Gift of Gold

Gift of Gold

* * *

"Ask him, then!" Alastor Moody growled angrily, slamming his Arithmancy text closed for emphasis. "If you're so convinced that this secret society of yours is innocent, just ask him. Merlin knows the bastard wouldn't lie to you."

"Don't call him that," replied Minerva McGonagall automatically. After years of having her boyfriend and her best friend loathe one another, she was used to defending both of them. But she still didn't like it.

"Sorry," Alastor muttered. He glared down at the library table. "He is one, though, and you'd know it if only you'd admit the possibility that he might be up to no good. Bloody hell, Min, just ask!" He punctuated this by thumping his fist upon the table, which earned them both a glare and a scandalised "Sssh!" from fourth-year Irma Pince, who was passing their alcove, a tome clutched tightly to her chest.

"Fine!" Minerva hissed, gathering her books. "And when I'm completely reassured that those ridiculous rumours of yours are nonsense, I sincerely hope you'll apologise." She rose, shouldered her bag, and glared at him.

"Min..." Alastor looked up at her, his brown eyes uncharacteristically solemn. "My father's a Squib, and that's the closest thing to a Muggle. I hope the stories are false."

It was all so ludicrous that Minerva would've tossed her hair, had it not been scraped back in a knot. She settled for the next-best thing, however, by simply sniffing haughtily, turning on her heel, and walking away without a word.

She fumed all the way to the Slytherin common room. She knew Alastor and Tom hated one another, of course. According to Alastor, the rivalry had started on the Hogwarts Express at the start of their first year, when Tom had nicked Alastor's Martin the Mad Muggle books and hexed his shoes. Tom denied any memory of this incident and maintained he disliked Alastor because he was an obnoxious boor. Regardless, for the three years Minerva and Tom had been together, she had alternately scolded, coaxed, threatened, and ignored them, to no avail. And of course they'd each tried to make her dislike the other. But never before had Alastor sunk to such lows!

Minerva shook her head as she spoke the password--legally, this year; previously Tom had given it to her, as mere prefects were expected to inspect only their own Houses. She still couldn't believe Alastor had accused Tom of such reprehensible things. Their society was politically motivated, certainly. Tom had stated--and Minerva agreed--that marriages between Muggles and wizards should be frowned upon, as those relationships jeopardised the secrecy of the wizarding world. Imagine, she had told Alastor on countless occasions, if pureblooded wizards continued to marry Muggles. Soon most Muggle families would have a magical member, and vice versa! So much for secrecy!

Minerva had nothing against Muggles. Or even Muggle-borns (they couldn't be helped, of course, and they were safer at Hogwarts than out of it) and halfbloods. And she didn't think that only pureblood students should be allowed to attend Hogwarts. But she did agree with Tom that secrecy must be maintained. After all, it was the Muggles who wouldn't tolerate magic-users! If they knew about the wizarding world, they'd either try to destroy it or exploit it. And that couldn't be allowed. Therefore, the first step was to keep the wizarding world separate from the Muggle world. That meant not telling anyone about it. And that meant not engaging in relationships with non-magic people.

But what Minerva couldn't understand was where Alastor had got the idea that Tom thought pureblooded wizards should rule the world. He wanted to protect the wizarding world by keeping it secret, for heaven's sake--not shout its existence from the rooftops and curse Muggles into oblivion! Alastor's acute paranoia--"constant vigilance," he called it--would doubtless make him a wonderful Auror next year. But Minerva sometimes wished he would wait until training began before attempting to sniff out wrongdoings.

She sighed softly and stepped into the Slytherin common room. As it was an unseasonably cold, wet, and windy April evening, many students had chosen to study and play games in the common room, in front of the hearth. Minerva knew the other Houses' common rooms would be crowded for precisely the same reason. Her presence in the Snake Pit--the Slytherins' private name for their commons--was accepted, of course. Even if she hadn't been Head Girl, her status as Tom Riddle's girlfriend was enough to give her access to this place where few Gryffindors dared tread. Tom's welcome in Gryffindor Tower was a bit less certain, but then, Minerva's hadn't half as much hold over her Housemates.

A few students looked up at her entrance, and Anastasia Lestrange waved from the corner where she was currently snogging her fiancé...who was also her second cousin, if Minerva understood correctly. Minerva returned the greeting as she made her way to Tom, sitting alone by the window. He was so absorbed in reading the book before him that he looked up only when her shadow fell across the page. A slow smile spread across his face.

"Thought you were studying for your N.E.W.T.'s tonight," he said, marking his page with a slender piece of parchment.

"We finished early," she replied shortly, not wanting to admit Alastor's badgering had driven her away.

His smile widened as he set the book aside and sat back in the chair. "Well, I've just finished, myself. Care for a game of chess?"

Minerva hesitated, strongly tempted to spend the evening playing. If Alastor brought the subject up again, she could lie or tell him to get stuffed. On the other hand, she'd given her word that she would ask. Besides, she hated to admit it even to herself, but she was curious. And so she shook her head, steeling herself for what would inevitably be an awkward conversation.

"I would," she said, "but we need to talk."

Tom arched an eyebrow. "Sounds serious." His tone was anything but.

"Mmm," she replied noncommittally. She lowered her voice. "It's about the You-Know-What."

He straightened, abruptly attentive. "Not here. My room?"

"Please."

