The One Who Got Away

Hogwarts School was abuzz with the excitement of the Quidditch match set to take place that afternoon. It was the final Saturday in March, and this match, between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, would more than likely decide which team would be facing Slytherin in the Quidditch final. Hufflepuff had been eliminated from the running after a crushing defeat dealt to them by Ravenclaw the month before.

As Tom made his way down to the Quidditch arena to watch the match, his friends Bart and Timothy talked animatedly in front of him. From what he could discern, they were hoping that Gryffindor would be the victors of this match, not only because the Cup victory would be that much sweeter when Slytherin beat their old time rivals, but because Ravenclaw was having an exceptionally good year. The buzz around the common room was that, if they beat Gryffindor, Ravenclaw was sure to win the Cup.

Tom couldn't care less about any of this. To be sure, he wanted Gryffindor to be annihilated and Slytherin to be victorious as much as the next person, but he didn't really see why he had to come witness it. He had tried to sneak off to the library earlier in the afternoon, but Timothy and Bart had cornered him and corralled him into attending the match with them.

A seventh year Slytherin bumped past him, nearly knocking the smaller boy to the ground. As was usual when older students were around, Tom could hear the word, "Mudblood," being hissed in his direction.

Neither Timothy nor Bart took any notice of this, and Tom found himself wishing for an annoying, "Don't let him get to you," or "Don't listen to him, Tom," from either one of his friends. He huffed with frustration as he continued walking after the two boys.

"Tom," he heard a female voice call from behind him. It was Minerva, as usual. Ever since he had run away from her in the library, she had been trying to catch up with him, but he hadn't let it happen yet and didn't plan to start now.

Both Timothy and Bart heard her, too, and they stopped and turned around. Tom merely tightened his shoulders, hunched over, and continued walking toward the arena.

"Tom!" she called again. He fully intended to keep ignoring her, but was stopped by Timothy reaching out and grabbing the sleeve of his robe.

"You'll have to talk to her eventually, Tommy," he advised. "May as well be now."

"Why do I have to?" Tom hissed. "So she can make fun of me?"

"I don't want to make fun of you," Minerva was suddenly right beside the boys. She sounded hurt and slightly out of breath, as though she had been running to catch up with him. Tom figured she probably had. "I really think we need to talk, though."

"Are you coming, Minnie?" Chelsea called from where she stood a few feet away with her boyfriend, Mike. Minerva turned to her and waved them off.

To Tom's dismay, Timothy grabbed Bart by the arm and began to pull him off in the same direction the two fifth year Gryffindors were headed. "We'll just be..." Timothy pointed in the vague direction of the arena, "you can just catch up with us, Tom."

A moment later, they were all gone. The hallway was clearing quickly as game time drew closer. He soon found himself alone with Minerva. Seeing no way out of this, he sighed and turned to address her, "What do you want to talk about?"

She glanced around them at the empty hall and then motioned towards an equally empty classroom a few feet away, "Why don't we go in there to talk?" Reluctantly, Tom followed her through the door.

It was a classroom he had never been in, but based on the writings on the many chalkboards around the room, he assumed it had to be Arithmancy. That was a class he was certainly looking forward to taking one day, but at the moment this particular classroom was one of the last places he wanted to be. Sitting in the stands at the Quidditch match was starting to sound quite good to Tom.

"Look," she began, but Tom interrupted her almost immediately.

"Why aren't you at the Quidditch match?"

She sighed, "Well, I do plan to be eventually. But I think it's more important that we talk. You've been avoiding me, Tom. Don't think I haven't noticed; you don't have to be a sly Slytherin to figure that one out."

"Why shouldn't I avoid you?" he scoffed. "You hate me anyway!"

She looked shocked at this accusation. "Tom... Surely you don't think I... I mean, why would you ever think I hated you?"

"You sent me this, Tom?" he mimicked her. It was a fairly decent impression. "Why would you do that?" he continued imitating her.

Minerva's face crumpled at his harsh tone, "I don't... Tom, I was surprised, that's all. I never would have thought it was you who had sent me that Valentine. It was very sweet, Tom, really..."

"You just wish it was from Wilson Norman, I know. Damn muggle-borns."

A sharp look came over her face. Tom bit his tongue, suddenly slightly remorseful for having insulted the boy she liked. "Don't ever say that, Tom. I know you're only a first year, and god only knows what those Slytherins have been putting into your head, but don't ever say things like that. Wizards are wizards, no matter what type of blood they have."

