The Conversation

She walked down a long passageway towards a small, glimmering ray of light. A door was slightly ajar at the end of the hall. She pushed it open slightly. A man was sitting in a chair with his back to her. Sensing her presence, he raised his wand and -

Minerva woke up with a start. Sweat poured down her brow as she attempted to catch her breath. Something was definitely going on in her mind. She conjured up a glass of water and took a deep breath. Since hearing word from the ministry that her father had disappeared in his quest to defeat Grindewald, her dreams had returned. The quidditch game was approaching, a paper was coming up, and on top of everything she was very confused.Never had she seen Tom Riddle so agreeable, charming in fact, as the day they talked in that chamber. Something was going on.

Reaching for a book on concealment that she had checked out from the library, she attempted to focus her thoughts on something else than that awful dream.

"If only I could get a hold of that notebook," she murmured to herself.

She thought back to the green notebook she had seen with Tom in the library. Where had he put it? His pocket perhaps? She wasn't sure. Maybe he would let her look at it once they started working. She somehow doubted it. Fully concentrating on the notebook, she forced herself to turn off the light and go back to sleep. Perhaps a new day would yield something more.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Minerva was loaded down with homework and news from London concerning more attacks. She had very little time to think about Tom Riddle, and she was happy about that.

The Halloween feast was the next time she had a chance to talk with him. Armando Dippet, always one for a show, had hired out a band of goblins to do tricks for the students throughout the day preceding the feast. The tricks, unfortunately, tended to border on the dangerous side and the prefects found themselves knee deep in injuries. At the start of the feast, Minerva found herself reluctantly helping a hobbling third year to the hospital wing whose foot had been turned into a pumpkin. It was quite a bit heavier than his other foot and he was crying inconsolably. Minerva finally gave up trying to walk with him and conjured up a stretcher to take him up.

She walked into the hospital wing and met Poppy Pomfrey, a recent graduate from Hogwarts and Madame DuMedici's intern. Poppy wiped a bead of sweat from her head and pointed to an empty bed. Minerva was surprised to see that the figure lying in the next bed was none other than Tom Riddle.

"Don't even think about it, Minerva," Tom groaned, seeing her. His mouth was bandaged up and she could barely make out what he had said.

Minerva smiled to herself and sat down at the foot of his bed.

"I would never," she promised slyly. "So Tom, what happened?" He glared at her. "What? Goblin got your tongue?"

Tom's arm shot up and grabbed her by the collar. Minerva, remembering their agreement, continued to laugh. He relaxed when he saw that she was not going to react and laid back in the bed.

"He was juggling what looked like balls and they miraculously morphed into Cornish pixies," he said, his voice muffled by the bandages. "I was in the front row and I wasn't paying attention."

Minerva suppressed a giggle, but couldn't wipe the smile off her face. "Who's class?"

"Flitwicks. That little bugger just stood there and laughed." Tom grimaced and Minerva almost felt bad for him. She had never seen him get the bad end of anything. He wouldn't allow it.

"Well, I'm going to go enjoy my butterbeer and cakes and cookies and pies and -"

"Just leave me in my misery, McGonagall."

Minerva sent him a smirk and hopped off back down to the Great Hall. As the dinner drew to a close, she quickly dumped more than a few pumpkin cookies into a napkin and tucked them inside her robe.

"Something is going on with Minerva," said Orlando thoughtfully as he sat in the Gryffindor common room with Avalon.

"I agree." Avalon's eyes lit up. "Maybe she's seeing someone!"

Orlando folded his arms. "I somehow doubt that. She's just been sneaking around a lot lately. I also saw her dump an entire tray of cookies in her pocket after the Halloween feast."

Avalon hopped up on her knees. "Do you think she's eating for two? She has been seeing someone! I'm going to be an aunt!"

"Avalon! I don't think she's seeing anyone. It's Minerva, remember."

"Oh right. Well, have you asked her about it?"

"No, I know what she'll say."

