A/N: Interspersed with a continuance of the pub scene (1995), which I'm sure you could have figured out on your own, but I feel like rambling today.
A/N: Tom+Minerva, sittin' in a little-known, highly secret, halfway-hidden corner of Flourish and Blotts, R-E-A-D-I-N-G. What a cute couple…
Chapter Two: 1941
In the words of Adriana S. Bones, what in the name of Rowena's silver spectacles did she do now? Not that spectacles or ancient witches had anything to do with the situation at present, but for once one of Adriana's signature phrases was fitting.
Even as the thought occurred to her, Minerva saw her own spectacles begin to fog—she must have put her face a little too close to the storefront windowpane. A brisk wave through the air, and with their replacement on the bridge of her nose, the source of her problem came into focus again.
He was standing perhaps twenty feet further down the sidewalk, his back to her, deeply engrossed in the wares of a Muggle record shop. Unbidden, another of Adriana's oft-used phrases came to her mind: For a Gryffindor, Minerva, you have a striking lack of courage.
That one hardly applied to the present situation either, and moreover, it was hypocritical, as Adriana had been talking about approaching boys. Minerva sighed, surveying her quarry: dark-haired, slightly on the tall side of average, maybe sixteenish…though it was hard to tell from behind. Large bag of what were probably school books slung over one shoulder. Obviously a music fan. Cute? No way of knowing.
He was also blocking her entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.
Muggles couldn't see the shabby-looking wizard's pub, and she couldn't well vanish into mid-air while he was still standing there, relatively undistracted. There was nothing for it but to wait it out.
Hopefully he had other music shops to go to.
Minerva looked back into her own storefront window, that of a bookshop. Muggle, of course, nothing that would interest her immensely. Still, there was a copy of Pride and Prejudice that bore a tag proclaiming it an original printing, and Minerva had to wonder if paper that old could still be so white. A quick charm would probably tell, but this was Muggle London, and so that was entirely out of the question.
Damned age-restriction laws.
She looked up again and saw that he was still there—how many times could you survey a ten-foot display of record albums?—and gave an audible sigh. Back to the books.
Next to the dubious Jane Austen novel was an age-battered copy of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, and Minerva wondered if perhaps the note had been intended for this book. Her wand hand itched; her wand, safely stowed in her right pocket, began to look more and more appealing.
She looked up again.
Still there. Leaning casually against the storefront window, not a care in the world.
What could just a little bit of magic hurt in this situation? He would never see it, nor anyone else; she'd be gone from the scene soon…
Her wand was whisked up into her right sleeve before Minerva quite knew what she was doing, and her heart thumped suddenly in her throat. She was going to do it. She was really going to do it. She was breaking the law.
Damn age restrictions anyway. They were totally arbitrary and unaccommodating of different levels of maturity.
Damn explanations too.
Minerva was careful to hold the wand as close to its tip as possible, so that none of it showed below her sleeve; to tip her arm upward at an angle that didn't make it excessively obvious that she was pointing something at the hapless Muggle down the sidewalk. She was doing it. She imagined her friends' reactions: Adriana's halfway-mischievous smile, Paul's fully-approving laugh. Minerva McGonagall, breaking wizard law.
"Diffindo," she whispered. Music Boy's large bag split with a satisfying riiip, dumping heavy books and other items onto the sidewalk. He bent down to pick them up, and Minerva couldn't help thinking she had seen him before.
But she was in the door of the Leaky Cauldron and halfway to the backyard entrance to Diagon Alley before he had a chance to turn around and show his face.
* * *
Neither Adriana nor Paul were in Diagon Alley today, which Minerva discovered with a quick duck into Flourish and Blotts—only a catastrophe on the level of an earthquake could tear Minerva's friend Adriana away from her dusty stacks of centuries-old texts, and nothing short of a volcanic blast could tear Paul away from Adriana.
Minerva shared her best friend's love for books, but the beckoning of cheery sunlight from the bustling street outside was stronger. Thus she found herself outside now with a large cone of chocolate ice cream, a smiling young Florian Fortescue busting around inside his shop as she ate. A large and very thick volume of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four was open on the table in front of her.
