Strange and Wondrous

Part 2: Meeting of Destinies 1

Albania, 1955

Minerva looked around the dingy public room of the Laughing Dragon Inn and took another slug of whiskey from her tankard. Her seat by the fire was conspicuous, but it was so cold in the room she hadn't cared. What was she doing here, in this dreary hole in the wall on Christmas Eve? She'd asked herself the same question several times since she'd Apparated into this rustic, craggy corner of Albania. The same answer came up each time - she was doing her wretched duty.

'The tree is decorated by now, and the children are feasting on Christmas cake. I'd be sitting in a comfortable armchair sipping Glen Fidditch and arguing politics with Demetrius instead of swallowing this swill,' she thought miserably, imagining the warmth and noise of Clan McGonagall Castle on Christmas Eve.

Taking another sip, she reflected how she'd have been so much better off if she'd never become an Animagus at all. She might have had the research career she'd wanted instead of serving the Department of Mysteries as a field agent. It had been exciting at first, collecting information on Grindelwald and his lackeys in her cat form, obtaining access that the Unspeakables never could have. Once he was defeated and his scattered supporters mostly tracked down and brought to justice, Minerva had figured she would finally be reassigned to the labs. Her Imperius defense had been well received and refined by other Ministry researchers, and she wanted back into that world of hypothesizing and experimenting. In the end, she'd been denied.

The Ministry needed her. She was vital to their intelligence gathering operations. Her father denied her transfer himself, recommending that Minerva go even further undercover. So starting seven years ago, she was given an equally unwanted job in the Department of International Magical Cooperation as a cover for her missions. She pushed papers and filed forms in the mornings in her small, windowless office in a corner of the Ministry and then worked as needed in the Department of Mysteries surrounded by Unspeakable field agents who hated her because she was, at times, valued more highly than they. She periodically checked the Register of Animagi for possible replacements, but her gift was rare.

Her sense of honor and duty were strong. She was doing good things for the Ministry and for the entire Wizarding community of Europe by ferreting out Dark Wizards. She'd saved the lives of countless Aurors by providing accurate information for their quarry. But she hated her life. She worked odd hours and was often out of the country. Her social life had dwindled away to nothing. She'd watched the majority of her friends marry and then begin families while she prevailed in a career she despised. Now here she was in bloody Albania, a known refuge for Dark wizards owing to its isolation and sparse population of Muggles or magic users, to track down rumors of a Grindelwald follower living here in exile. A Ministry Seer had confirmed that there was a Dark presence rising in this part of the country. She had protested and complained, but she had finally come.

Minerva drained the tankard. There had to be change in her life soon. She couldn't stand the isolation and bleakness she stared down every day. This year she wouldn't let her father persuade her. She would resign and do something else, anything else. She huddled in her chair as a chilling breeze swept over her. The door of the public room had opened and then quickly slammed shut. At least in cat form she had fur for desolate nights like this. The night after Christmas was the scheduled surveillance assignment for the supposed Dark Gathering in a nearby forest clearing. This was when the foretold presence would arise, although Minerva rarely had faith in Seers' vague visions.

She would tough out this last assignment, and that would be it. She wouldn't let herself be talked out of her decision this time. This mission was the last one, even if it meant she had to keep her tedious office job full time. She couldn't do this anymore. Life was passing her by and all she had done the past fifteen years had been to watch.

She stared into the fire, imagining her families' celebrations and wishing for a change. Any kind of change.

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Tom Marvolo burst through the door of the Laughing Dragon. The rage smoldering within him had cooled off somewhat during the walk through the frigid winter evening. He could've Apparated here, but sometimes the best thing Tom could do when he was this angry was to walk. He let the door slam behind him and strode up to the bar.

"Evening Mr. Marvolo, sir," said the wizened barkeep, "What can I get for you this fine Christmas Eve?"

Tom scowled, the rage emanating from him tangibly. The barkeep froze. Tom Marvolo had a reputation in these parts. One didn't cross him or make him unhappy if one wanted to remain unscathed. "Fire Bellied Brandy. And lots of it," Tom snarled.