He nodded curtly, picked up his book, and led the way. As always, Minerva noticed with some gratitude that the Slytherins pointedly ignored their exit. A similar departure in Gryffindor Tower would've been met with catcalls and whistles. Tom spoke the Parseltongue password and removed the wards from the door to the Head Boy's private room. He closed the door and recast the wards as soon as they'd stepped inside.

Minerva made her way to the bed and perched on the edge of the mattress, holding her bag on her lap and fiddling nervously with the strap. Tom joined her a moment later.

"What is it?"

Minerva looked down at her hands, not wanting to meet his eyes. "It's about our group, but it's nothing, really."

He laughed softly. "It must be something, or you wouldn't have mentioned it."

"Well..." She sighed, trying to decide how to ask the question at hand without incriminating Alastor. "I--I've heard rumours. About you, and Wilkes, and Anastasia. That you've...been doing things."

Tom laughed again and lay back against the pillows, radiating nonchalance. "Of course we've been 'doing things.' Everyone 'does things.'"

She turned to him and fixed him with a sharp look. "That's not what I meant. The rumours--and they're ridiculous, of course--are that you all have been Apparating away from Hogsmeade and doing unspeakable things to Muggles. And there are rumours that you've said all sorts of horrible things, but I know that's all nonsense."

Tom sat silent for a long moment, his midnight eyes hard and unreadable. "Well. I've apparently been doing and saying all sorts of things, now, haven't I?" he asked at last, quietly.

Minerva snorted and shook her head. "Silly, isn't it? Of course our society wasn't formed to harm Muggles or Muggle-borns or anything of the sort! We're only interested in preserving the secrecy--and safety--of our world." She traced the mark upon her forearm with a fingertip, unwilling to let it be sullied by slanderous tales.

She looked up to find Tom smiling at her, though the expression was odd and far away. "Of course we are, Minerva."

She could've danced with relief, but she settled for giving him a brilliant smile. "I know, Tom. And I knew the rumours were false, but..."

Tom sat up and reached over to run a hand down her back. He quirked an eyebrow. "...You just thought you'd ask if I was actually going out and raping innocent Muggles?"

Minerva laughed, shivering slightly as his touch raised gooseflesh. "Foolish, wasn't it?"

"Very." He leant close, so that his face was mere inches from her own. "Why would I want to force a Muggle, when I have a willing--and lovely--witch in my bed?"

Minerva smiled and moved forward to brush her lips against his. "I'm on it, not in it," she murmured.

"That can be remedied."

"Please." Minerva parted her lips as his tongue sought entrance, and she responded in kind, kissing him deeply. Tom tasted of mint; he smoked cigarettes sometimes with Wilkes and always sucked peppermints after. He wrapped his arms around her to pull her close, but as he did, Minerva's bag slipped from her lap onto the floor. It hadn't been securely closed, and its contents spilled out willy-nilly.

She pulled back reluctantly and surveyed the mess with dismay.

"Later," Tom said softly, tugging at her sleeve.

Minerva sighed. "I oughtn't stay. I have an essay due tomorrow for Charms that I should re-copy."

He groaned. "You'd desert me for Charms? Perhaps I should find a Muggle, after all."

Laughing, she swatted his shoulder. "Do it, then. I'll just clean up and be on my way." And with that, she moved to the floor, knelt, and began to gather her things. She frowned a moment later. "I can't find my Herbology notes."

"You're certain they were in your bag?"

"Yes. I know for a fact because Alastor forgot to bring his to the library and shared mine."

Tom made a small noise of distaste. "Go ask him, then. He probably stole them."

Minerva rolled her eyes as she drew her wand. "Oh, I'm sure, when he gets far better marks in the class than I do." She shook her head and moved to lie on her side on the floor, propping herself up on one elbow. "Perhaps they're under the bed. Lumos," she finished, pointing her wand.

"Minerva--"

"There they are!" she exclaimed, ignoring him and wriggling under the bed on her stomach in order to reach the roll of parchment. She pushed her notes out into the room behind her as she spied something else, back in the corner. "Looks as if there's some of your laundry, as well." She caught the small white piece of cloth with her fingertips and pushed herself back out. "Boys," she sighed, extinguishing her wand.

She sat up and looked at the article in her lap. "Honestly, Tom, how did your pants get all the way back--" Her eyes widened, and the words died in her mouth when she realised that she held not men's but women's underclothes. Dirty women's underclothes. She peered at them more closely, and then her gaze flew to Tom, who looked back at her with a blank expression.

"These--these aren't mine, Tom," Minerva said at last, dully. "I've never left my knickers here."

"Minerva..."

She stood, letting the knickers fall from her lap, and pointed her wand at him with a shaking hand. "Whose are these?" she whispered, feeling ill.

His eyes went hard again as they met hers, and he answered in a flippant tone. "Not yours, apparently."

It took every ounce of willpower Minerva possessed not to hex him. Instead, she clenched her wand so hard her knuckles turned white and her fingers burned. "Who the fucking hell do they belong to?" she cried, her voice thick with accent and fury. Tom leapt up and closed the distance between them with two long strides. One long hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, and he stared down at her, his face stony.

"Don't speak to me like that again," he said quietly, infuriatingly calm.

In answer, Minerva swung her left hand up and slapped him across the cheek with all of her Beater's strength. "Fuck you!" She then stared, stunned and trembling, at the angry red mark splashing across his pale skin. She'd never struck another human being before in her life.

Tom stared back and released his hold on her, obviously as shocked as she. "Minerva, I--It's not what it seems," he faltered, finally sounding upset. "I can explain."