"Accio," she whispered in practice. (Her wand was now safely back in its pocket.) "Accio. And—" she flipped the page, searching for the complementary Banishing Charm she'd learned about last year.
"Cierro," came a voice so close it made her head snap up. The spellbook clapped to with a loud thump that made her start, and then stood poised on its spine. Closed. The speaker didn't blink at all during this, but continued to look straight at Minerva, a slightly curious expression on his face.
"Don't you recognize me?" he asked as she continued to stare.
"Tom Riddle," she answered at once. He was a boy from Hogwarts, a rising fourth year like her. Slytherin house. Dark hair, slightly long. Pale skin, as if he lived in the Slytherin dungeons year-round. Thin. Slightly to the—
Tom Riddle smiled a little wider, but Minerva's stomach sank.
Slightly to the tall side of average.
"Apparently, I've captured your interest," said Riddle with a friendly eyebrow. He sat down and Minerva groaned inwardly.
"Say what you came to say, Riddle," she replied coldly, resting a cheekbone on the heel of her hand.
Riddle held the friendly pose for a few more seconds, his dark brown eyes looking squarely into hers. Minerva wished she could squirm, and found herself wondering what the Slytherin saw when he looked into her face. Large spectacles, they were the most obvious feature, but behind that, eyes that were, if she stretched the definition, chocolate brown. She never wore makeup. Hair back in its usual, utilitarian bun. But—
The warm and friendly act dissolved as Tom's eyes grew cold.
"We seem to have a situation on our hands," he said, leaning forward and brushing the hair out of his eyes. It was strange, Minerva reflected even as she flinched inwardly at the thought of the inter-house squabbles this event could touch off. Strange, the juxtaposition of such a normal gesture with such a cold and intimidating display of anger.
He didn't scare her, though.
"A situation, Riddle? I wasn't aware."
"It was you who split my bag on the Muggle street." He paused to smirk as she flushed slightly. "That is, I believe, in direct violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of—"
"I get the picture," she snapped. "You've come to cash in on some blackmail." She should have known this would come out badly; Minerva McGonagall couldn't break the rules and get away with it.
"I wouldn't think of it like that," said Riddle cheekily. "I think of it as keeping your secret for you. Hello, Florian. Looks like a busy day, eh? Could I have a vanilla cone?"
This last bit was directed not at Minerva but at Florian Fortescue, who had come to stand by their table, an expectant look on his face.
Florian clapped a hand on Riddle's shoulder.
"It's about time, boy. I've been seeing you here for years. Time to get some meat on your bones."
Minerva raised an eyebrow skeptically when Florian had left. Facing each other over two cones of ice cream didn't seem like a likely set-up for a Gryff-Slyth meeting.
"You're paying," he informed her, a humorous quirk to one eyebrow.
"Am I?"
"Oh, yes."
"Are you quite sure?"
"Quite."
"Positively?" Why was she getting into a verbal spar with a Slytherin?
"Absolutely." And why did he look like he was enjoying himself?
She lowered her voice and pronounced the epithet: "Slytherin."
He followed suit. "Gryffindor."
This was getting a little annoying now.
Minerva, sensing Riddle was giving her control of the conversation, stopped talking. So did he.
They glared at each other for seconds that stretched into a minute.
"Two sickles," announced Florian Fortescue, reappearing beside their table with a large cone of vanilla ice cream. Neither student looked at him.
I won't.
You will, his eyes seemed to say.
I won't.
You will too.
Won't.
Will too will too will too.
Still not moving her eyes from Tom Riddle's, Minerva reached into her pocket and felt around for two silver sickles. She banged the money on the table. Tom received his ice cream from an uncomfortable-looking Florian Fortescue, who moved back inside as quickly as possible.
The Slytherin took one long, defiant lick from his ice cream.
"Very good. Thank you," he said.
They lapsed into silence, Riddle occupied by his dessert, and though Minerva's every intuition pointed otherwise, she began to think that maybe this was all he had been after: a free ice cream.
She turned her attention back to her book, which was still standing upended on its spine. Page 192 held information on the Banishing Charm. She went over it a few times until she was sure she'd learned it off by heart. Her chocolate cone was just about gone when Riddle spoke again.