The old man scuttled off quickly to fetch the drink. Tom sat down on a bar stool, leaning his head into one hand, trying to breathe deeply. He hated feeling this impotent anger at the preposterous series of events that had become his life.

'That bitch Svetlana Karkaroff, treating me like a common servant,' he fumed inwardly. 'How dare she look down her large nose at me.'

The day had not gone well. If Tom were completely honest with himself, the last few years hadn't gone very well. His search for Dark knowledge had brought him here, seeking out Lord Modrig, a powerful ally of Grindelwalt's. Modrig had been in hiding all these years with the Karkaroff family, Russian aristocracy who'd fled to Albania in 1917 - even the magical community of Russia had been affected by the events of that year. Tom had become an apprentice to Modrig in exchange for his dignity, it would seem.

As a cover, he worked for the family as a private tutor. Durmstrang had been closed indefinitely after the defeat of Grindelwald, and it wouldn't be opening anytime soon if the Ministries of Magic for France and Britain had any control over the matter. So here he was, brilliant and powerful, but not powerful enough, teaching the Karkaroff children the basics to pass their qualifying exams. The job itself wasn't so bad; he actually enjoyed tutoring the eldest daughter, Irina, who had a brain that would sadly go to waste when her arranged marriage to a distant Black cousin transpired next year. Magda, the next oldest was a bit insipid, but not a terrible student. Little Evgena, who at ten had surpassed her older brothers, could be delight. But Ivan was a fourteen year old waste of skin and Igor was an obnoxious eight-year-old brat. And, of course, those two were treated as the only children of matter in the family.

Tom took a large drink of the brandy, relishing how quickly it began numbing his heated emotions. Teaching the children of the great Karkaroff family wasn't a bad thing. He enjoyed the academics; it kept him sharp on knowledge other wizards forgot over the years. Being an apprentice wasn't so terrible, even though Tom felt like his talents had, as usual, been unrecognized and wasted for the most part. But he hated that pompous bastard, Modrig and the way he lorded over all those around him. He had taken it upon himself to work on gaining power on his own, slowly but steadily, through secret Invitations of Darkness rituals. One day, he would personally show Modrig what a real Dark wizard was. In the meantime, he had to deal with the horrid events of the day.

Not so foolishly, he had made an overture to Svetlana and Sergei Karkaroff regarding the hand of Magda. She had not been promised to anyone yet, and an alliance with the Karkaroff family would be a tremendous advantage to Tom. It was a purely political machination. He had no feelings for the girl, but she was innocuous enough to not make marriage unthinkable. Sergei, a stern former Count of the Russian Magical Court, turned him down firmly but not unkindly. Svetlana had laughed in his face and asked how dare he make such a request knowing the impurity of his heritage. Then she reminded him that he was expected to attend the annual Servants' Christmas dinner and that he had three whole days off for Christmas. She usually only allowed him two days, but she factored in an extra day to celebrate the Dark Rites ceremony scheduled the night after Christmas. Tom had stared at her, wanting to scream that he was a powerful Dark wizard, not a lowly servant. But at that moment, he'd finally realized that he was indeed a servant, and he'd never been thought of as anything else. He had left then, ashamed and furious.

Now he was here, hoping to get very drunk, very quickly. Maybe he would owl Lucretia Malfoy Rosier and Apparate to Paris for a little Muggle sport. Lucretia was always up for fun diversions. That was about the only thing that would take his mind off the wretched state of his life. Except, of course, that her oldest spawn would be back from his first term at Hogwarts, and Lucretia would be too busy spoiling the brat even more rotten. He took another drink. Other than the close circle of Dark wizards in this region and the Karkaroff children, he had virtually no contact with any other people. None of those people he would consider friends. Of course, he didn't need friends, never had. But sometimes on nights like this, Dark magic wasn't enough to fill the loneliness that crept into his hardened heart.

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Minerva sighed. Maybe she'd get another whiskey. She was officially supposed to be gathering information, but by the old gods, it was Christmas Eve. Her overeager supervisors could get stuffed.

