Interlude 2
by Riley

Merlin and Circe, what a day....

My bed is actually calling to me--- but damned if I'll show weakness. Especially to that pain-in-the-arse Black moron. How Minerva can stand sharing a House with him---

Well, she doesn't--- much. And the thought of Minerva McGonagall is enough to bring a smile to my face. More than enough to coax my feet away from the stairs down to the dungeon and up instead--- up, up, up, to the corner tower.

These little nooks are all over the school, designed to encourage inter-house cooperation. Of different kinds. My lip twitches, thinking about the little bathroom just off Gryffindor Tower. Being a prefect has its privileges. After all, why else would anyone want the bother?

But this one is just for talk and innocent play. There are perhaps a dozen students here, from all houses and all ages. My eye sweeps the room with a practiced glance; though I'm no Quidditch player, I can spot her faster than Roderick Plumpton spotted a Snitch.

She's perched in her favorite spot--- that little circular window seat that the two of us won for ourselves in second year. Reading, as usual; she's the only person I know who reads more than I do.

I feel a smile starting. "Nerve!" Her nickname suits her, though it's a little informal for my taste. But she's earned it.

She looks up from her book, and the serious, solemn lines of her face crease into a smile. "Tom!" Knowing laughs from a couple of the others; a quick glare from me and a stern look from her silence them. We're tapped for Head Girl and Boy, after all; the offenders know that I at least will remember.

I never forget. It's a useful reputation to have.

The crowd parts for me and I close the space between us quickly, dropping to plant a chaste kiss on her cheek.

"They were just playing." She looks at me reprovingly.

Her sense of justice is one of the things that leaves me baffled about her. It's as if she feels that things have to balance out: a glare at the buffoons with a rebuke for me.

"I'm not in the mood." Not waiting for her to clear a space for me, I Summon a pair of cushions from the pile in the corner; they settle at my feet and I sink onto them gratefully, my back against the seat.

"That bad?" Her voice is soft.

"You have no idea." It's true; she doesn't. Doesn't know the half of what I'm involved with. I won't tax her loyalty by pushing her limits. Not yet. When I've started to accomplish some of my goals--- when she can see for herself the truth of what I intend--- then, yes, then we can talk about it. In the meantime, why sour our relationship with a pointless quarrel? She'll come around, if I approach her correctly.

She loves me. And I love her. And when I think of what we can accomplish together---

Her voice, low and musical, breaks into my thoughts, bringing me gently back to the present. She's good at that. "Want to talk about it?"

Well, love, the Chamber of Secrets is still a secret, even to me, the Heir of Slytherin, I can't get my hands on dear old Grandfather's fortune without a number of unpleasant questions, and Titus Malfoy's being a horse's ass about not sharing his family fortune. And that's for openers. But I have better sense than to start there. "Black," I say instead. "Wants to pick a fight with me---"

"So take him up on it," she said calmly, her fingers drifting down to stroke my hair. It's a very comforting touch; she's the only person who's ever done anything like that. Not my mother--- certainly no one at that... place....

I'd stay with her over the summer if I could. But that would be foolish. For one thing, her mother's an Auror. And I'm not ready for a confrontation. Not yet--- not until I have the Chamber's powers at my disposal....

"You can take his wand in--- what? A minute?"

"He doesn't want a duel." Her hand is starting to ease the stress in my temples. "A fist-fight--- like Muggles." Have to tread carefully there; she's been sheltered. Doesn't know what it's like to live in the Muggle world, with Muggle prejudice. Doesn't even dream what it would be like for a brilliant, talented woman like herself, out there in that brutal, brutish---

"He's a brute." Her words are nearly the echo of mine.

"True enough." I rest my head against the edge of the seat, feeling the warmth of her hip against my head.

"Anything else?"

"Extra homework in Transfiguration." My voice drips scorn. "Dumbledore seems to think I need to be kept out of trouble--- never mind you're the only one with higher marks in that class."

Her fingers trace my hairline. "I'll help." I know better than to thank her--- to Minevra, Transfiguration assignments are a treat. Instead I laugh and concentrate on the feeling of her fingers in my hair.

"When's it due?"

"Monday." Tonight is Friday.

"You have time." Finger-combing the tangles out of my hair. "Rest."

It doesn't take much persuasion. Gratefully I close my eyes, letting the babble and murmur of voices around us wash over me, basking in the calm of her presence.

After a time, her hand leave my hair, fingers sliding almost idly down my jaw, over my cheek. Her thumb brushes my lips; I open to her touch, biting gently at the callus there.

Soft chuckle from above. "Seems like you're feeling better."

"You do have that effect on me."

We sit in silence for a while, then she asks the question I've been dreading. "What did your grandfather's executor say?"

I wince. "Must we?"

"Not if you don't want to." I look up to see a playful smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "A wise witch doesn't push a Slytherin wizard, any more than he does her."