To her horror, Minerva felt tears welling in her eyes, though she could not say if they were from anger, hurt, remorse, or any combination of the thousand other emotions coursing through her. She closed her eyes, allowing the hot droplets to slide down her cheeks. "I suggest you do so, then," she whispered.

Tom resumed his seat on the bed and gestured to the space beside him. "Will you sit?"

Minerva nodded and sat gingerly on the foot of the bed, as far from him as possible. She crossed her arms in front of her chest before turning to him. He sighed softly and looked at her with a pleading expression.

"Minerva, I...I apologise. I lied to you, just now. Some of those rumours you heard are true." He blushed and looked away. Minerva simply sat, numb, as he continued. "You know I live at--at a Muggle orphanage, when I'm not here. It's wretched, Minerva! I've been there as long as I can remember, and everyone's horrid. This evil old woman, Mrs Phillips, is the Head. And she's always hated me. When I was small, she'd whip me for the slightest offence--or for no reason at all. Now, on holidays, she makes me do all the worst chores, like scrubbing the toilets and washing the babies' nappies."

Tom met her gaze imploringly. "The other boys are just as cruel. They despise me because I'm different. Because no one knows where I go to school. They beat me, and of course I'm not allowed to use magic to teach them a lesson." He sighed and bowed his head. "I've never told you, but I hate it more than anything. And--" his voice hitched, "--and I've never had a proper holiday in my life. Christmas is spent watching the others have a lovely time exchanging gifts. Summer is spent sweating over the laundry whilst the other boys swim and play ball and ride bicycles."

Minerva stared at him in shock, her own pain half-forgotten as she listened to the tragic picture he painted. She thought of her own Christmases, warm and cosy with her family, and her heart broke for him. "Oh, Tom," she said wretchedly, "why didn't you ever tell me? You could've come home with me!"

He looked up, and Minerva was startled to see tears glistening in his eyes. "I suppose I didn't want you to feel sorry for me," he whispered.

"Oh, Tom." She frowned when he went silent again, not wanting to torture him further but needing to know. "But...what has this to do with the knickers?"

He buried his face in his hands. "Minerva, I--I couldn't stand it any longer. It's true, what you heard. Wilkes and Lestrange and I went to the orphanage. And I did...hurt...Mrs Phillips. Those are her knickers." He lowered one hand only to pound his fist onto his thigh. "I had to make her pay for what she did. I had to."

Minerva swallowed hard, her nausea returning. "And then what?" she asked, not really wanting to know.

He closed his eyes and answered in a whisper. "We set the building on fire." Something flickered in the back of Minerva's mind at that, but she ignored it as another question presented itself.

"Why did you keep the knickers?"

"Sheer foolishness. A mistake."

"Did you--?" She shook her head, trying to clear the tangle within. With an effort, she banished the mental image of Tom using the knickers for--

Minerva shuddered. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

He gave a breathless chuckle. "Thank you."

"Tom!" Minerva looked at him sharply. "It's not funny! If anyone were to find out about this..."

"They won't." He scowled. "Though apparently Wilkes or Lestrange mentioned something, or there wouldn't be rumours. I'll have to deal with that," he added softly, as if to himself.

Minerva gasped as she remembered what it was Tom's earlier statement had put her in mind of. "Holy mother of God! I heard some Muggle-borns discussing it ages ago--apparently it was all over the Muggle news. I can't believe I forgot! Tom, there were people in that orphanage when it caught fire!"

He gave her a queer look. "Yes."

"Children!"

"Yes."

"Tom, don't you know? Everyone--every single person--died!"

"Yes."

Her eyes widened. "You--you intended it."

"I had to, Minerva."

She stared at him in horror, scarcely recognising him. Bile burned in her throat as comprehension slapped her across the face.

"Jesus Christ," she breathed. "It's all true. About the society and everything, isn't it, Tom?"

"Minerva, wait--" He stretched a hand toward her, but she regarded it as though it were a viper.

"Tell me," she spat.

"Minerva--"

"Tell. Me."

And then he did. He told her about his plans for a world populated by wizards--ruled by one powerful, immortal wizard--where Muggles would be nothing but slaves. Playthings. Where Hogwarts would finally realise Salazar Slytherin's great dream and would only accept students who were worthy. Pureblood students. Muggle-borns and Squibs would be "dealt with" as soon as their talent (or lack thereof) showed itself.

Minerva watched Tom's face become passionate as he went on and on; saw his brilliant smile as he described his nightmarish utopia. And as she listened, something gripped her heart and squeezed, tighter and tighter, until it threatened to shatter.

At last, mercifully, he finished. She could only swallow the bile and tears and blood from where she'd bit through her tongue, and stare at his face, flushed and glowing with fervour. Tom looked at her eagerly, obviously certain he'd converted her.

She held out her left arm, arching her wrist towards him, as a frigid and frightening calm enveloped her. "I want it off. Take it off. Now."

Tom's face fell, and his expression hardened. He met her gaze with eyes that were closed to her forever. "You're a fool."

"Remove this filthy thing!" She scored across the mark with her fingernails.

"No," he said flatly.

She wouldn't beg. Instead, she stood and picked up her bag. "Very well." With surprising steadiness, she turned her back on him and walked towards the door. Her hand was on the knob when he spoke again.

"What will you do?"

Minerva sighed and turned back. "I'll keep your secrets, Tom." She laughed bitterly; the sound was harsh and jagged, false even to her own ears. "What else would a fool do?"

"Minerva..."