She looked towards the bar where a handsome young man sat, looking nearly as miserable as she felt. He looked familiar, but she couldn't see his face.

'Reminds me of Tom Riddle,' she thought, and her flesh prickled with the memory of the kiss with which he'd surprised her so completely that day in the Three Broomsticks. Had she not been leaving school and in calf love with Alphonsus, she would have pursued him. He was so clever and sweet, so intensely sad, and under all of this, there was something about him that had always made her feel uneasy in an excited, forbidden way.

The man at the bar turned towards her as if he felt her stare. Dark eyes flashing with irritation, he looked at her and his eyes widened.

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Tom turned quickly round in his seat, spoiling for a fight. Whoever had been staring at him was in for it now. Maybe it was some out of town traveler who could be mercilessly beaten in a duel. None of the regulars at the Laughing Dragon would be so stupid as to stand up to him.

When he saw the woman by the fire, the anger dissipated into astonishment. Her hair was done up in a severe bun, and the pinched, tired aspect made her face seem much older than it should, but that woman had to be Minerva McGonagall. What on earth was she doing in Albania? The astonishment was quickly replaced by an overwhelming tide of desire and passion, the likes of which he hadn't felt since he was a teenager. And those feelings mingled with a sudden caution - she had gone into the Ministry as a researcher. Was she here on Ministry business? He would have to be careful, and he hated it. Then again, she might not even want to speak to him after how he'd acted those many years ago. He ventured a tentative smile. When she returned it, he walked over to the fireplace.

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Minerva had been a bit startled by the realization the man at the bar was indeed Tom Riddle. What on earth was he doing in Albania? She had never heard what had happened to him after school. She had been so busy with work she hadn't even been able to attend Caitlin Crispin's wedding much less keep up with the schoolmates with whom she'd lost touch. Dear Merlin, he had grown even more handsome. His wavy dark hair was most becoming, and while she'd remembered him being tall, she didn't remember him having such a strapping presence. Those dark eyes of his had a mesmerizing quality, full of mystery and vulnerability and sex. He smiled, a tentative, little boy smile, and she remembered all the hours they'd spent working together. She smiled back genuinely, even though a little voice at the back of her mind cautioned her to be careful. She could be in treacherous waters. And that made the whole thing that much more exciting. He was walking to her now, and she rose from her chair. There was an awkward moment before she embraced him.

"How good it is to see you again," he said, wrapping his arms around her, breathing in her scent, feeling her body close to him once more. To her surprise, Minerva felt herself almost melting into the warmth of his arms. It had been so long since she'd been touched like this. She broke off the hug, holding him at arms length and regarding him. To be honest she was also feeling the strong muscles of his arms under her hands.

"Tom Riddle? Is that really you?"

"Yes, it's me. Although I go by Tom Marvolo now. I dropped my father's name as soon as I was able."

"Marvolo?" said Minerva returning to her seat.

"It's my middle name," explained Tom, settling into the chair beside hers. "My mother's maiden name." He couldn't believe he was actually talking to her again. All the old feelings swirling to the forefront of his consciousness made him dizzy.

"I've read about the Marvolo family," said Minerva. "They were quite distinguished. If somewhat infamous." She grinned at him.

"So I understand," said Tom, "Pity there aren't any left but me."

"Oh, Tom," said Minerva, remembering the sad, lonely boy she had once known.

"Please, no pity from you, Minerva McGonagall. It is still McGonagall, isn't it?" he asked, trying to sound breezy and not in any way probing.

"But of course, Tom," she said slyly. "And what about you - is there a fair Madame Marvolo about?"

Tom laughed. "I've never married. Never got around to it." And never found any woman who could hold a candle to you, he wanted to say. "But do tell, Minerva, what in Merlin's name are you doing in Albania? I recall you always bragging that Clan McGonagall Christmases were not to be missed."

Minerva's smile grew forced as she leapt into her prepared lie. "Oh, well, after this many Christmases at home, one yearns for something different."

"Don't tell me you're here on holiday," said Tom, noticing the pinched look he'd seen in her face was back again.

"No, no, I'm actually here on Ministry business," she said.