Tom looked down at his feet. He didn't want to upset her any further, but he couldn't agree with what she had just said. He didn't speak for a while and finally she seemed to realize he wasn't planning to.

"Tom, I'm sorry," she began. "I don't mean to insult your house, or to sound harsh, and if I gave you the impression that I didn't like the Valentine, I couldn't be sorrier. It was one of the sweetest things I've ever gotten, and I'm thrilled that you thought of me. But," she sighed, "Tom, you've got to know it couldn't work, not really. You're eleven, I'm fifteen. I'll be graduating in a few years and you'll still be here. It's just not... It just wouldn't work, Tom..." She sounded truly sad. It was the only thing that gave Tom any hope at all. If she were indeed as sad as she sounded, then maybe there would be room to change her mind.

"Fine, whatever," he scoffed, backing towards the door. "Who said I even... I mean, I just thought you were nice, that's all," he muttered unconvincingly. "Well, better go. You wouldn't want to miss the game," he turned for the door, opened it quickly, and slipped outside.

He was so intent on his own movements that Tom didn't hear what Minerva did after he left. Once he was out of the classroom, he turned back in the direction that he, Bart, and Timothy had come from originally and walked rapidly around the corner. Once he was out of sight of the classroom, he broke into a run and headed up the first set of stairs he came to.

He ran off the staircase on the next floor up and headed as fast as he could down the first hallway. A moment later, he was in front of the library doors. Tom paused for a moment to begin to catch his breath, and then pushed the door open.

The library witch smiled at him as he came panting up to her desk. "Anything I can help you with today, Tom?"

"A book," he panted out.

"Which book?"

"Whatever..." he breathed. "What was last turned in?"

The witch glanced down at the pile of books sitting on her desk. The top book was a large hardback tome with a picture on the front of a half naked statue that was missing both of its arms. The title read, "Ancient Greek Mythology." A subtitle further down the cover said, "Including All the Things Muggles Aren't Told."

"How about this?" she held the book out for his inspection.

Tom nodded quickly, "That's fine." She handed him the book and smiled and gave a nod of thanks. Quickly, he turned and headed back to his usual secluded table in the back of the library.

He dropped the book heavily onto the tabletop and slid into one of the chairs. With a sigh, he grabbed the book and flopped it open to whichever page it chose. He glanced down at the page.

The page on the left was dominated by an image of a naked statue of a woman. "Doesn't anyone wear clothes?" he muttered, looking to the caption. "Aphrodite, Goddess of Love," he read. "Nope, definitely not for me."

Tom grabbed a handful of pages and flipped the book forward to a page near the end in hopes of finding something to read about to take his mind off his troubles. There were no pictures on this page, only text. The title at the top of the page read, "Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and Warfare."

"Much better," he began to read the page, mumbling aloud at parts that interested him. "Familiar was an owl... huh, maybe she was a witch... Born from her father's head? Had no mother? Poor lady, stupid no good fathers, damn muggles..."

It was at about that point that something on the opposite page caught Tom's eye. It was the last line of the article on Athena, comparing her to her Roman counterpart. Tom read the line aloud, as his eyes widened in dismay, "In Roman mythology, the Greek goddess Athena is known as Minerva..."

He thumped his head down face first onto the open, interior binding of the book. His forehead fit perfectly in the crease that held the two pages together. "Minerva," he muttered, "she is known as Minerva... bloody perfect..."

It was in exactly this position that Timothy and Bart found Tom after the Quidditch match had ended. When Tom hadn't ever shown up at the match, they decided to go looking for him, starting in his second home: the library. The library witch pointed them in his direction and Timothy grabbed his friend by the hair on the back of his head and hauled him upwards.

"Come on, Tommy," he commanded. "Time to go back to the dorm. You've got paper crease marks all over your forehead."

"Minerva," Tom moaned. "She was called Minerva..."

"Yes, Tommy," Timothy pulled him out of his seat and pointed him towards the library exit. "We know all about you and Minerva. Come on, Bart, let's go."

Bart picked the mythology book up off the table and closed it without even glancing down at the page it was open to. He handed the book back to the library witch with a smile as the three boys headed down the stairs toward the Slytherin common room.

"Ravenclaw won. 250 to 110," Bart said glumly to Tom. "If you're interested..."

Tom scowled, "Stupid Gryffindor. Can't even help us out and win a bloody Quidditch match. I hate Gryffindors..."

Timothy and Bart nodded their agreement as they continued to guide Tom in the direction of their common room. Tom walked listlessly between them, a frown on his face.

To be continued...