She looked at him for a long moment, wondering what words could possibly bridge this rift between them. Wondering what one was supposed to do at a time like this. Wondering what to say when 'goodbye' was pathetically insufficient. She opened her mouth to speak, but Tom shook his head silently, with a bittersweet, brittle smile that showed he understood.

And so she simply nodded, opened the door, and left.

Minerva drifted through the Snake Pit in a haze of numbness. She couldn't have said if any students were still present or if anyone acknowledged her presence as she passed. She saw only the door and felt only the strong desire to leave. The pureblooded taint of Slytherin seemed a tangible thing in this place--cloying and oppressive, smelling of peppermint. She opened the door with trembling fingers and stepped out into the corridor with a sigh of relief. The blanket of calm threatened to desert her, so she inhaled deeply through her nose and closed her eyes, unwilling to go to pieces in public.

"Minerva! I was just looking for you. Would you be willing to help me with my Transfiguration? You know I'm awful at it..."

Minerva opened her eyes to see Arabella Figg standing at her side. The girl's grey eyes were wide, and she regarded Minerva with a hopeful expression.

"Bella, I--I can't, just now," replied Minerva, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "Why don't you ask Alastor?"

"I did. He said you were better at explaining theory, and that you were particularly good at sixth-year work." Arabella gave Minerva a sharp look and pushed her long brown hair behind her shoulders. "But I think he wanted me to come back here and check on you. Merlin knows he won't set foot on Slytherin territory, even if he's dating one of us."

"Oh, I know." Minerva closed her eyes again, realising that she would never again voluntarily set foot on Slytherin territory, either. Tears prickled behind her lids as memories of hours spent in the Snake Pit and in Tom's green-curtained bed flashed through her mind.

A soft touch on her arm pulled her back to the present. "Minerva, dear? What's wrong?"

"I..." Minerva exhaled shakily. "Nothing, Bella. I have to go. I'm sorry." She gave Arabella's hand an apologetic squeeze before setting off down the corridor as quickly as propriety would allow. Once she was out of sight--she knew Arabella would be watching, shocked--Minerva began to run. She had no destination in mind. She was conscious only of the desire to go as far from the Slytherin dungeons as possible. Her pounding feet took her up staircase after staircase; her pounding heart thrummed loudly in her ears. She ran on until at last she burst out the door of the Astronomy Tower; the highest point at Hogwarts.

Minerva put her hands on her thighs and bent over, panting. It had stopped raining, apparently, but the wind was still cold and damp. And welcome--it blew across her flushed and perspiring skin, bringing relief. She stayed still long enough to catch her breath and then straightened and walked to the wall that surrounded the edge of the tower.

She leant forward, resting her crossed arms on the stone. She couldn't see the ground in the cloud-strewn dark, but she knew how far below it was. Far enough to be an exhilarating dive on broomstick. Far enough that, if one dropped a Knut from the Tower, it would crack a skull if it landed on someone. Far enough.

Minerva looked down into the endless black and considered it, unable even to name the act in her mind. She wouldn't really do it, of course. She was too sensible, too proper, and above all too strong. But it was tempting. She wondered if it would feel like flying. If it would hurt, at the end. (Of course it would, she scolded herself. Just not for long.) And so she stood there silently, tearless, pondering her hypothetical death as though it was a problem on an examination. It was easier than thinking about everything else.

"You know, I...I've heard Quidditch without a broomstick always ends badly," said a voice behind her.

Minerva jumped a foot and whirled about, pressing a hand against her racing heart. "Alastor! You scared me to death!"

His crooked smile was illuminated by the glow of the lantern he bore. "Nah. You would've had to jump the other way, for that."

She shook her head and turned back to the wall. "Thought about it," she said quietly, staring out into the night.

"Glad you didn't." A big hand came to rest on her shoulder as Alastor came to stand beside her. "Would you like to walk with me? Or sit?"

She shook her head again, noting that her hair was coming loose. "This is fine. I like it here."

He removed his hand and set the lantern on the wall before stepping back and moving about. A moment later, something heavy and warm was draped over Minerva's shoulders. "Have my cloak, then, before you freeze."

Minerva gave him a sharp look when he returned to stand at her side. "What about you?"

"Shush, wench, I'm being gallant." He squeezed her shoulder. "Besides, girls get cold more easily. The expression isn't 'colder than a wizard's tit,' is it?"

Despite herself, Minerva laughed. She sobered quickly, however, as something occurred to her. "How did you know where I was?"

"I didn't." He cleared his throat. "Bella ran back to the library and said she'd seen you, and that you looked awful. I figured you must've spoken with...with him, so I went looking for you."

"I see."

Alastor patted her back awkwardly. "Want to talk about it?"

"No." She sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Yes. I don't know."

"Choose one. I'll wait."

Minerva took a deep breath and pulled the cloak tighter about her. "No, I do. I just...I don't know where to begin."

Alastor turned to her, the movement causing his shaggy brown hair to glint with gold in the lamplight. "That bad?"

Her lips trembled as she nodded. "Worse."

"Hell, Min, I'm sorry. What happened?"

Hot tears threatened to fall again, and Minerva closed her eyes in a futile attempt to compose herself. "I...I asked him. And the rumours were true, Alastor. All of them. And...and worse. He--I--" Her voice broke, and she put a cold hand to her mouth and bowed her head as she began to sob in earnest.

Alastor was silent for a long moment. Then he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pulled her towards him. "Come here," he said gruffly, as he settled her in front of him and put his arms about her from behind. "You've got my cloak; the least you could do is stand there and keep me warm."

