Chapter Eighteen

It was decided...by Headmaster Dippet, who wanted to be shut of the whole episode...that the final duel between Minerva McGonagall and Tom Riddle would be considered a draw, the first in the history of the Inter-House Duelling Championship.

When this was announced at dinner that evening, there was a round of boos, the loudest emanating from the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. Neither of the two duellists said much about it. Both Minerva and Tom stuck to the story Dumbledore had supplied them with, Minerva answering her housemates' enquiries in curt one- or two-word sentences, Tom with winning modesty and sincere-seeming regret over the unfortunate incident.

Dumbledore watched them both out of the corner of his eye as he chatted with Flitwick and Professor Merrythought about the unusual outcome of the match. After dinner, Albus invited Flitwick for a drink in his chambers before the latter left for London, and Flitwick readily agreed.

As they sipped their glasses of Ogden's finest, they talked of this and that, and, of course, the match. Filius remarked on the quality of the duellists he had observed during the weekend, and Albus asserted that it was rather a shame it ended as it had.

There was a brief silence before Filius said, "It was good of you to cover for the boy, Albus. But it makes me wonder, were you the one who taught him Legilimency?"

It was a tribute to their long friendship that there was no judgment or accusation in his voice.

"Legilimency?"

Filius chuckled. "Come now, Albus. I may not be a Legilimens, but I've seen it done. The fact that you were the one to stop things just confirmed what I was beginning to suspect at the time."

Albus sighed. "I didn't teach him, no. He claims to have learnt it from books."

"Books alone? Preposterous," said Flitwick.

"Perhaps. Although he is an extraordinarily talented and intelligent young man. He admitted to practicing on the Muggle children he lives with during summers."

Flitwick pursed his face in distaste. "Gods! I can't even guess how many years in Azkaban that would get him. Does the boy know what a big favour you did him?"

"I daresay he does. Although I suspect he doesn't appreciate being in my debt," Albus told Flitwick, who frowned at the statement.

"What do you mean?"

"Tom Riddle and I are not on good terms. He is aware of my mistrust of him."

"Mistrust? But why?" asked Flitwick.

"I believe he is becoming enamoured of the Dark Arts. I am afraid he's heading down the same path as another brilliant young man of my acquaintance did."

The statement was greeted with a moment of silence from Flitwick.

"But he's just a boy," he said finally.

"Yes. But I believe him to be a dangerous boy. I have suspicions about some of his more nefarious activities, but no proof."

"Such as?"

"I shan't repeat them, Filius. Not without evidence. Let us just say that I intend to keep a close eye on young Tom Riddle," said Albus.

"If you believe him to be dangerous, why did you protect him today? Why not let the Ministry have at him?"

Albus took a minute before answering his friend's question without looking directly at him. "It was not Tom Riddle I was protecting."

"Miss McGonagall?"

Albus nodded.

Filius considered the possible implications for a moment, then chose his question carefully, "Why would the boy want to use Legilimency on her?"

"I don't know," replied Albus. "But he has shown a great deal of interest in Min...Miss McGonagall. Whatever is between them...if anything is...I doubt she would want it made part of a Ministry investigation."

Albus hated lying to Filius

Flitwick looked at his friend, not saying anything. There was something Albus was not telling him, but Filius knew from experience that his old friend was a man who kept his secrets close. There was no point in pressing, and Filius disliked unpleasant conversations enough to avoid them unless they were absolutely necessary. He decided that this one wasn't.

After an uncomfortable minute, Flitwick said, "Well, I best be getting along. Thank you for a most enjoyable weekend. It may not have turned out exactly as we expected, but it certainly was exciting!"

"I'll walk you to the Apparition point," offered Albus, retrieving his cloak.

"It isn't necessary, but I'd be glad to have your company for a few more minutes. It really has been far too long."

"Agreed," said Albus. "We must try to remedy that in future."

"Indeed. In these troubled times, we must all cherish our friends," said Filius.

/***/

Tom Riddle sat brooding in the Slytherin common room and tried to calm his mind as his housemates jabbered and yammered about the day's events.

Had the Legilimency been a mistake?

It hadn't been planned, that was certain. Tom had intended only to disarm Minerva, but when he had seen the trick she had played on him, he had become nearly blind with fury. He had wanted to curse her, to hurt her, but his sense of self-preservation had kept him from doing it in front of an audience. His invasion of her mind had been an almost automatic response to his intense desire to attack Minerva.

And it had felt so good! Forcing his way into her consciousness had been much more satisfying than the times he had slipped so easily into the minds of the children at the orphanage. They had felt like pats of butter, offering no resistance, no friction against which to test his will. Minerva had fought him, and breaking through her barriers had been like a burst of beautiful colour that he felt rather than saw. He was beginning to realise how much pleasure was to be had in the act of violation.

