Harry Potter : Chapter 12: Parallelism II

I have a concrete objective now. I nodded to myself. That Tom would end up a Dark Lord was impossible, since I was going to kill him in this or the following summer at the lastest. But in any case, a priceless artefact that nobody knew anything about was somewhere in a forest in Albania, ready for the taking.

Nobody would hunt me if I succeded, and whatever enchantment it held, it should make any and all my efforts in learning magic much easier.

...

Minerva McGonagall was a proud Gryffindor witch. Singularly talented in the field of Transfiguration, and extremely capable in all of her subjects at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she was curious and had a temper that matched her Scottish roots.

She forced herself to suppress her instinctive Gaelic insults when her temper rose, and carefully chose her words in order to not let out her Scottish blur when she spoke.

Minerva McGonagall was a no-nonsense person, and thusly she tended to ignore both the rumour mill and any other insult that did not reach her ears directly. Sure, when she was provoked, she didn't hesitate to make her stand clear, either by trading insults with her dimwitted opponents or by her wand.

Yet, she remembered how the school had talked about her in her first year, and she had been righteously proud of that. Then, in her second year she heard the same talks about another 'prodigy', this time a first-year Slytherin.

And with that turn of the rumour mill, she stopped paying attention to whispers about 'supremely talented' students, realizing that there was one in every year.

At the end of the first week, after she had managed to settle into a tentative rhythm now that she had to follow the directions of the new Quidditch Captain, and only after she had prepared a study plan in order to be ready for the O.W.L.s the following year, she had allowed herself to read the first topic that caught her interest in the Library.

From time to time, she found relaxing to sit in the quiet of the Library, enjoying her research and the almost 'holy' ambience of the vast hall. The smell of books, the creaking of parchment, the heavy presence of the wooden shelves.

When her solitude was broken by a pesky first-year, and Slytherin at that, she had no intention whatsoever to let him associate with her.

Then, while he showcased a skill that most certainly didn't belong with someone of his age bracket, she remembered that the rumour mill of the school was already aflame with mentions of yet another prodigy.

Minerva McGonagall was easily the most talented witch of her year. But she didn't let that little tidbit of information go to her head, there were many others just as talented, if not more, than her. In fact, she had in insight realized that there was a 'best student' of the year every year. And that had killed much of the hype in her eyes.

Still, that didn't mean that she was letting an eleven-year-old child hang around her coattails just because she had once been in his shoes. He had looked her up specifically for her skill with transfiguration, it was obvious with his blatant praise of her skill, but she didn't have time to waste.

She had reached the top on her own, if the unnaturally tall kid wanted the same, he could use his own two legs to walk that path.

So, she casually distracted him from his silly Slytherin scam by promising what he wanted in exchange for him to not slow her down. Which, considering the years she had on him, was an obstacle impossible to pass.

"This is a waste of time." the exasperated hiss came from just beyond the row of shelves, only to be dismissed by a nonchalant snort.

Minerva blinked, trying to figure out where she had already heard that particular voice, which seemed to have lost its usually smooth veneer in order to turn scathing.

"It's not. Besides, if I didn't drag you around in order to experiment a bit, you'll never make any friends." the quiet tenor of the eleven-year-old Slytherin that Minerva had sent chasing the end of the rainbow in order to be left alone sounded across the shelves.

"I don't need friends!"

Minerva's lips turned down when she understood that the voices were sounding closer and closer to her usual spot in the library, and her brow furrowed since she hadn't actually considered what would happen if the talented first-year actually took her up on her challenge and barreled through the theory of the first 4 years of Transfiguration.

"Nobody is born to be alone." the reprimand came in a rumbling tone that did nothing to hide the amusement that Minerva knew was shining into Hagrid's eyes, which were likely to shine even brighter when the other Slytherin muttered some uncomplimentary words under his breath.

Preposterous. Since their first meeting at the end of the first week, in which she had admittedly been fascinated by the cerebral application of transfiguration, Rubeus Hagrid hadn't bothered her even once.

She had hoped that using his own pride against him would be enough to be left alone. Never she had actually considered the possibility that a first-year could catch up with her, never mind in... less than three months?

"Spare me your bottom-of-the-bottle wisdom, Hagrid."

"I'll have you know that at the bottom of my bottles there is much more than conventional wisdom, thank you very much." the lower voice turned almost taunting then, "I'm still envious of your surname by the way.

'Riddle' sounds much more wizardry than 'Hag-Rid'. What the hell is my surname supposed to mean? Does it indicate some sort of occupation of a clan long lost? Did my forefathers hunt hags as a sport? It's demeaning."

"Well, hello Minerva!" a not so hushed whisper made the witch raise her head with exasperation already written on her face.

Her lips thinned into a single line when she spotted the owner of the voice, and if possible, they thinned, even more, when her eyes landed on the other wizard that accompanied the unusually large first-year Slytherin. Oh no, now there are actually two of them.

A tall stack of books was casually dropped on one side of the table, not making a sound. Minerva's eye cached the flash of a white wand being holstered once more by the hands of a well known third year, who was rolling his eyes at Hagrid's carelessness.

"Try to not get us thrown out of the Library by mistreating the tomes."

The reprimand was grossly ignored. "Well, allow me to introduce you two!" the not-so-hushed whisper came with a beaming smile from Hagrid: "Tom Riddle, this is..."

"Miss McGonagall," Riddle cut off his companion with a stiff nod, "I'm aware."

"You know each other?" Hagrid's question caused Minerva to huff in irritation.

Of course, they knew each other. Or at least, of course, she knew of Tom Riddle. The only third-year allowed into the Slug-Club, where he conducted himself with a brilliance that left people looking for an important ancestry.

Not that she enjoyed the Slug-Club whatsoever, she tried to avoid it anytime she could, brow-nosing and boot-licking obviously wasn't for her.

But she couldn't always say no. Lest she offended Professor Slughorn, and not stepping on the toes of her elders was only reasonable.

The third-year capable of O.W.L. level magic was known. That the younger years looked up to him was known. Even that his features had caused more than a few crushes here and there.

"Oh! I guess that Slughorn couldn't leave talented people alone." Hagrid initially confused rumble turned in a snort, while Minerva pursed her lips again, turning them into something almost invisible.

"Professor Slughorn." she corrected him.

"That's what I just said." the far too large first-year blatantly lied as he sat down at her table, slowly followed by his companion.

"I apologize for his rudeness." Riddle inclined his head towards the Gryffindor witch in an empty gesture of platitude.

At least one of the two has the good grace to attempt to be courteous. Minerva thought sardonically.

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