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Minerva McGonagall deserves a medal. Because she has lived through a lot of bullshit. People may argue that she hasn't lived that long and that fifteen is definitely not an age where drinking whisky is allowed, even if she's had terrors to live through. McGonagall begs to differ and drains her drink.
Tom Riddle is sitting across from her with a fond expression of a person who's buying an underage child drinks. Good man, this Riddle. He isn't much older than her and they have interacted once or twice in school because of their shared friend: Abraxas Malfoy.
It's summer and the heat is unbelievable. Minerva is dressed primly nonetheless.
''You wouldn't even have to change any of your monogrammed clothes.''
''Why isn't he asking me himself?'' Minerva McGonagall narrows her eyes and they're completely sober – it's just that the topic warrants alcohol. She drinks like a stallion. Disdainfully she notes Tom Riddle's lemonade. What kind of man –
''He's scared you'll reject him. Besides purebloods say it's démodé to have a marriage that isn't already arranged. So, here I am. Arranging it.'' Tom Riddle blinks innocently at her. He's just as uncomfortable by his task as Minerva is of listening to his words. Her eyes close and she exhales briefly before inhaling and exhaling again. After this is done Minerva opens her eyes and regards Tom Riddle with confusion, even greater than the one from before.
''I don't know.'' Minerva says, her accent unapologetically Scottish.
Tom Riddle nods and says he'll relay this to Abraxas. Minerva feels guilty for not accepting, but what kind of man can't ask her out on a date himself.
''A pureblood man.'' Tom says. Minerva glares fiercely at him, forgetting that he's a legilimens for a moment. He winks at her and she feels her cheeks blush in indignant affection.
Minerva McGonagall loves another. This pains her because she can't be torn between three men. Dumbledore is the oldest and by far the most questionable of choices offered to her. He is everything she has ever wanted in a husband, thinks Minerva with a starry gaze and a lopsided smile that's slowly enveloping her whole face.
To say the least her crush, infatuation does not go unnoticed.
''Minnie the Cat's got a crush on Dumbledore!''
''Minnie the Cat's got a love eyes for Dumbles!''
''Fancies herself Madame Dumbledore, does she!''
Minerva blushes hotly and thinks of the proposition for marriage she's gotten and the one she wishes she could get as she buries her face in her hands and waits for the mortification to pass. Especially when professor Dumbledore overhears these jeers and looks at Minerva uncomfortably.
She starts wearing makeup to Transfiguration class. Nothing extraordinary, just a little to make her features pop. Nothing that would have her parents balk. Nothing that would have others talk.
People talk nonetheless and summer rolls up and a man named Lord Voldemort arranges for a meeting with her. He's familiar in a way friends turned into strangers are. Minerva's drinking firewhisky again. He's drinking lemonade again.
There's an undeniable deterioration in his looks. Before his cheeks were a healthy rose colour and now not even bloodletting would bring some colour to his face. Pardon, a correction. There is red on his face, a deep crimson that shines in his eyes. However, there's nothing threatening in his gaze when he looks at her.
In fact, he smiles at her like he always does.
''Abraxas sends his regards. He's still in search of a bride. A Lady Malfoy.''
Minerva clasps and unclasps her sweaty hands. A churn in her stomach twists her guts into ribbons. At school she's good at quidditch and she's excellent at transfiguration but Dumbledore keeps averting his gaze and ignoring her and it hurts.
''Minerva,'' he begins and she shuts him up with a flurry.
''I don't know. I haven't seen Abraxas in years. I've only ever spoken to him a handful of times. I don't know what he even sees in me. I don't know.'' Minerva's words come out jumbled and quick. Each like a hail of bullets shot from a machine gun she's seen her brother buy from a muggle. They're not at war and guns are such a filthy thing. Minerva's gone to it and while her brother was asleep she put her hands to it and willed it to dust. Magic is will. Magic is intent. It's what Tom Riddle used to say while he tutored her Defence.
''He thinks you're beautiful, for starters.''
Minerva scoffs. Beautiful. She wears glasses and boy's robes and throws a mean left hook and tries to be beautiful like the girls who can have anyone they want. Minerva can't have whom she wants. That pain sears into her heart and carves initials that will never be: M.D.
''He thinks you're a genius.''
Abraxas Malfoy doesn't care if his wife's a genius. On multiple occasions he has proclaimed to only ever seek a biddable bride. The only times Minerva has spoken to Abraxas has been when he's been pestering Tom Riddle to tutor him for OWLs and then later NEWTs.
''He thinks you're entitled to more.''
Lord Voldemort speaks and Minerva is not afraid of this man in front of her, no matter how much people will tell her to be. She knows him, understands that need to completely immerse himself in magic. Minerva dissects transfiguration books like it's nothing to her, craving more and more and more. The hat wanted her in Ravenclaw but she told it off in a Gryffindor manner and the Hat corrected itself: ''A Lioness with wings to spread, my dear. A griffin indeed.''
''Does he,'' Minerva catches on finally when she sees Lord Voldemort looking at her with a soft, silent expression of expectation, tinged ever-so-slightly with fear, ''does he,'' Minerva begins, speaking of a 'he' that is neither Abraxas Malfoy nor Albus Dumbledore, ''does he know how selfish he is with his requests and arrangements?''
Lord Voldemort leans forward. In the cafe they'd gone to, it's light enough for his eyes to spark in a lovely light. Minerva scowls at him, pretending to be offended. She doesn't have to pretend much. Tom Riddle has always been one that asks for forgiveness. It's quite odd, though, to see him here asking for permission. What a gentleman. What a lord.