"Do you enjoy studying?"
She paused at the top of a page on color-changing incantations. "What?"
"Do you enjoy studying?" he asked again. "I mean, you're sitting here on a gorgeous day reading up on Summoning Charms."
"Color-Changing Incantations," she corrected. He accepted the hit with a nod. "And yes, I do like reading up on our studies."
"Are you sure you weren't meant for Ravenclaw?"
"Excuse me?" Though she did have to admit the question was fair enough; she'd asked it of herself plenty of times.
"Or is that too personal?" he guessed, lowering his ice cream cone long enough to look at her.
"It's not personal," Minerva said. "And no, I'm not sure I wasn't meant for Ravenclaw. But I guess the Sorting Hat is wiser than a few fourth-year students."
He closed his eyes as if pained. "Well," he said, opening them up again and offering no explanation, "you do have to admit that most of your house-mates don't share your…enthusiasm for the academic."
She stared at him. Tom Riddle the Slytherin had just put into words what it had taken her her first two years at Hogwarts to figure out.
He continued on. "Of course, now you're in with that Ravenclaw fifth-year, aren't you? Adrienne something?"
"Adriana S. Bones," she replied without thinking. (Had she really added the "S."?)
He laughed. "I see you sitting at the Ravenclaw table during lunches. Care to comment?"
"I see you sitting at the Slytherin table during breakfasts. Care to comment?" said Minerva, aware that she was coming dangerously close to flirting.
Tom Riddle laughed again. "Touché."
* * *
Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"I assure you, professor. Never," said Professor Minerva McGonagall.
* * *
"You seem to know a lot about the founders," Minerva said when Tom had finished explaining the strained relationship between Sytherin and Gryffindor.
Tom looked up at her and smiled tentatively. Their ice cream cones were long since eaten, and still they sat.
"I think it's amazing," he said, "how the feud begun by Godric and Salazar a thousand years ago is still alive today. Can you imagine what they would think if they were transported magically to 1941?"
"I rather think they'd be ashamed of themselves," said Minerva. "Generations of Hogwarts students have grown up with these feelings of animosity. And all because two men in the tenth century had a disagreement."
"Two wizards," Tom corrected. "And two of the most powerful wizards ever, doing the most important bit of service to the wizarding world probably anyone's done—except perhaps Merlin."
"That doesn't excuse it."
"But it does put it in a less childish light than your characterization."
"It seems awfully childish to me, Tom."
"What did you say?"
"I said it seems awfully—"
"No. Never mind," he said. His smile returned. "I'm surprised you've never come upon these facts in your research, McGonagall."
She sighed. "I've looked. I've been trying all summer to get my own copy of Hogwarts: A History, but no one will mail-order it, and Flourish and Blotts are all out. There's simply not enough time during the school year to…"
She trailed off to watch him as he abruptly began searching in his (repaired) book bag. After a second or two, he straightened triumphantly and pulled out a large and very battered leather-bound book. He banged it down on the table in front of her.
"Tom—this is wonderful!" she exclaimed, beaming as she looked down at the tome. Hogwarts: A History was written in gold on the front of the reddish-brown cover. "May I borrow it?"
He smiled and pulled his chair over to sit beside her.
"Let me show you the chapter on Godric Gryffindor…"
* * *
Snape sat back in his seat and swirled his rum around again. Slosh. Slosh.
"I fail to understand your sudden interest in this topic, Severus," said Professor Minerva McGonagall as Snape made a noncommittal expression into his drinking cup.
* * *
"Primary source documents?"
"You know, from eyewitnesses," said Tom, looking up from an artist's rendering of the Chamber of Secrets monster and smiling at her. "All we have in this book is second-hand information—or third, or fourth…"
Minerva rather thought this was wonderful enough, but she had a feeling she knew what Tom was looking for. She closed Hogwarts: A History with a firm thump and stood up. He followed suit.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to take you to a little-known, highly secret, halfway-hidden corner of Flourish and Blotts," replied Minerva, surprised at her own impulsiveness. Taking a Slytherin to Adriana's haunt…
"Sounds good," he said with a curious expression. They gathered their books and set off up the street, Minerva leading the way. Tom lengthened his gait enough to end up right beside her.
