A/N: The reviews were entertaining. I thank all who reviewed for that. You might not like or enjoy what is coming now, but it's my fiction. Not yours. If you don't like it rot.

```Chapter 2```

Minerva froze for a moment on the stairs before her mind snapped back into her light panic. 'She must've dropped something on her foot.' Minerva assured herself mentally.

"Mum?" she called, taking the steps two at a time, despite her mental reassurances she had already begun to worry. She reached the top of the stairs and turned left in the large hallway, passing a moving portrait of a woman with long black curls blushing modestly in a long green dress. The portrait hung above a small table which had a crystal vase filled to it's fullest with fresh roses.

Minerva stopped dead in the doorway of the first room on her right, mainly because of what she saw but also because of the memories that over took her mind. It was her old bedroom. The soft green carpet and canopy bed with green and white sheets vividly reminded Minerva of her spoiled child hood in which she had demanded to redo her room in green because it was her favorite color. There was a window seat and two comfortable looking green chairs near by. The window seat was covered in small pillows with a blanket resting in the middle like a centerpiece. The reason she had stopped was because of the almost dried up spatter of brown-ish red on the carpet in the doorway.

Her first thought about the spot was blood. She always assumed and prepared herself for the worst and this was not the first pessimistic thought to cross her mind that day. She perked up her ears for a sound of her mother or any one in the house.

Minerva shifted feet and mused to herself that if she hadn't heard the scream she would still think that the occupants of the house were out for Sunday brunch.

There was only two things wrong with that thought, one known to Minerva and one merely thought about and entertained for a moment. The first reason that she knew was that it was not Sunday. What she did not know was that all the occupants of the house were home, and even entertaining company.

Minerva stood in the doorway for a long moment, only barely struggling to come out of her dreamlike state. She was still staring at the spot on the floor of the immaculate house when she was hit in the back with a spell she could not identify until her legs and arms went stiff at her sides.

It was all in that sheer minute of time that Minerva had been thinking too long and not searching for any one in the house. Minerva was almost violently hit with the realization of the seriousness of her situation.

'Oh Lord! I'm going to be killed or- or- oh Lord.' She thought helplessly as her body toppled to the ground, almost completely immobile. She whimpered briefly, almost as if she couldn't stop it from escaped from her barely parted lips. The wood at the end of the hallway creaked.

With the way the house was constructed, the hallway was made up of seven five by eight boards. The first board, which was the one that Minerva's attacker was standing on, was the one Minerva knew all too well creaked.

Minerva drew a shallow breath as her assailant stepped quietly on the same first board repeatedly for what seemed like an eternity. It was at that very moment that Minerva's mind produced the idea that the attacker was toying with her mind, making sure she was terrified that some one was coming to her. She opened her mouth to shout but immediately shut it to consider her options before she enraged her captor.

She could yell and demand her attacker come fourth and duel with her and have some dignity, like she knew her father would. Or she could beg not to be harmed and inquire after her family, like her mother undoubtedly would. She could yell for help like her sister might do. But she began to cry like she would because she was not any of those people.

Tears sloped gently down her pale face and streamed steadily from her bright green eyes which were clouded with terror. Her assailant had begun to walk more quickly with impatience. Minerva was instantly angry with for allowing herself to cry. Her father was so noble and she always felt that he would have been ashamed of her showing such weakness in front of a stranger. Her lips trembled and she gave a shaky sigh.

She sensed her attacker at her feet and tried in vain to lift her head to catch sight of who had fired the spell at her.

"Why aren't you screaming in terror girl?" a voice colder than the deepest part of an ice glacier filled with malicious and sadistic pleasure questioned, not coming to where Minerva could see. Minerva did not answer, partly because she was too terrified and partly because she did not know how to respond. Her assailant shifted on his feet. It was a man, there was no doubt from the voice.

Minerva sniffed the air daintily in the few moments that her captor waited for her to speak. The air smelled faintly of blood. She recognized the smell from when she was a child and had fallen off a broom onto the roof and cut herself up badly.

"Are you choosing not to answer because of your family pride or do you not answer because you are so foolish you can not put your terror into words?" the man asked, hatred dripping from every word that passed his lips.

"Who are you?" Minerva choked the words out, discovering her throat to have gone dry. The man stepped forwards so Minerva could see him.

He had dark brown hair, and a nose not too small but a little but larger than usual. He had a large jaw, high cheekbones and a slanting kind of forehead. His eyes were small, dark and filled with cold that enveloped Minerva.

She recognized the tan skinned face, though she and the man had never met before. The same face was on the front page of the Daily Prophet which was down stairs on the dining room table.

He had just begun his reign of terror.

His name was Grindelwald.