Chapter 7 by Nerweniel

The witch heard her own, hollow footsteps echoing against the hard stone floor. The silence was ear-deafening- the eyes of the occupants of the large chamber bored holes in her skin, but she did not wince, nor did she lower her eyes. Her gaze was steel hard and piercing- indefeasible. It was the gaze of a woman who was despite everything still a teacher after all- and it was the gaze of a desperate woman, too- a woman who had nothing to lose. Should any of the creatures in the room have asked her why she had switched sides so suddenly, how they could ever know for sure that she was not a spy- she would have simply shrugged her shoulders. Her gaze was hard, true, but it did not match the state of her heart. For now, when the first shock and anger had passed, and despite every attempt of hers seeped through her stretched out fingers- now, only now, had all dreams of glory far away from her thoughts, from her mind. Glory did not matter nor exist anymore, and nor did revenge. The sun had set and the earth lay withered and bare- but despair remained.

Who had ever understood her, after all- and who would ever understand her? No-one, no-one, not even Albus, had ever done his or her utmost best to look through the brave face with the determined green eyes- to listen further than just the in vain, courageous words escaping Minerva's thin lips. No-one had ever known what she had suffered- the battle against herself, against her very blood, every single day, had started to wear her out. And then he had come and with one, cruel stone had broken the already so fragile glass wall which had surrounded her heart. Was it surprising that she had given up in the end?

And now her footsteps hit the floor in a deathly rhythm- and her eyes shot fire.

But it was the fire of the damned- and she knew it.

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"McGonagall, and now between us two-"

Minerva looked up from the book she was reading. Even despite everything that had happened and was happening, she still was herself- Minerva Astoreth, a woman who liked reading, who enjoyed quietly consuming some nice literature. It was still her way of relaxing, and the velvet couch in the room that had been appointed to her proved to be just as soft as it had looked at first sight. Now, though, her green eyes linked with the equally green ones of the man, creature, who was technically her Master now.

"Why did you join us? I believe you when you say you have- but why did you?"

There was something of real curiosity, of unwilling respect, even, in his voice, despite his face on which a notion of his daily, cruel activities was and would always stay visible.

Minerva was honestly surprised. So he really wanted to know, didn't he? But she could tell him, after all- she could explain it all… had guessed it long, long ago.

"There is a prophecy in my family- running since the very Era of the Founders. A child, a girl would be born and revenge the spilled blood of Slytherin. The sign of this destiny of hers would be that she would have been- sorted into- into Gryffindor…"

She'd told this story almost automatically- literally, the way she herself had once read it and, later on, had heard it as well. But he, he had obviously never heard of it before. His remark, though, was cool- and earthy.

"You have fought it for a long time, then. Contrary to popular belief, I can appreciate bravery."

Minerva slightly inclined her head so as to acknowledge this compliment.

"And honesty too. What about- Dumbledore?"

"I hate him. He has never loved me and nor have I ever loved him. It was all an illusion- I know where my duty lies, now."

He knew that what she had spoken was the utter truth. Her eyes were bitter- hard- as she spoke, but tears were evident in them as well. It was those tears which convinced him.

"And your heart- your loving, McGonagall- where does that lie?"

He had stood up with those words- a pale, clammy yet firm hand rested on Minerva's shoulder, but she did not feel intimidated or even afraid. The look in his eyes made her despise the male gender even more than she already did- and with a slight scowl she almost hissed

"Stop dreaming right there, Riddle- I am your sister."

A strange silence fell, after this statement- and Minerva bit her lips. Should she have kept the secret to herself, perhaps? But no- no, that she couldn't. It was her triumph, this, after all- for he was, perhaps, her Lord now, but she was still his sister, and her greater power was a fact, decided at birth. He laughed, though.

"My sister? McGonagall, you are ridiculous. Come on- one has to make a little sacrifice…"

His grip on her shoulder tightened, and she gritted her teeth in disgust.

"Yes, your sister. You, adopted by some witch barely a week after your birth- did you really believe then that she was your mother? You were not even worthy of bearing the McGonagall name, Riddle! It is for me that they were waiting after all!"

He knew she spoke the truth. The glimmer in her eyes was one of pain and pride- two so different qualities united into one, and he knew it.

Minerva closed her eyes.

A hard bang followed.

The door had shut.