Tom froze for a moment. His instinct was correct then. "Oh," he ventured as smoothly as he could, "is it a top secret Ministry research mission?"

Minerva laughed, but Tom thought he heard an undertone of melancholy. "No, no," she said.

'He might remember too much' she thought a bit frantically. She smiled a little more fiercely and launched into her cover story. "No, I'm not a researcher. I found it not to be as much to my liking as I thought it would be. I am a Sub Minister for the Department of International Magical Cooperation. For some odd reason, the Albanian Ministry called for a summit meeting the day after Christmas regarding the unification of wand manufacturing requirements. I was assigned to represent the Ministry and since I'd never been to Albania before, I decided I might as well come a bit early and experience the holidays in a slightly exotic land." The pity was that as a part of her office job, she actually did have to attend the summit meeting and present a paper she'd spent two horrifyingly boring weeks preparing. She could've started crying right there if she hadn't been trained to hide her real emotions so exceedingly well.

"You're a bureaucrat, then," said Tom, rather puzzled. "I'd never have figured that."

Minerva nodded sheepishly and at that moment hated the Ministry, hated her father, and hated her honorable self more intensely than she'd ever known. "What are you doing in Albania, Tom?" she asked with only the slightest waver in her voice.

Tom smiled sardonically and said, "Why, I'm a tutor for a Russian expatriate family. An extremely illustrious position with an embarrassingly large salary, but somehow I bear up."

"Oh, well, that's fantastic, Tom," said Minerva, "Do you like being a teacher?"

"It's a good position," Tom lied, "There are five children, and I teach all subjects. It keeps me busy as the parents want the children to be schooled throughout the year, but I have room and board at the estate, so it works out nicely."

"How nice for you," she said, wistfully. "I remember you tutored students back at school. It must be lovely to be doing something you enjoy."

Tom didn't say anything in reply, but nodded his head and smiled. All of sudden he felt a familiar burning behind his ear. Damn Modrig - he was calling Tom by activating the Dark brand he'd been given upon his initiation to the Dark Orders. He would have to immediately report to Modrig's side or face punishment. It might be worth it to spend more time with Minerva though. She seemed to be glad to see him, and the possibilities that might lead to made a round of Cruciatus sound almost like a good bargain. This close to the ceremony though, he ought not to disregard his master.

"It has been ever so nice to see you again, Minerva, but I'm afraid I was only planning on popping into the pub for a moment. I'm expected back at the estate, you see."

"Of course," said Minerva sadly. "Well..."

Tom stood up and was struck with a marvelous idea. "Listen, if you don't have plans, would you like to come as my guest to the, um, the Servant's Christmas Feast tomorrow. The Karkaroff's always put on an opulent spread for us."

Minerva's face lit up and she stood to face him. "I'd be delighted, Tom. When?"

"I'll meet you here at noon to escort you," he said. Throwing caution to the wind, he bent down and kissed her softly on the cheek. "I'm sorry I must dash. I'd love to stay and catch up, but we'll have plenty of time tomorrow."

Their eyes locked, and Minerva felt a shiver of excitement and desire pass through her. "It sounds wonderful. I'm very glad we ran into each other like this. It's almost as if we never left that laboratory."

He smiled. Reaching for her hand, he lifted it to his lips. "Part of me never did, Minerva," he said and kissed her hand. "Till tomorrow then." He let go of her hand and Disapparated. Minerva stood for a moment on shaky legs, feeling hot and cold all over. Then she went up to her room, happy that she was stuck in Albania doing two jobs she hated for the Christmas holidays.

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Minerva woke Christmas morning rather more cheered than she'd been for some time. Her room at the inn had been transfigured into her room at the castle, and for a moment she thought she was home. When she realized she wasn't, she felt a wistful thread of homesickness that was soon replaced by nervous energy. She got out of bed and to her surprise found presents at the foot of her bed.

'They must have arranged this to cheer me up,' she thought, as she opened one of the card on top of the gifts.