She could only nod through her tears, but she found one of his hands and squeezed it gratefully. The answering embrace he gave her belied his earlier words. They stood that way for some time, the silence broken only by her sniffling. When Minerva had control of herself once again, she cleared her throat. "It's finished between us," she whispered, feeling lost.

Alastor's hair tickled her cheek as he nodded. "Thought as much. Are you certain?"

A ragged laugh escaped her. "You think I'd be up here if I weren't?" She shook her head. "I think I made myself perfectly clear. ...And so did he," she added quietly.

"No, I mean, are you certain it's what you want?" Alastor took one arm from her in order to scrub a hand through his hair, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable. "I don't want you to do this because of me, Min."

She snorted and raised an eyebrow behind tearstained spectacles. "Oh, so you think I broke it off with him in order to have a mad affair with you?"

He chuckled and squeezed her fondly. "What, you mean you didn't?" He sighed. "What I meant was, this is my fault. I shouldn't've asked you to speak with him. And I hope you didn't do this because you thought it was what I'd want. If you want to stay with him...I'll try to understand."

Minerva nodded, tearing up again. "Am I a fool to want to?"

She felt him shrug. "You know my opinion of him, Min. But...I think you're not a fool. Only human."

"All too human."

"Aye." Alastor chuckled again. "About time you learnt it, too."

"Oh, hush." Minerva sighed and leant her head back against his shoulder. "I won't, though. After tonight, part of me--a large part--hates him, Alastor. He--the things he did--I just couldn't. I don't want to. But I do... Oh, I don't know!" she finished miserably.

His arms tightened about her once more. "I know, Min. I know."

"He lied to me!" She closed her eyes against the memories that stung like raw wounds. "He lied to my face, and he hates me, and after the truth came out, he tried to use me..."

"He tried to use you?" Alastor growled, tensing. "I'll kill the bastard!"

Minerva put a restraining hand on his arm. "Not like that, idiot."

Alastor relaxed slowly. "He better not have."

"He didn't. He just tried to weasel his way out of it. Again," Minerva said with another sigh. She laughed bitterly. "He's good at playing me for a fool. I love him, and he only used it against me, in the end. I--I wonder now if he ever loved me at all," she finished, her voice shaking.

Alastor held her in silence for a moment. "Well, I love you," he whispered at last.

Minerva smiled tremulously and hugged his arms to her chest. "I know."

He planted a quick kiss on her cheek and then took an awkward step backwards. "You're freezing, Min. We should go back." He smiled as he picked up the lantern. "Besides, Bella's probably going mad with worry."

Minerva nodded, feeling guilty. "I was short with her, Alastor. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. She understands."

"Will you tell her?" Minerva asked a moment later, as they made their way down one of many flights of stairs.

"If you want me to."

"Please." She sighed. "I owe her an explanation, but I--I don't think I can."

His unkempt hair swayed yet again as he nodded. "All right. Want to least come back to the library with me?"

She shook her head. "I'd rather just go to my room," she replied, pausing and beginning to remove his cloak from her shoulders.

"Keep it, for now," Alastor said quickly. She gave him a questioning glance, and he shrugged. "You still look cold. It's the least I can do." Minerva smiled a little as she pulled the outsize cloak about her once more. She was still a bit cold, but more importantly, the woollen weight was comforting. "I'll walk you to the tower," he added when she turned to say goodnight.

"It's out of your way. I'll be fine."

"I don't care."

She sighed. "Really, it's unnecessary!"

Alastor's eyes locked with hers. "Minerva. I'll feel better if I do. Just...let me, would you?"

Minerva sighed again but couldn't help smiling as they headed for Gryffindor Tower. "You know," she muttered, "for a boy who once spent three hours spelling every girls' toilet in the castle with a skin-adhering hex, you've grown frighteningly chivalrous of late."

He chuckled. "I did no such thing."

"You did!" she exclaimed. "Third year. And I know this because you made me help you!"

He gave her a shrewd look. "If I recall, I only had to ask once."

"That's beside the point," she said primly.

Alastor laughed again, and they walked in companionable silence the rest of the way. They stopped when they reached the portrait that guarded the tower's entrance.

"You're sure you'll be all right?" Alastor asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Minerva nodded and turned to face him. "I'll be fine. I promise."

Alastor looked down at his feet. "I just hate to see you hurt, Min," he mumbled. Though his hair fell forward over his face, Minerva could nevertheless tell that he was blushing. She smiled, touched, and impulsively wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace.

"Thank you," she whispered as his arms encircled her. "You're too good to me."

He chuckled softly and gave her a squeeze before stepping back. "'Course I am. But someone has to look after you. Constant vigilance!" He winked.

Minerva groaned, though a smile played about her lips. "Off to the library with you. I am going to bed."

"Goodnight, Min."

"Goodnight. Marzipan turtles," she added, turning to address the portrait. It swung open at the password, and she climbed in, crossed the common room, and headed up the stairs to her room.

An hour later she lay in bed, still wide-awake. The rain had resumed, and it pattered softly against the window. Minerva was scarcely aware of the sound; instead she heard Tom's voice, over and over again.

"You're a fool."

"You're a fool."

"You're a fool."

The mark upon her wrist burned as though it, too, condemned her. She clenched her teeth against the pain and closed her eyes lest tears overflow. Now that she was alone, suspicions slithered like snakes in her mind. That Muggle-born girl, two years ago. Maureen or Marta or whatever her name had been. Tom had acted strangely during that time. Could he have...?

