"May I offer you my arm, Milady?" muttered Anselmus Malfoy's polite, yet so cold voice in Minerva's ear. With a slight hesitant nod, Minerva accepted the gesture and allowed his arm to gently grab hers and drag her with him through the stone corridor.

Usually- under normal circumstances, she would have told off any man imaginable who offered her his arm as if to direct her. She would have told him gracefully, but clearly, that she was a living and breathing creature that could walk on her own, thank you very much. But this, she recalled, as she allowed her fingers to settle down on the soft velvet of Anselmus's robe, was a quite exceptional situation. And she could not help it- but something in the light, icy blue eyes of this man frightened her more than Grindelwald's dark, deep pools ever could.

So they walked together, arm in arm, in silence. Minerva felt Anselmus's Malfoy's piercing gaze rest on her almost the whole, and it was everything except an enjoyable feeling.

But when the "inspection" was over, the "interrogation" started- and that was, perhaps, way worse.

"So," he began, half-turning towards her with a lazy but inquiring smile.

"Minerva Caitríona McGonagall."

How did the bloody man know her middle name? Did everyone here know everything about her, then?

Yet, she nodded and looked him straight into the eyes, her lips curled into something that- she knew it- could hardly be called a smile.

"Yes, that's me."

His smile grew broader and broader.

"Oh yes, you certainly are."

She did not know how to answer his rather strange glare, yet refused point blank to lower her eyes. She was perhaps playing a role- but she still was Minerva Caitríona McGonagall- tough child, strong one, and she didn't intend to show her weakness to a man like Anselmus Malfoy.

"You certainly are…" he repeated, that smile still fixed on his face despite her somewhat bold gaze.

As he raised his hand to softly stroke her cheek, she felt somewhat confused, though. What was she supposed to do- so as to "keep up her role", so as to remain the person he thought her to be? But the problem was exactly that- she could play a role like no-one else could, but playing just herself was difficult to her. She, always the honest one, the open one and the bold, now had to hide her true feelings behind a mask. Behind a mask- with her own face painted on it.

It was already too late for ponderings though- because at Anselmus's soft, yet cold strokes across her cheek, she couldn't help but pull back rather brusquely.

As she sent him a rather fiery look out of her dark green eyes, he almost grinned.

"Minerva Caitríona indeed- quite a Scottish temper, haven't you?"

Well, she could hardly deny that one… but still. His hand again found its earlier place on her cheek, and he smiled again.

"You know, Minerva, when I was searching for a suitable wife, pathetic little Meia wasn't my first choice…"

Searching for a suitable wife? My god- the man managed to make it sound as if he was buying a- but wait! All of a sudden, she realized the full significance of what he had just said- and she had to keep herself from fainting.

Right, she inwardly summarized. So, she had received a proposal of marriage by the darkest Lord ever and her parents' murderer on top of it, his apprentice was half-obsessed by her AND his right hand was stroking her cheek in a very- significant way. Oh great- how beautiful life was!

She controlled her facial features as well as she could- yet one faint blink she couldn't hold back.

His smile told her he certainly had noticed it.

"Yes, Minerva- I see you understand. It was you. But, since some people thought fifteen was too young an age to get married, so I wedded young Meia instead. Quite a pretty one as well, but no spirit, Caitríona, no spirit!"

My god, that man had an obsessive gleam in his eyes, Minerva remarked as her eyes met his once more. Some people "thought" fifteen to be too young? Well- what did he want? A bloody foetus in his bed? Just the thought was enough to make Minerva shudder- and obviously, Malfoy noticed it. He averted his gaze again and she, slowly and somewhat unwillingly, slid her arm through his again.

"Anyway, I am married to the Abernethie wench now- and with some luck she'll bear me a healthy heir once."

His crude words were enough to make Minerva retreat her arm from his- but her self-control survived this time and she allowed him to guide her through the building.

One rational thought remained through all despair she, deep inside, felt, though.

Oh Albus- I do love you.