"Dearest daughter," it read, "we are proud of you and of your sense of honor. We plan to celebrate the holiday in earnest when you return. Until then, please know we are thinking of you. Lovingly, Mother and Father." Minerva smiled. The note was in her mother's handwriting - her father had probably not even known she sent it. She opened the smaller package. Inside was a beautifully worked cloak clasp, studded with diamonds and emeralds. She held it in her hand, admiring the intricate Celtic designs wrought in the gold of the clasp. Carefully placing it back into its box, she reached for the large present. It held a Self Warming Cloak of soft grey wool and thick fur lining. She swept it around herself and instantly felt the warmth envelop her body. Her mother always knew how to pick practical, but exquisite presents.

Minerva lay back on her bed, still wrapped in the cloak. She had to think about what to wear today. Usually she didn't concern herself with such things. She wore a basic uniform of black or navy work robes most if the time, with similarly styled simple gowns for home. But she did have one dress robe that would be perfect for today. It was a Renaissance styled gown, with bell sleeves, a low cut bodice, and a full skirt. If she could Transfigure one of her work robes into the style, that would work perfectly. And of course, it would be green, her most flattering color. She leapt up, throwing off the cloak, and began the task.

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Right before noon, Tom almost decided to send Minerva his apologies. What was he thinking, asking her into a house in which she could be in great danger? She might be a minor diplomat, but she still worked for a powerful foreign Ministry that would be very interested in the Karkaroff family and their activities. But he wanted so to spend time with her. He could place general protective wards upon her without her knowledge - that would protect her from obvious danger. If she went to his apartments after the dinner, she would be safe, and if they returned to the Inn, she would be mostly out of any enemy's reach. He could protect her.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He'd chosen a red ascot to wear with his dress robes of black velvet. It was his finest and most expensive garment, and only worn to impress. "You look lovely, dear," the mirror said cooingly. Tom smoothed his hair and Apparated to the Inn.

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Minerva had been waiting in the Public Room when Tom arrived. After all the work, she felt a bit foolish in her finery. What if she was overdressed? Did she look ridiculous? When she saw the look on Tom's face when he first saw her, she assumed she looked splendid.

Tom took a moment to look Minerva over. She was in a stunning gown of green that highlighted her curves. Her hair shone like silk and cascaded down her back. It was as if she'd stepped from one of his dreams of her.

"I approve of the color," he finally said, trying not to sound like a gushing idiot, "In fact, I approve of the entire ensemble. Minerva, you look beautiful."

Minerva beamed. "You're sure I'm not overdressed?"

"No, you'll fit in perfectly," he said. "Would you prefer to Apparate, or would you like to walk? It's a pleasant day, if a bit cold."

"Let's walk, then," she said, reaching for her cloak.

"Here, allow me." Tom took the cloak from her and helped her into it. He held out his arm. She took it, and they left the dark pub for the sunny avenue leading to the Karkaroff Estate.

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The pine tress loomed on either side of the narrow road. Snow covered the landscape all around them, but the path was clear and dry. Minerva, wrapped in the decadently warm cloak and in Tom's focused attention, barely felt the chill of the air about her exposed skin. 'This is wonderful,' she thought, snuggling in a bit closer to Tom as they walked.

"So do tell me, Tom," she asked, "Why do the Karkaroff's have a Servants Feast? Are House Elves part of it?"

"Merlin, no," he replied, "They actually have quite a few human servants. Mostly Squibs or lower class magic users they brought with them when they fled Russia. Apparently the Russian Magical Court doesn't place its trust in House Elves the way we do."

"Does it bother you that you're classified as servant?" she asked. She saw his jaw clench and wished she could Transfigure the words out of existence. "I'm sorry. That was a terribly rude question. Please disregard it."

He stopped walking and looked down at her. "It galls me, Minerva. I wish... I wish I could be famous and powerful. I regret you had to meet me again when I am in such a lowly position."

Minerva took his hand. "Tom, I could care less. You could drive the Knight Bus or bus the tables at the Leaky Cauldron, and I would still be delighted to know you. I know the brilliance and grace that dwells in your heart. This may sound a little ridiculous, since I haven't seen you for fifteen years. But I've missed you... longed for you, and I don't think I ever even realized it till I saw you last night. That day in the Three Broomsticks... it's a memory that has stayed with me. I wish things had been different for us."