"She'll deny it - "

"And she'll avoid me - "

"Until she forgets about it - "

"Weeks later, when she has another reason to be mad at me."

Avalon sat back down on the couch. "I suppose I could try talking to her, but she doesn't really like talking to me. She thinks I'm silly."

Orlando put a hand on her shoulder. "You are silly."

"I'll try really, really hard not to be."

"I'm not saying I don't like that you're silly."

Avalon blushed. "I'll talk to her in my most serious tone possible, just for you."

Orlando grinned. "Thank you."

"Min, I need to talk to you about something."

"Avalon, I'm sort of busy at the moment, can I talk to you later?" Minerva was sitting on the floor of the library, leafing through one of the books she had seen Tom with at the beginning of the year. She hoped she would gain some insight into his sudden, likeable transformation.

"Please, Min. It'll only take a few minutes."

Minerva put a bookmark in the book and closed it. It was very seldom that Avalon asked her for anything and she still felt bad for being so snappy over the preceding months. "Go ahead. You have my attention."

"Are you okay?" Avalon asked in concern. She tossed her light blonde hair over her shoulders and kneeled down to where Minerva was sitting. "Orlando and I are very worried about you. You're never around. You've been hiding out down here constantly when you're not at quidditch. You've been sneaking food and don't look at me like that; Orlando saw you. You never want to do anything and you've been rather, well - cranky lately. We just want to make sure that you're all right."

Minerva sighed. "I've been a bit stressed out, I suppose. I've been worrying about my father and school and quidditch and this project thing that Dumbledore's making me do. And, I've been having these dreams every night - it's a busy year. I'm sorry if I've made you guys feel bad."

"We haven't felt bad, we've just been worried. What are these dreams about?"

"Nothing." Avalon shook her head to say that wasn't good enough. "They're all different, I guess," Minerva relented. "They all take place here, which I suppose is why they keep me up so badly. They are a bit too real for my taste. I'm having a terrible time waking up in the middle of them. My mind can't discern a dream from reality. I have a feeling that stress is finally getting the better of me."

Avalon patted her friend on the back soothingly. "I'm glad it isn't anything too serious. I can help you feel less stressed," she said confidently. "Ice cream usually works."

"Thanks Avalon. I appreciate your concern. How about we talk more after dinner? I'll be finished with my homework then. Bring Orlando if you want. I know that a talk with him prompted this discussion and I'm sure you'll be relating the result to him presently."

Avalon laughed a little. "Stop being so serious! No one talks like that, Minerva. Every once in a while you need to let your hair down! I'm pretty sure you'd be happier."

She stood and readjusted her robes.

"Eight o'clock. Gryffindor common room. You. Me. Ice cream. Bring a spoon," she said in mock seriousness. Minerva forced a smile and Avalon trounced off.

"Unfortunately, ice cream hides the symptoms," Minerva sighed, flipping the book back open. "What I need is a cure."

Tom backed up and leaned against the bookshelf behind him. He hadn't meant to overhear, really he hadn't, but he couldn't risk moving and letting them know he was there once they had started talking. So she had been the one who left those pumpkin cookies on his bedside table. He'd had a hunch, but was not quite sure. Gryffindors. Always feeling like they should do the heroic thing to help someone.

Even so, the cookies had been pretty good once his mouth had stopped swelling.

What had she meant about her father? Tom slid to the floor. He worked at the ministry, but he wasn't sure what exactly his job entailed. He'd have to ask her.

What was he thinking? Since when did he associate with McGonagall by his own free will? He shouldn't be asking her about her father, he should be rubbing it in her face! He was tired of his emotions getting the better of him. This was becoming absolutely ridiculous.

At least he had finally found it. He was sure of it. The trick would be avoiding any suspicion. That was where Minerva McGonagall was going to help him. That was the task at hand. Not feeling sorry for her. Not making friends with her. Especially not looking into those entrancing brown eyes. No. Minerva McGonagall was nothing to him, and he was determined to keep it that way.