He had sped through the superficial thoughts and memories that appeared at the surface of her mind. He had been bored by their utter banality, sifting through her deeper thoughts and emotions to try to find those connected with her secret project with Dumbledore. What he had seen when he found them was completely unexpected and ignited a white-hot fury in him at the same time it excited him beyond almost anything else he had experienced.

How could she let that old coot fuck her?

The image of the old wizard's face, grimacing in ecstasy as he huffed and puffed on top of her, still turned Tom's stomach even hours later.

Dumbledore had taken her virginity as easily as Tom himself had stolen trinkets from his dorm-mates at the orphanage. The old fool hadn't even bothered to collect her blood, as Tom would have done, the blood from that particular source having magical properties of which even ancient Muggle cultures were aware, however foolish their attempts to channel them. What Tom could have done with it! There were any number of Dark or Dark-ish charms and potions that called for the blood of a deflowered virgin, spells and potions enumerated in the books he had procured from both the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library and from his clandestine trips to Knockturn Alley. He could procure such a substance from any number of willing...or truthfully, unwilling...witches, but he suspected that the potency of the virgin-blood's magic would correlate with the magical strength of the witch from whom it came. In that respect, Minerva was nearly irreplaceable.

When the Legilimency connection with Minerva had been broken, Tom had been elated as well as angry. Here at last was something he could use against that meddlesome old fool...maybe even get him sacked...and that he might use to bend Minerva to his will where his charm had failed.

But he had not counted on Dumbledore's willingness to drop his vaunted scruples to threaten Tom into silence. He had expected the old man to slink around him in watchful and disapproving silence, just as he had during the Chamber of Secrets affair. In retrospect, Tom supposed he should have seen it coming, given that the professor had proved surprisingly flexible in his personal morality where his protégée was concerned.

So Tom had acquiesced. He had told the Headmaster and Madam Claymore the story Dumbledore had concocted for him. That had been the easy part; he had no desire to submit to a Ministry inquisition over his Legilimency. What had been harder was restraining himself from going to Dippet...who doted on him...to tell him what he had discovered in Minerva's mind. He believed the Headmaster would have forgiven him his failure to inform anyone of his hidden skill, particularly when confronted with his Deputy's lechery.

Tom was certain that Dippet would have wanted to forestall any scandal and would likely have pushed Dumbledore out quietly, leaving Tom free of the old man's breathing down his neck. He didn't believe Dippet would have expelled Minerva; allowing her to sit her N.E.W.T.s and finish school would have been too good an incentive for her to keep quiet. Armando Dippet was a fool in some respects, but he understood how to play the political games necessary to keep Hogwarts' reputation...and budget allocation...intact.

But Tom had to admit that Dumbledore had frightened him. Before his foray into Minerva's mind, he would not have believed the man capable of the kind of violence he had threatened. Now, however, Tom had a new and grudging respect for his professor. Who would have guessed what darkness was concealed beneath that benign, hail-fellow-well-met demeanour?

And Minerva . . . Tom certainly was surprised at her wantonness. Not only had he seen what she had done with Dumbledore, but he had also sensed her emotions about it. She had opened her legs to the old man, and she had loved it! Tom, like many others, had dismissed her as a cold fish, especially given her seeming immunity to his considerable charms. Now that he had discovered otherwise, he was even more anxious to get under her skin and into her knickers. With Dumbledore watching over her, however, it would be nearly impossible. He would need to think about how to use his newfound information to persuade her to join her power to his, willingly or unwillingly.

It would require even more careful planning than he had thought. He knew that he was not yet powerful enough to confront Albus Dumbledore directly and would not be for a long time.

Fortunately, Tom Riddle was good at waiting.

/***/

At the conclusion of their tutorial the following Tuesday, Albus took Minerva's arm as she was gathering her books to leave his office.

"Just a moment, my dear."

She turned back to him, a questioning look on her face.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, fine. Well, frightfully busy, what with N.E.W.T.s coming up in less than two weeks, but other than that, I'm fine. Why?" she inquired.

"You seem distracted."

"As I've said, I'm quite busy."

"It's nothing to do with what happened at the duel?" he asked.

She thought for a few moments before answering. "I don't know. It threw me, I suppose."

"Naturally," he said. "And Riddle, has he bothered you in any way?"

"No. I've barely seen him, except at meals, and then it's from a distance," she said. "Why, do you think he'll try to do something?" she asked anxiously.

"I don't think so, but I expect you to tell me if he gives you any trouble at all."