''Abraxas Malfoy needs an answer. His mother is impatient to secure a match.''
''I'm seventeen.'' Minerva sips at what's left of her firewhisky. His lemonade is finished.
''You can decide without any parental permission now.'' He smiles.
''Doesn't he only like men?'' Minerva asks, indicating the relationship between Abraxas Malfoy and Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort presses his lips in a tight frown that untangles quickly. He shakes his head.
''He likes both.''
''He's very entitled, this Lord Voldemort, isn't he?'' Minerva finally breaks the ruse they've both made. Abraxas Malfoy can and will do whatever Lord Voldemrot tells him. Instead of being irked to see his game to fall apart, Lord Voldemort grins happily. Cheerful is an appropriate term, even. Minerva's unnerved to see a man look at her like he wants her. Usually they see her as separate from women. She's just Minnie to everyone. Quidditch mad Minnie. Studious Minnie. Overachiever Minnie. Fancies Dumbledore Minnie.
''You haven't a clue.''
Minerva rolls her eyes and says he'll have his answer when she finishes her education. He walks her to her village, letting her go so her parents don't make a fuss about her being escorted by a boy. Man. Thing. Minerva doesn't know what Tom Riddle is to her. Something positive.
Dumbledore kindly lets her down. Minerva doesn't feel like it is kind. It feels like a slap in the face. It feels horrible. He's not interested in her. She's too young. She could do with so many better men, so many other men closer to her age. Quietly she pleads to know if it's only the age difference. There's rumours of Dumbledore's queerness. Minerva's always thought that they were rumours. He shakes his head sadly and informs her that he can never love her.
Minerva cries until her eyes are as red as her House badge.
It's not summer when she writes Lord Voldemort. Tom. Minerva scoffs. He's Tom to her and he'll always be Tom that's taught her spells, he 15, she 11. Once, back in her 3rd year and his 7th they'd gone to the Forest to look for unicorns. Abraxas Malfoy accompanied them, or was it then that she accompanied them? It's strange, to look back on their dynamics. They are Slytherins and she is a small Gryffindor tailing them because her house doesn't like her much. Because she feels like she can do more than play exploding snap.
Tom Riddle offers her more. He's amused by her. An eleven year old little girl that exclaims she's going to be a prefect for Gryffindor even before she's sorted and has bullied the Hat into seeing her vision. She is an immovable object when her mind is set on something.
Right now. Right now it's set on winning.
She orders them both firewhisky and Voldemort squints at her. ''You're going to want to toast with me.'' Minerva says. ''Lemonade won't cut it.''
Understanding dawns on his face, pale. His mind, sharper than anything Minerva has come across. His eyes, full of expectation and dread that's dissipating the more Minerva looks at him without saying a word. A full two minutes pass in silence when Minerva says: ''Why don't you ask me yourself?''
''Because I haven't a family name or fortune to offer you.'' Tom Riddle says. Minerva deserves a medal because she doesn't care for this and the slight twitch of his eye tells he's read her mind, because he adds: ''And you'd have to switch all of your monogrammed things into M.R. which frankly – it's just not you.''
Minerva McGonagall deserves a medal because Tom Riddle is making some very good points and she thinks she might accept. Abraxas, as far as she recalls, is a kind person.
''So kind.'' Tom moves closer.
He seems like a good person.
''So good.'' Tom takes her hand in his and Minerva lets him.
He seems, also, like a complete push over.
''He'll do whatever you and I tell him.'' Tom whispers in her ear softly, warmly and Minerva kisses him. He kisses her back, breaks the kiss with a look of complete joy, drinks half of his glass of firewhisky (giving her the other half because he can't handle his alcohol - and he's in love with a Scot?), and then they go to Malfoy Manor.
The wedding is grand and beautiful. All of her friends are envious of her. Some aren't, some are scared for her. She has Pomona Sprout as her witness while Abraxas has Tom. She and Tom exchange glances as she and Abraxas exchange vows. There's no love between them, only that of friendship. That seems more than enough for a marriage to prosper.
The three of them go across Europe for Minerva and Abraxas' honeymoon. Tom Riddle third wheels like a legend and Minerva can't help but laugh at how he doesn't want to feel excluded. It's not jealousy or envy, it's using every opportunity he can to travel and learn more.
They go through caves and forests and countries and tombs and raid all they can for knowledge. With Malfoy influence and money they three, merry three, can do it all. Abraxas and she dance while Tom watches, more than content with his role as a non-entity in their marriage. He sips juice and smiles fondly at the two Malfoys bickering about who has the better dance moves.
Abraxas makes her feel alive in a way Minerva doesn't know she could ever be. She doesn't feel like she's different when she's with Abraxas. Not how Dumbledore made her feel othered for liking him, or how her classmates would feel separated from her. There is love in their interactions and there is love when she looks at her husband. One that's just as intense as the love she feels for Tom.
With the end of their honeymoon (that's much longer than honeymoons have any right to be, certainly) Minerva hugs both Tom and Abraxas and tells them she's not going to let go and that they're going to live like this forever now.
''It's counterproductive, Minerva, we've got so many things to do, so many things to see.''
''Wife, please let go you're crushing me.''
Minerva Malfoy lets go and breaks off into a laugh. Tom's quicker than Abraxas and his voice joins hers, they intertwine beautifully. Abraxas waits a bit until he's had enough of hearing such a symphony and decides to add another tone to the mix.
She's so happy.
Not even Dumbledore's worried letter, dripped in condescension for her girlish and impulsive actions, can sway her from a life she's chosen.