Minerva whimpered and squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. Her skin crawled. Tom's hands, his tongue, his body: all had been used to force others against their will. She thought of him responding to her touch, entering her, kissing her, stroking her with fingers stained with blood...

She gagged, snatched her wand from the bedside table, and conjured a bucket just in time. Afterwards, as she sat trembling and covered in cold sweat, she realised that sleep was out of the question. She also, emphatically, did not want to be alone any longer. Nor did she want to be with anyone else. What she wanted, more than anything, was to turn back time several hours. To play that game of chess with Tom. Minerva groaned weakly, banished the bucket to the bottom of the lake, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

She hadn't taken the time to undress, so she merely put on her spectacles, straightened her clothing, and re-coiled her hair into its customary knot before leaving the room. She had no real plan, but even staring into the common room fireplace and ignoring everyone would be better than being alone in bed. She wasn't certain whether to be relieved or disappointed, however, when she discovered that the room was deserted. A glance at the clock over the mantel told her it was later than she'd thought.

Sighing, Minerva sank down into one of the chairs before the fire, willing herself not to see his face in the flames or hear his voice in the wind that whispered outside the windows. It was no use, though, and she hugged her arms to her chest to keep herself from breaking.

"Knut for your thoughts, Miss McGonagall?" asked a soft voice above Minerva. She jumped, startled at hearing a voice that wasn't Tom's.

She looked up and could've wept at the sight of Professor Dumbledore's kind, familiar face. Instead, she shook her head and forced a smile. "They're not worth that much, sir."

He smiled. "No. My best student's thoughts are worth a Galleon, at least."

Her face shook. "I'll pay you that much and more to take them," she said quietly.

The professor bent down and looked at her with concern. "Is something amiss, child?"

Minerva started to shake her head but found herself nodding halfway through. She bit her lips so she wouldn't start crying again and make a ninny of herself in front of her favourite professor.

"Well then," he said, straightening. "This calls for tea and biscuits. Will you join me?" He gestured to the door off the common room that led to his private apartments.

It would be better than sitting alone and haunted, so Minerva nodded again, rose, and followed him. She'd been to his rooms before; Professor Dumbledore occasionally invited his prefects and Head Girl for tea. But upon entering his sitting room, she marvelled anew at the sheer number of...things...he kept. Magical implements, artefacts, curious bits of nature like birds' nests, butterflies, and rocks, items that looked Muggle that Minerva could not identify...all this and more, scattered on every available surface.

"Please, have a seat," Professor Dumbledore said, after bending to remove a stack of books from one of the chairs. "I'll fetch the tea."

Minerva seated herself, and he returned a moment later, a cup in each hand and a tin of biscuits levitated wandlessly in front of him. He handed her a cup, allowed the tin to settle on the table, and took a seat opposite her.

"Thank you, sir," Minerva murmured, cradling the china gratefully in her cold hands. She took a sip and tried not to wince at the amount of sugar he'd stirred in.

"What's troubling you, my dear?" he asked, taking a sip and looking at her over the rims of his half-moon spectacles.

Her hands tightened around the cup, and she looked down into the tea to avoid meeting his piercing gaze. "I--I don't know how to tell you, Professor." After all, how could she tell her favourite professor--her mentor--that she'd just discovered her former boyfriend was a rapist? Besides, whether she liked it or not, she'd made a promise.

Professor Dumbledore seemed to sense this. "Tell me only what you wish, Miss McGonagall. Or nothing at all. But I've a willing ear."

She nodded, looking up at him. "I know. And thank you. I just..." She sighed. "I'm sure you know that Tom Riddle and I have been together for some time?"

A shadow seemed to cross the professor's features. "Ah," he breathed, as if to himself. Then, "Yes. I'm aware of that."

She nodded. "Well, he--we--had an organisation, with a few others. Just a group of like-minded students, with no true ambitions. Or so I thought."

"I see. And what were the goals of this organisation?"

Minerva swallowed hard and took a sip of tea to wash down the taste of guilt. "To--it sounds so horrible, now--to preserve the secrecy of the wizarding world." She closed her eyes. "By discouraging relationships between Muggles and wizards. Because such relationships threaten the secrecy."

"I see," he said again, quietly. "And, as you come from a wizarding family, I can understand how you could have reached this conclusion. What happened?"

Minerva dared to look at him again, though when she did, she wished she hadn't. Professor Dumbledore's face was set and odd. He looked disappointed in her. Her voice shook as she continued.

"I--I thought it was a good cause. I thought it was important. But I never wanted to harm Muggle-borns or halfbloods! I don't think I'm superior to them!" She inhaled raggedly and looked down into her cup. "I found out tonight that...that discouraging such relationships wasn't the only goal of the society. That I'd been lied to. That--I can't say any more."

He took a sip of tea before replying. "I understand, child. You've said enough."

A tear splashed down into her cup, and Minerva looked up at him, helpless, as more spilled over. "I'm such a fool." She smiled bitterly. "He said the same tonight, though for entirely different reasons."

"Mr Riddle?" She nodded, and Professor Dumbledore sighed softly. "Miss McGonagall, you know I hate to speak ill of a student. A bright one like Mr Riddle least of all. But I think...I think you are not the one who is being foolish."

"That's kind of you to say," she whispered, wiping her cheeks. "But at least he knows what he believes. He wasn't blinded by another's words and led like a bull by the nose."