"I've been a little in love with you since I first laid eyes on you, Minerva McGonagall," he whispered to her when he could speak again.

She answered him by pressing her mouth to his in a soft kiss. Her heart was pounding in her ears as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. The sky was a bright, cutting blue over them and for a moment, Minerva's heart felt lighter than it had in several years.

Tom wasn't sure if he could remember how to breathe when they broke off the kiss. He kissed a trail down her soft skin to the opening of her cloak. Her arms were around his neck, and he could hear her rapid intakes of breath.

A mad impulse urged him to tear her clothes off and take her there in the middle of the road. 'No!' he gasped to himself. That kind of black thought wasn't for Minerva. He looked at her face, eyes closed and cheeks flushed. He brought his hand up to her cheek, cupping it. She opened her eyes, watching him with a heavy lidded expression that made him instantly hard.

"We should probably go," he said softly. "I'm expected. Perhaps we could spend the rest of the day together."

"That sounds like the perfect way to spend Christmas day," she said, stepping back slightly within the circle of his arms. She rested her hands on his chest. "To the Feast we go."

But instead they stood there for a few moments as if frozen, looking into each others eyes. Finally they broke apart and began slowly walking arm in arm towards the gates of the estate. Tom was walking in a dream, temporarily forgetting any purpose or destiny he might have. Minerva thought she'd finally woken up from a long, dreamless sleep.

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One of the rituals of the Karkaroff family was the formal receiving line before the feast. They took this occasion to distribute gifts and praises which were sorely lacking throughout the rest of the year. As Tom and Minerva hurried into the dining hall of the manor, the very last servant had just left the line for his place at the table, his large family following in their peasant best.

Two house elves scurried up to them and bore away their cloaks. Minerva stared around the extravagant hall filled with lavish furnishings and overly done Christmas decorations. Tom took Minerva's arm and guided her towards his employers and conspirators.

Tom grimaced as he took in the sight of the family. Svetlana stood imperiously in her golden caftan studded with opulent jewels, rasing an eyebrow at him. Sergei looking as foreboding as usual in his dour black robes beside his garish wife. The children were lined up according to age, the girls all with frozen smiles, Ivan and Igor either staring into space or sneering and pinching their sisters. And to the side stood Lord Modrig himself, in the guise of elderly Uncle Fyodor.

"Welcome, Mr. Marvolo," said Svetlana, icily, "We had thought you were perhaps not coming."

"Countess Karkaroff, I apologize for my tardiness," said Tom, gritting his teeth and bowing. "May I please present my guest, Minerva McGonagall."

Svetlana tightened her lips into a smile as she glanced over the younger woman. "McGonagall... No relation to the British Minister of Magical Law Enforcement, I assume."

"He's my father," said Minerva. For some reason, her gut was telling her that she was in danger. She knew that the Russian Court was much more lax regarding the Dark Arts. The Karkaroffs could very well be a family of Dark wizards like the Blacks and the Malfoys. If they were, could Tom possibly know?

"How interesting," said Sergei, "I've much admiration for the man. I've followed his career, you see. A strong, capable soldier, is he."

"Thank you, Sir," said Minerva, trying to read any second meanings into the man's words.

"And what brings you to our humble part of the world, Miss McGonagall," said Svetlana.

Minerva launched into a brief description of her Ministry cover story.

"We met by pure coincidence last night at Minerva's inn," said Tom, making eye contact with Modrig, who was staring with barely concealed fury. "We've taken the initiative to renew our acquaintance." He smiled at Minerva.

"Count and Countess Karkaroff, I appreciate your hospitality," said Minerva with a bow of the head.

Sergei said, "You are quite welcome here, Miss McGonagall." Much to his wife's consternation, Sergei meant it. Of the two, it was the Countess who actively pursued the Dark Arts.

