration of that evening.
Hogwarts, October 1940
It had become October and while there was no news on Accuratore- they had failed to capture him as of now- Minerva and Tom had fallen back into their routine of easy banter accompanied by constant underlying tension. Professors Merrythought and Dumbledore had taken over Professor Accuratore's classes for the moment, but a replacement would supposedly come soon.
On a warm day, Minerva was outside on the Grounds, attempting to write a letter, when a clear English voice interrupted her.
"Who are you writing to?" Minerva looked over her shoulder.
Standing underneath the tree next to the one she was currently sitting under and writing was Tom. The pallor of his face formed a startling to the reds and yellows of the autumn leaves. If he was a picture, Minerva mused, one might have to paint him with dark aquamarine and black and white pigments rather than with the vibrant shades of this autumn afternoon. If the world was a book, Tom was like a white-and-black picture, frozen, unmoving, statuesque. But wasn't she taking this metaphor a little too far?
Tom abruptly coughed and shook her out of her stupor. Regarding him more closely, she decided that he didn't look well at all. Minerva put her quill down.
"Are you well, Tom?" she asked in concern, just as a coughing fit nearly bent him over. Seeing that he was unable to reply, she added: "You should go see Madam Yuhe about it."
"I don't have pneumonia, Minerva! I just have a stupid cold!" Tom snapped.
"Well anyway," Minerva pointed out drily, "wouldn't it be unfortunate if it said on your headstone death of stupid cold, too?"
Tom scoffed at her, but was unable to find a reply, much to her delight. Instead, he sneezed and sank down next to her in the golden sunshine of late autumn that tinted the tops of the Forbidden Forest a warm yellow and bathed the grounds in resplendent golden and red hues.
"So who are you writing to?"
"None of your business," Minerva said decisively and hugged the letter close to her chest.
"Accio Letter," Tom said lazily with a flick of his wand in her general direction. Minerva gasped at the letter flew out of her hand, taking a good chunk out of it in the process.
"Give it back, Tom," she yelled.
Tom grinned at her and flipped over on his back, holding the letter out over his face so he could read it.
"Dear Michael," he read, "How are you and your family? Did Abigail adjust well to her new duties in the shop? I send-"
He didn't come any further because Minerva furiously snatched the letter back.
"Like I said," she repeated heatedly, "None of your business."
"So who is that "dear Michael" anyway?" Tom asked, ignoring her statement.
"The older brother of a friend of mine living in a village close to my home," Minerva retorted, regretting having let him goad her into revealing this bit to him only seconds later.
"A villager?" Tom queried with all the polite and worldly disdain of an inhabitant of a metropolis.
Minerva glared at him: "Oh, save it, Tom."
Tom chuckled hoarsely. "Michael Mackenzie. What a sad chap, having to run around with such a name." In a horrible imitation of a Scottish accent, he started in high falsetto:
"My dear Minerva, I write to you from my position underneath a cow, as I simultaneously attempt to milk the cow and compose a letter to you…"
"Why Tom," Minerva said sweetly, having regained her wits, "you should have told me earlier that you wish to experience the joys of rural life."
Tom smirked unabashedly. "I assure you, Minerva, if I ever feel the need to milk a cow I'll let you know. There are far better things to do as a pastime in London, not that you would know about that."
Minerva wasn't about to be deterred though. "So that must mean you are jealous, aren't you, Tom?" she continued, coyly batting her eyelashes at him. "Tom Marvolo Riddle from the great City of London is jealous of Michael Mackenzie, whom aforementioned has mere minutes before proclaimed to be "a villager"."
"Of course I am not jealous," Tom retorted moodily and Minerva felt that she had hit a nerve. Another coughing fit shook Tom in the meantime and he made a few unpleasant sounds that had Minerva grimace at him. "I am going to follow your advice and go to the Hospital Wing," he announced.
With these words he got up and stormed away with a thunderous expression. Minerva looked after him in puzzlement. Men. Sometimes they made no sense.
She frowned, looking after his retreating form, remembering quite suddenly their conversation about Muggles and his disinterested denial of her accusation that he actually supported the idea of Muggle suppression a month prior. She shook her head. People said things they didn't mean all the time. And also Tom was certainly not like everyone, he was no exception to the rule either. It truly didn't have to mean anything that it had taken him a bit longer to reply to her statement than what was the norm. It didn't have to mean anything.
…
Did it?