Dumbledore smiled. "But, my dear, the bull is much stronger than the man who leads him. He needs only the courage to break away."

Despite herself, a breathless laugh escaped Minerva. "It's a moot point, as I'm only a silly cow anyway."

He shook his head, causing the long curtains of his auburn hair and beard to sway. "Please don't speak that way about my favourite student," he chided, unwrapping a toffee he'd taken from the dish on the table.

Minerva sighed, miserable again. "I am, though. I was a fool, Professor!" She continued in a shaking whisper. "I know all of these things, now, and I feel ill. I can't...When I think of what I believed, what I said and did and what people must've thought... " She swallowed a sob, set her cup on the table, and buried her face in her hands. "I was so very wrong, and I don't think I can ever make amends."

"With whom?" he asked gently, his voice slightly thick from the sweet. "As I see it, you've done nothing wrong."

At his kind words, she began to weep in earnest. "But I have!" she exclaimed through her tears. "I was so wrong to believe that it's bad for Muggles and wizards to marry! That only perpetuates the idea that purebloods are better, and that's utter rubbish, but still people believe it and even want to--to--exterminate those who aren't pure! That's what Slytherin wanted, and I'm a Gryffindor, and I've shamed our House--" She broke off, too choked by tears and regret to continue.

Something warm, feathered, and heavy nudged its way onto her lap, and Minerva wrapped her arms about it instinctively, hugging it to her chest and burying her face in the soft plumage. A round head nuzzled against her neck in a comforting manner as she wept.

"Well, Fawkes forgives you," said the professor a moment later, "and he's the strictest judge of character I've ever met."

Minerva only nodded, still wracked with silent sobs, unable to look at him. She heard Dumbledore rise, and a moment later his long hand came to rest on her shoulder. "Such a small sin," he murmured, almost as if to himself, "when there are so many greater ones that are not repented." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "Child. Minerva. Of course it's all nonsense. Blood has powers, certainly, but the blood that flows in one's veins doesn't determine a person's worth. No more than the colour of one's hair, or eyes, or skin. Many of the best and brightest wizards throughout history have been Muggle-borns or halfbloods. My own parents are Muggles, and I daresay I've turned out all right."

At this, Minerva looked up at him, horrified. "You are Muggle-born? And I just told you all of this? Oh, sweet Jesus," she murmured, feeling sick. "I'm so sorry, Professor!"

But Professor Dumbledore only laughed as he knelt down before her. "Minerva, my dear, I know you. And I know you didn't mean any harm by believing what you did, or joining any organisation. Young people rarely believe anything for long." He smiled at her, his eyes sparkling. "If they did, I'd still be under the impression that magic is something that only happens in fairy stories."

Minerva smiled but then shook her head. "This is worse, though."

He looked at her over his spectacles. "No. It was only a mistake. We all make them. ...Even those of us who truly are old enough to know better."

Sighing, she stroked the large bird on her lap and studied it to avoid the professor's gaze. "I feel so...tainted. So wrong."

Professor Dumbledore gently took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up so that her eyes met his. "I know you aren't evil or 'wrong' at heart, my dear. And we both know you can't go back and change what you did. But would you like a chance to redeem yourself, though you are the only one who deems it necessary?"

Hope fluttered in her chest. "Please. Anything!"

He smiled and moved his hand to squeeze her shoulder once more. "Headmaster Dippet and I were planning on asking you anyway, but this seems an especially opportune time. Would you like to teach here next term, Minerva?"

She stared. "Pardon me?"

"As you know, I'm not only a professor and a Head of House, but also deputy headmaster of this school," he began. "Consequently, between those responsibilities and certain...other duties, I find that I do not have enough time. And so I'm looking for someone to teach my first- through third-year courses. You wouldn't be paid much, but you'd receive room and board, and I'd be willing to take you on as an apprentice, should you desire it."

Minerva opened her mouth to speak but found she had no words to answer him. "Professor, I--"

"You may refuse, of course. I'll understand if you have other plans for your future..."

"No!" she exclaimed, finding her voice at last. "Sir, I want to teach. I had no plans, not really, other than possibly training to be an Auror with Alastor... But a position at Hogwarts and an apprentice to you? Professor, I'd be a fool to refuse!"

Professor Dumbledore beamed. "I'm so glad to hear it. I'll inform the Headmaster of your decision, and I'm certain he'll wish to speak with you." He gave her a shrewd look over his spectacles. "And, of course, your position will give you ample opportunity to help guide our students in the right direction. To teach them acceptance instead of prejudice. Will that be sufficient penance, Miss McGonagall?"

Minerva smiled, feeling as though an enormous weight had been lifted from her chest. "I think it will, sir. Thank you."

Once again he gave her his brilliant smile, and his blue eyes shone with pleasure beneath bushy russet brows. "You are most welcome, my dear. Do you think you'll be able to sleep, now?"

She nodded, slid Fawkes off her lap, and rose to leave. "I feel much better."

"Wonderful!" Professor Dumbledore stood as well and took her arm to escort her to the door. When they'd reached it, he let his hand linger on her elbow for a moment as he looked down at her. "I look forward to having you as a colleague in the autumn, Minerva," he said quietly. "And I want you to understand that, no matter what you've thought or done, I'm very proud of you."

Minerva blushed, smiled tremulously, and turned to give her mentor an impulsive hug. "Thank you, sir," she replied, stepping back and feeling a bit breathless. "I can't tell you how much your offer means to me."

He smiled as he opened the door for her. "Goodnight, my dear. And sleep well."