"Now, Mr. Marvolo, tokens of our appreciation for you fine service-" Svetlana deliberately emphasized the word, "to our family." Smiling she handed him a book shaped present wrapped in gilded foil. "I trust you'll open it at an appropriate time," she continued in an undertone. Sergei presented him with a bottle of fine cognac, and then Tom and Minerva were shown to their places at the table.

The feast took much too long. Tom was unimpressed as ever by the lavish display of wealth and tradition the Karkaroffs presented to both ingratiate and humble their staff. He could tell that Minerva felt the same. She acted with the graciousness of one who had known both wealth and good taste from birth.

It did give Tom and Minerva a chance to catch up. No one else at the table existed but the two of them, as they looked into each others' eyes and talked of places traveled, fates of acquaintances, and the changes between school and adulthood. They were sitting as closely together as their formal chairs would allow them, knee touching knee, hand grazing hand, laughing and growing more and more comfortable with each other.

Only a few more courses to sit through and the required few dances at the ball afterwards and then he and Minerva could slip away. Her eyes showed hints of so much promise.

When the well paid string quartet struck up the first notes for of a waltz, Tom's heart leapt. Minerva, who was becoming more impatient by the moment, said, "Circe no, we don't have to stay for a dance as well?"

"Only one, I should think," said Tom leading her out to the newly cleared dance floor. "And I hope it won't be too terrible an experience." He pulled her closer in than most of the waltzing couples around them. They were silent for most of the waltz, feeling the nearness of the other, the heat and the friction that was charging higher and higher as they stepped through the dance.

When the music stopped, Tom began to ask Minerva if she would like to go. He was interrupted by a tall youth who stammered a dance request. Tom was ready to curse him into oblivion for his cheek when he saw Modrig standing in the shadows, beckoning him ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry," said Minerva kindly to the young man, "I don't think I'm up to another dance so soon."

The terrified eyes of the young man confirmed Tom's suspicions. Modrig insisted upon an audience. "Minerva, would you mind one dance without me? The children's uncle seems to need my ear. He attends with great care to their education. I won't be long."

"Oh... well, certainly," said Minerva, a bit off guard. "Do come back soon."

"I couldn't part from you for long," said Tom, raising her hand to his lips. "Go ahead and dance if you like to pass the time. I'll be back before the music stops."

He turned from her and stormed over to the corner. "What do you want?" he demanded flashing his wand to cast a Privacy charm.

"I should remind you of your place, Voldemort," hissed Modrig, "but too many would see and remark on it."

Tom refrained from rolling his eyes at the pompous Dark wizard. "What do you want, Master?"

"What are you thinking, bringing a Ministry witch into my sanctuary so soon before the Dark Rite? Have you lost what little mind you posses or has your lust for that Ministry whore overwhelmed your common sense."

Tom saw red behind his closed eyelids. He mustn't lose control now, not in front of Minerva, not with new powers so nearly in his grasp. "I met an old friend by coincidence. We are renewing our friendship. She is a diplomat and not interested in our activities at all."

"She is Malcolm McGonagall's daughter. She is a spy, and you are stupid enough to be fooled by her ruse. If you are so intent on making sport with this witch, you may do so. Use her as you wish. Then torture her for any information she might have and kill her. You will bring her blood to the Dark Rite tomorrow. This is not a request, Tom Riddle," Modrig spat, purposefully using the Muggle name to put Tom in his place. "This is an order. If you do not do as I say, you will be punished." Modrig smiled, his elderly visage filled with maliciousness.

"Yes, my lord," said Tom, with a sigh. There was no way he would hurt so much as a hair on Minerva's head. There would be some way out of this. He was resourceful, and even though Modrig meant what he said, Tom had stopped fearing Cruciatus torture quite some time ago. He returned to Minerva as the last note of music ceased.

"I think I've had enough of my employers' forced merriment," said Tom. "Would you like to go now? I could escort you back to your room, or we could Apparate to the very few sites of interest in this forsaken place, or..."

"I'd love to see your rooms, Tom," said Minerva with a coy smile.

His pulse speeded up, and he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "Very well, then, my lady." He extended his arm to her. "Your wish is my command."