"I will," she said. After a moment, she asked, "Shall I still come on Thursday?" She wasn't sure if things had changed between them since Tom's discovery of their affair.

"Do you want to?"

"Of course."

Albus smiled at her warmly. "Then come."

She would have liked to kiss him then, but that would have violated their agreement to keep their tutoring sessions separate from their more personal relationship. Instead she slipped out the door and disappeared down the corridor.

/***/

It was just her luck, Minerva thought, that Riddle was on patrol that Thursday evening. She was just turning the corner into the corridor near the Defence classroom when she saw him appear at the top of the staircase at the opposite end. She stopped for just a moment, startled, before resuming her previously brisk pace.

As Tom passed her, she saw the smirk on his face and felt her own get hot. Just as she was about to descend the small staircase that led to the alcove that held Albus's office, she heard Riddle say, "Enjoy your tutorial, Minerva."

When she got to Albus's office, she was shaking. As soon as he opened the door, she stepped in, closed it behind her, and pressed herself hard against him, pulling his head down to kiss him deeply.

"Well, good evening to you too," he said when they finally broke the kiss.

She smiled sheepishly in response. "Sorry. It's just that I've missed you."

"You need never apologise for greeting me that way, but I must ask how you could have missed me when you were sitting in my classroom only this morning?"

She shrugged as they walked hand-in-hand to the door to his private quarters "You were Professor Dumbledore this morning. I was missing Albus."

"Ah," he said, shutting the door behind them. "I'm sorry if you feel I ignore you in class. It's simply easier for me to remain professional if . . . well, in truth, if I don't look at you too much."

"Oh, I understand completely," she said, taking a seat on the settee near the fire.

He noticed that she wasn't looking him quite in the eye, but he said nothing. He went to a sideboard and brought over a tray with two wine glasses and a bottle, and set it down on the table next to the settee.

"You had mentioned that your father was having a hard time getting wine. I thought you might enjoy a glass or two of this...it's a 1929 Yquem. Do you like Sauternes?" he asked.

"I don't know that I've ever tasted one," she told him. "They're sweet, aren't they? My father tends to drink dry wines."

"Yes, it is quite sweet, but I think you'll find it's not cloyingly so. Good Sauternes...and this is a very good one, by the way...has been described as 'nectar of the gods'."

"It sounds heavenly, Albus, but are you sure you want to open it now?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"Oh, yes," he answered. "You've been working very hard, and I think you deserve a treat." He magicked the cork out and poured two small glasses of the deep-gold wine. He handed her one as he joined her in front of the fire.

Her eyes widened slightly as she took a sip, and he smiled knowingly. "Good?" he asked.

"Albus, this is wonderful! I don't usually care for sweet wines, but this . . . !" She took another sip and said, "Thank you for sharing it with me."

"It is all the sweeter for the company," he said, and she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

When they had both finished their wine, he re-corked the bottle and removed the glasses to the side table.

"I'm only allowed one glass?" she asked, teasing.

"For the moment," he replied, gathering her in his arms. "I thought we might need refreshment again afterwards."

"After what?" she asked with put-on innocence.

"After I thoroughly ravish you," he murmured, his face buried in her neck.

"Mmm," she purred. "Please do, Albus. Thoroughly."

So he did.

She left two hours later, after they had cleaned up and shared another glass of the exquisite Sauternes. He stood at the door of his office, watching her dart down the corridor, the customary books under her arm in case she met anyone on the way back to her dormitory.

When he was back in his quarters, he uncorked the wine bottle and poured himself another small glass. Despite the pleasures of the evening, Albus was slightly tense. Perhaps Minerva's unwonted skittishness had rubbed off, he thought.

He was no fool. He knew what was troubling her, and it wasn't her N.E.W.T.s. The possibility of discovery had been an abstract concept when they had first embarked on their affair, but it had now become a reality...not once, but twice.

Two people, aside from himself and Minerva, now knew about them. And another almost certainly suspected. Filius was no fool. Albus was certain his friend would not say anything, and he didn't believe Aberforth would either, despite his animosity. Riddle was another question entirely. Albus believed he had frightened the boy into silence for the time being, but Tom was nothing if not devious. If Riddle could find a way to use his discovery against them, Albus was under no illusions about what would happen.

There was no denying that their liaison was becoming more and more dangerous; the longer it went on, the greater the likelihood that it would be discovered. The right, the honourable thing to do, he thought, would be to break it off before the damage was irreparable.

The thought clawed at him as he sat drinking the wine. He poured himself one more glass...emptying the bottle...and drank it down entirely too quickly. As the alcohol spread its delicious warmth through his body, he was able to keep the thought at bay.

Tomorrow, he thought as his eyes fluttered closed. He would think about it tomorrow.