"So what's in this little-known, highly secret, halfway-hidden corner of Flourish and Blotts?"
"It's a highly-guarded Ravenclaw secret," she said. "Do you like reading old texts and scrolls?"
"How old?"
"Anywhere from the age of Merlin to the first century…B.C."
"That old? What are they doing in there?"
"Marvin Blotts is a collector," said Minerva, remembering what Adriana had told her. "He collects old manuscripts wherever he goes, makes copies, and magically preserves the originals. You can't look at the originals, but he has the copies in a mini-library on the second floor." She paused, thinking. "Merlin was about a century before Hogwarts was founded, probably, but you might get lucky. Those dates aren't precise."
"Why don't more people know about this place?" Tom asked with interest.
"Oh, Marvin donates the originals and some copies to museums and libraries throughout Britain. Hogwarts has probably received some. People aren't being left out."
"It just doesn't seem that Mr. Blotts receives enough credit," Tom said, sounding faintly disturbed.
"Why do you think he and Flourish have been able to retire?"
"Retire?"
"Well, you never see them in the bookshop, do you? And it's only one bookshop they own. I hear they both retired years ago but keep up the shop because they love books so much."
"Born Ravenclaws," said Tom with a smile.
"Probably," she agreed.
A few seconds of silence.
"Thank you," Tom said, hesitating slightly. "This—thanks."
"We'll think up a repayment plan later," she said teasingly, pulling open the door to the shop and ushering him inside.
"Repayment?" Tom stopped, raising his eyebrows. "I seem to remember you owing me a favor."
"I bought you ice cream."
"Ice cream and old scrolls: let's call it even."
Minerva considered, looking at Tom's slightly teasing—but not quite enough—face. She had broken the law…
"Fair enough."
He went inside, with Minerva following, and they climbed up the staircase at the back of the shop to the smaller second-floor area. Minerva led Tom to the isolated nook where Adriana liked to sit hour after hour—when she was here.
She wasn't here now.
That was probably a good thing, Minerva reflected as Tom began to go through a shelf of parchment scrolls arranged in no particular order. Seeing Minerva lead a Slytherin boy up to her private study-area definitely would not have been Adriana's cup of tea.
But she wouldn't know, and it was no harm done.
"Find anything?" Minerva asked.
"Not yet," Tom answered after a few seconds. "I'm looking for the key words Hogwarts, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff…"
Minerva took out his copy of Hogwarts: A History and flipped to the section on Rowena Ravenclaw. (Fascinating witch.) About twenty minutes later, she heard with half a mind as Tom exclaimed, "Ah-hah!" and began pulling out parchment rolls.
Fwap! Minerva looked up from a picture of Rowena's probable physical appearance (very stern) as Tom laid out five rolls of parchment on the small table.
"Ah-hah!" he exclaimed again.
"Did you find something?" she asked, repositioning her glasses and leaning forward to look at the documents he'd selected.
"I think this was written by someone from the first class of students to graduate from Hogwarts," Tom said in an excited whisper. "I can't really read it that well, since it's in Old English and little bits of it are Latin. Could you…"
He trailed off, looking at her guardedly.
"I'll help," she said slowly, wondering at his expression. His face cleared and he sat down next to her at the table.
"Thanks, Minerva." She gave a little start. He'd used her first name. "Thanks, Minerva. Now here—"
And they got started.
* * *
"Well, professor?" Snape raised his tankard.
Professor Minerva McGonagall raised hers after only a moment's slight hesitation.
"Bachelors." (What in the world…)
Cups clinked in mid-air. Minerva swallowed a draft of rum, still wondering how in the world she'd gotten herself into this situation.
"I shall be going now, Severus. It was nice talking with you." That was just out of politeness, and she and probably he knew it.
"I shall see you at the school, Minerva." Snape inclined his head in an almost-bow and turned his attention back to his swirling rum.
Professor Minerva McGonagall picked up her hat and fairly ran for the door.
* * *