I capitulate at that, as she knew I would. "Let's see--- where to begin?" I hold up a hand, ticking points off. "First, he wants proof of my mother's identity--- which I'm having trouble getting, given the extent to which she moved back and forth between the wizarding world and the Muggle one." A second finger. "Second, he wants authorization from my father---" I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice.

She frowns. "Your father? But aren't you in the custody of those nuns?"

I suppress a frisson with difficulty. "That's the third thing--- trusteeship for my guardians-in-fact." The thought of good wizarding gold--- Slytherin's gold--- going into the hands of Christian Muggles makes me ill.

"Oh, dear." Her hand drops down to rest on my shoulder, but she says nothing: there's nothing to say. Another thing I respect about her: no meaningless platitudes, no space-filling chatter.

Before we can find another subject of conversation, I hear her name being called from across the room. "Oy! Nerve!"

We both look in the direction of the speaker--- or rather, Seeker; it's Theodore Weasley (Ted to his friends, of whom I am most certainly not one), Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "There you are--- we've been looking all over---"

"What for?" she says, while I grind my teeth. This is not the perfect end to a perfect day....

He shoots me a nasty glance; I return a frigid stare. "Should've known you'd be up here," he says to her, looking meaningfully at me. "With your... friend."

"Mm-hmm." Minerva gives him her patented stern look; she could give the nuns at the orphanage lessons, I think. "So--- what's the occasion, Ted?"

"We have to go over the strategy for tomorrow's game---" Another nasty look at me, but he doesn't want to annoy his Keeper.

I, on the other hand, have the luxury of annoying him; Minerva won't mind. Much. "Who are you playing tomorrow?" I say boredly, looking at my nails. It's a mannerism I picked up from Titus, who does it to me a little more than I like. Very good for annoying your inferiors.

"Slytherin, of course," he says. "Don't like your team's chances much---"

"Like your chances of beating me in a duel," I point out equably. We've dueled several times since coming to Hogwarts, and despite his having a year on me--- plus the oft-overlooked advantage of being pureblood--- it's always ended with my holding his wand.

"At least I'm not a witch's lapdog?"

This is supposed to be an insult? Clearly he hasn't read any of the philosophical literature of Slytherin House--- but then, I've had doubts about his ability to read for a very long time. "Lapdog? "I echo with a smile. A flick of my wand later, and a red-haired Shi Tsu is standing where Weasley was. Before it can scuttle off, I scoop it up and hand it to Minerva. "He seems to think you like your wizards on leashes---" She'll understand. After she calms down.

Minerva has that funny look in her eyes she gets when she can't decide whether to laugh or to strangle me. And the rest of the room is giving me approving looks. Score one for Lord Voldemort. It's a petty triumph, but one has to start somewhere.

After a moment of getting herself under control, Minerva scoops up the Shi Tsu. "All right then," she says resignedly. "Come on, Ted--- I'll turn you back when we get outside...." She shoots me a look mingling laughter and annoyance, and starts down the stairs with the dog under her arm.

It's mostly a Ravenclaw crowd tonight, which means they wait till the door's closed to burst into laughter. I affect a sort of cool detachment--- technically, I didn't do it for their benefit--- and settle into the spot that Minerva vacated. It's still warm from her presence; her scent, spicy and light, lingers.

Amid the approving comments of the others (and a few grumbles from the Gryffindors) I settle in with my notes.

Impressing the masses is all well and good, but it won't open the Chamber of Secrets.

The tower is empty by the time Minerva comes back; I have just time to tuck the notes out of sight and pull out my Transfiguration work as she comes in. "Hello."

"Hello yourself." She comes toward me; I make space for her on the window seat and she joins me.

"I watched you practicing---" The Quidditch pitch is easily visible from the window, if you use a Longsight Charm.

"How nice." She leans against the wall opposite. "You know, the worst part of the way you and Ted act toward each other is that you're right."

"And this is a bad thing how?" I can't quite contain the leap of excitement. It can't be this easy. It can't be....

"Because you're so blasted smug about it." She draws one knee up to her chest. "It's really hurtful."

"It's a good lesson." I shrug equably, not wanting to argue with her.

"It might be if he learned anything---"

"The others did. He's the only one in the school who still gives either of us any trouble." This is true. I give her my most winning smile. "And Dumbledore did set me a bunch of Transfiguration exercises---"

"Somehow I didn't think that was what he had in mind." Her stern expression slowly melts under my smile. "Oh, Tom---"

Quite suddenly I have a double armful for lovely young witch. "My life would be a lot easier, you know," she says with her voice muffled against my chest, "if you were a little less charming."

I wrap my arms around her and say nothing. After all, there isn't anything to say.

But it's good to know I can still win her over so easily....

It will come in useful one of these days.