A/N: I tell you, isn't it a great day when you're searching the old ff.net for a romance story about Voldemort and Professor McGonagall and you find that some poor deluded soul out there has actually written one? Several I've seen…I'm not the only one! MM/TR forever!…
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I am not J.K. Rowling, though I would love to have the job. Therefore, please do not sue me, because I am explicity stating right here (see? Right here!) that I do not own any of the characters contained in this fic. And, Ms. Rowling, if there is any chance you need to hire someone to be you for a day…? Consider me!!
Prologue: 1992
There is a river called time, somewhere—it is always flowing and never stops. Always flowing, and its waters move everywhere—the universe is an ocean and time is a current. Never flowing backward. A boundary current.
There is a river called time, somewhere—drops from this ocean river mingle and flow, break in waves upon distant shores and find themselves in faraway places. And they know they will never go back, because time is always moving forwards.
There is a drop of water called a child. A girl-child. The child knows who she is in the river of droplets. She knows where the river has taken her. She knows she cannot go back.
But there is something that the child does not know. The river called time is an ocean current, an eastern boundary now, perhaps.
Currents are not linear.
The child's river called time is a world-spanning gyre.
And now the child begins to understand this, begins to see that perhaps her past and present and future are more complicated than a line. The child's river is in an eddy now and that eddy's core is the name "Tom Riddle."
* * *
Minerva had never had to do this before. She had never had a man and woman sitting in her office, the woman crying into her handkerchief, the man embracing his wife with one arm and looking imploringly, half-angrily, at her from the other side of his face. She had never had to tell the parents of one of her students that their child was dead.
Dead. But Ginny Weasley, no matter how many times Molly sobbed, no matter how many times Arthur demanded whether they were sure, no matter how many times Minerva recalled the looks on Fred, George, Percy's faces, no matter how many times she remembered Harry's and Ron's bleak expressions and knew they had been in the staff room (probably under an invisibility cloak), but knew to let it slide; no matter how many times Albus, Albus, who had miraculously shown up just after the Weasleys, lowered his head and pronounced words of comfort that Minerva could not find, no matter how many times Severus appeared at the door, looking guilty, as if being head of Slytherin made him responsible for Slytherin's heir, no matter how many times she wished this day had never dawned, Ginny was, unchangeably, undeniably dead. Her student.
"How could this happen?" Molly Weasley sobbed, shaking a bit. "The attacks…we knew…but killing? Ginny dead?"
"Hogwarts is to be closed at once," Dumbledore assured them gently but firmly. "We are expending all possible effort in finding the Chamber of Secrets, destroying the beast, and returning…Ginny to your family." His voice shook slightly, and Minerva McGonagall, herself head of the house known for its bravery, would not have been able to muster the courage to say "her body" to Ginny's parents.
"The Chamber of Secrets…" Arthur. "How…a thousand years, Dumbledore…how could it not be found?"
"According to legend, the chamber will open only for the 'heir of Slytherin,' probably a descendant of Salazar. As of yet we have not determined how this…person…is causing the attacks while eluding capture," Albus told him. Candidly, which was against Minerva's better judgment, but surely for the best in this case. The Weasleys had a right to know about the hushed-up secret that haunted the castle and that had caused…the death of their daughter.
Minerva had to fight to hold her emotions in check. Going to pieces now, while it would relieve her, would be exactly what the Weasleys didn't need.
"I can bring Fred, George, Percy, and Ron here to see you whenever you want," Minerva said in a forcedly-steady voice, partly to distract herself. "If you wish, they may leave with you and we will take care of their luggage—"
A sudden movement from Albus silenced her, and she wondered if this was too much for the grieving parents. But Albus was not looking at her—he had a faraway expression on his face, and if it was possible, his mouth was just curving up into a faint smile. What in the world—
Before Minerva could even finish her next thought, the door to her office burst open. Standing in the hall was a very grimy, very wet, very tired-looking Harry Potter. (What in the world?) Behind him, Gilderoy Lockhart gazed around the hallway with an even more vacant expression than usual—if that was possible. Ron Weasley, Potter's partner in crime—and the Weasleys' youngest son—stood in dusty, patched, and frayed robes, and there, behind him, flaming red hair shining faintly in the torchlight, the little figure he held by the hand was—
"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley rushed forward, and Ginny ran to her, and Minerva, overcome with emotion—how? How?—gasping for breath—she found herself with tears running down her cheeks. Ron and Ginny were falling into their parents' arms, Harry was beaming, albeit tiredly, and Albus…was talking quietly to a large red and gold bird—a phoenix, she recognized it as his pet, Fawkes or something or other—that had just lighted on his outstretched arm.
And then it was explanation time. Potter—bless his soul, she thought with an unusual surge of sympathy, but he did have to explain things a lot—told a story that stretched back to Halloween, and his words as he spoke on seemed to run together and blend and—
Had she asked him something? Probably, teacher's habit. And he spoke on and on and basilisks and wands and phoenixes and broken taps whirled through her mind. You-Know-Who controlling Ginny? According to Albus. Swirling and whirling thoughts while the explanation continued, she hoped Albus was hearing it, because—
"Tom Riddle, he—"
Stop.
Freeze.
Tom Riddle.
He'd said it, hadn't he, Potter? Riddle's diary? Minerva was now, inexplicably, still. The nexus of the swirling emotions in the room, the calm eye about which the storm revolved. Tom Riddle.
The Weasleys left with Ginny.
"You know, Minerva, I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?" Amazing. She'd understood every word. But she would then, wouldn't she? In the language of her students, it figured. When she really needed the emotional swirl, it abandoned her. She was completely clear-headed now and could fully understand…everything.
"Right. I'll leave you to deal with Potter and Weasley, shall I?" She said in the doorway. He nodded, his eyes twinkling gray behind his spectacles again, but there was a depth to the look he gave her, one that told her he understood quite well what she had learned today. And would be open to discussion, later.
Ron opened his mouth in horror, and Harry gave her a fearful look. She left, feeling cruel but slightly satisfied. Potter had said the name, Potter got the ominous buildup. Of course there would be no punishment—the boys were likely to go down in school history. But let him be a bit afraid, the crueler half of her mind argued.
She hadn't really been betrayed, she reflected as she instructed the house-elfs in the kitchen on the feast to be prepared. Not in letter. Most people wouldn't see it as a betrayal at all. But it was a betrayal in spirit, a sort of slap in the face she had never expected.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
I am Lord Voldemort.
* * *
…Good? Cheesy? (Yes. I know.) Worth continuing? (Too bad—I'm five chapters into this sucker already.) If it sounds a little weird, it's because I'm experimenting with a new style that I found in a novel a few weeks ago.
In any event, review! Review! Por favor! Muchos gracias si me dejes uno!