"Goodnight, Professor." The door closed behind her, and Minerva walked out into the common room with a lighter heart. Though she'd planned to go back to her bed, the sound of a voice hailing her was more than welcome.

"Min!" called Alastor softly. "Over here!"

She turned, and her eyes widened to see not only Alastor but also Arabella sitting in the corner. "What are you doing?" she asked, hurrying over. "It's late!"

Alastor shrugged as he moved to make room for her. "Waiting for you, of course." He smiled at her surprised expression and answered her question before she'd had a chance to ask it. "We didn't think you'd actually go to sleep."

"I even went to your room to ask you to come down," Arabella added. "But when I saw you weren't there, we decided to wait here for you."

Minerva's brows knit in confusion. "But why?" she asked.

"Alastor told me what happened, and I didn't think you'd want to be alone for long."

Minerva nodded, reaching past Alastor to give Arabella's arm a grateful squeeze. "Thank you. I thought I needed to be alone, but..." she shuddered. "...I was wrong."

Alastor gave her a sharp look. "Are you all right, Min?"

"Not really," she said softly, looking down at her lap. "But I think I will be. It will just take time."

"And we'll be here if you need us, dear," said Arabella.

Minerva nodded her thanks. Tears pricked at her eyes again as she realised how fortunate she was to have friends such as these, even if her former boyfriend was a bastard. And she had Professor Dumbledore. Somehow, knowing those things made her feel as though everything would be all right again someday.

An odd scratching sound brought Minerva out of her reverie. "What is that?" she asked, looking about for the source of the noise.

Alastor only shook his head, wearing an odd half-smile, but Arabella turned and retrieved something from the floor beside her. As Minerva watched, puzzled, Arabella straightened and presented her with a small covered basket.

"What on earth...?" Minerva murmured, taking it from Arabella's outstretched arms. She had just set her hand on the top, preparing to open it, when the scratching sound resumed, more frantic than before.

"Mrow?" whinged the basket's occupant plaintively.

"Bella! You didn't!" Minerva gasped, her gaze flying to her friend's face.

Arabella smiled impishly and nodded, her eyes dancing. "Open it!"

Minerva quickly did so and was rewarded by the sight of a tiny grey tabby kitten staring up at her with enormous green eyes. "Oh!" she exclaimed, reaching down to stroke a finger down its back. "She's beautiful!"

"He is beautiful," Arabella corrected, still smiling broadly. "And isn't he, though? He's the last one from Wendelin's litter."

Alastor scooped the kitten up and scratched behind its ears. "We knew you didn't have a familiar..."

"...And we know you've considered learning to be an Animagus," Arabella added, setting the basket on the floor. "I read somewhere that it's easier if you have an animal to study."

Minerva took the kitten from Alastor and set it on her lap, where it began to knit its paws on her thigh and purr. She smiled wryly at Arabella. "Whoever said I wanted to be a cat?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Arabella replied, grinning. Her fondness for--some said obsession with--cats was well known at Hogwarts. "I mean, honestly."

Giggling, Minerva shook her head. "It's as good a choice as any, I suppose."

"The best choice," Arabella corrected as she picked up the basket and stood. "And now I really must finish my Transfiguration."

Alastor looked up at her. "Do you want me to walk you back?"

"No, stay with Minerva," she replied, bending down to brush a kiss against his cheek. "I'll see you at breakfast."

Minerva studied the kitten so she wouldn't see them saying goodbye, touching, looking at one another with love in their eyes. Though she hated herself for it, she couldn't help feeling jealous. She looked up, however, when Arabella laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Goodnight, Minerva," she said softly. "Sleep well."

"I will now," Minerva replied, gesturing to the now-sleeping kitten. "I have him to guard me."

Arabella smiled in answer and departed with a wave, leaving Alastor and Minerva alone. He turned to her with an anxious glance. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked. "The kitten was Bella's idea, and, well, I couldn't say no."

"Mind?" Minerva echoed, her eyes wide. "Of course not! He's precious! I've just never had time for a pet."

Her friend smiled wryly. "And now we give you one just before your N.E.W.T.'s..."

Minerva shrugged and began to stroke the cat's velvety stomach, causing it to increase the volume of its purring tenfold. "My evenings will be freer now."

Alastor gave a gusty sigh and leant forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. "I am sorry, Min," he said quietly, addressing the floor.

"I know. Thank you."

He cleared his throat. "D'you want to tell me what he said? Would it help?"

She nodded. "But not just now, all right? Soon."

"I don't mean to rush you, Min. Whenever you want to talk, you know I'll listen."

"I know." She shivered, recalling what, exactly, Tom had said, and Alastor turned to her with concern writ clearly across his face.

"Is there anything I can do now?" he inquired, sounding awkward.

Minerva shook her head helplessly, not knowing how to articulate what she needed. "Just...stay?" she whispered.

Alastor snorted. "Well, that was already part of the plan." A moment later, he draped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close. Minerva looked up at him in surprise, and he gave her a lopsided smile. "That kitten's too small to look after you," he said, blushing.

She laughed softly and laid her head on his shoulder. "You know, I think I'll name him Vigilance."

"Poor mite."

"It's better than Constant!"

"You have a point," he conceded, chuckling. His arm tightened about her shoulders. "You're certain you'll be all right?"

"At the moment, I feel like nothing in the world could hurt me," she murmured, placing one of her hands over his.

"Then I suppose we'll have to stay like this," Alastor replied.

Minerva smiled. "I suppose we will."