A/N: Okay first ever Harry Potter fanfiction for me. Kind of nervous...but anyway hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Never wrote one of these before but seeing as everyone seems to think its important to point out that we don't own Harry Potter or anything else about it, I thought I'd have a go. I don't own Harry Potter or any else about it.
The full moon was shining brightly in the inky black sky as Lord Voldemort made his way toward the castle. His footsteps made no noise on the dried and crunchy leaves that lined the stone pathway to the front door. He muttered spells under his breath and the door swung open to reveal the entry way into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After all these years he was finally able to walk through the doors and enter the only place he could truly call home. Quite sad to think that it was a school, but it was true nonetheless.
There would be no children out at this time of night, the Carrow siblings would have made sure of that. No one knew that he had come tonight and he was here to see one person. His feet had automatically gone in the direction of the dungeons but he had come for a specific purpose and that didn't include reminiscing about his schooldays. The entrance to the Slytherin common room loomed in front of him and with great effort he redirected his steps.
The Dark Lord had some unfinished business with the Deputy Headmistress and he knew exactly where she would be. His snake-like face broke into what some would consider a grin. It had been over forty years since he'd talked to her and, if he had one, his heart beat faster in his ribcage. He could still remember her face vividly and how her skin felt against his own. Oh yes, he definitely had some unfinished business to attend to.
Having arrived at the door to her private living area he brushed aside the protective enchantments and let himself in without making a sound. The thought of the upcoming encounter was too distracting for any kind of observation. The need, for it had grown to such an extent, to see her quite positively outshone any interest he would have had to take a look around the first two sets of rooms he swept through.
Not knowing exactly what to expect when he entered her bedchamber, the breath was knocked out of him when he stepped across the threshold and she was standing at an open window, the moonlight casting her in its silvery embrace. Her hair, that long gloriously dark hair, was out of its bun where it flowed down her back in luxurious curls. Her back was ramrod straight and her hands were folded neatly. He didn't know how long he stood there studying her profile but he finally snapped back to reality when her voice broke the silence.
"I wondered when you would come." Minerva spoke, not even bothering to face him. He allowed himself to smile.
"How very astute of you, but of course you were always the smartest witch I've ever met." He watched closely as she finally turned and faced him. And for the second time that night he seemed unable to breath. Her emerald eyes were sparkling in the moon and she pierced him with a sharp glare. She had lost none of her beauty and with age there had come a certain amount of wisdom to her appearance. But what intrigued, and vexed him most, was the fact that she wasn't regarding him with fear but anger.
"And you were always the most arrogant wizard I've ever had the misfortune of knowing."
Voldemort's eyes flashed red in anger as he strode forward and made to grab her arm. But he was stopped by the look of intense disgust that flashed across her face as she moved her arm out of his reach.
"There was a time when you thought me the most handsome and charming wizard you'd ever been fortunate enough to know." He said softly as he looked into her eyes. The deep yet oddly bright emerald color had not changed since the last time he had seen her and she was still able to hold his undivided attention. A feat many of his followers would give their soul for.
Minerva stood there staring at the most evil wizard, perhaps the most evil person, this world had seen to date and felt all of her suppressed feelings bubble to the surface where she could hardly contain them as she had learned so long ago to do. She sighed softly, her eyes drinking in the sight of his face despite the way her head was screaming at her to stop.
"It's not your appearance that I find disturbing, but your presence altogether."
"Lets not play games Minerva, we both detest them." Voldemort spoke abruptly.
Minerva gave him a curious look and then her eyes narrowed. "You speak of not playing games yet you are the master of them. Oh yes, you may have mastered death but you're biggest accomplishment has been the art of the game."
This time he did manage to grab her arm. There was an undeniable spark when their skin met; one that Minerva tried to hide but Voldemort reveled in.
"You have no right, no right at all to touch me." Minerva hissed and fought to throw his hold off of her but despite his rather fragile, if menacing, appearance she could not. He was still so very strong; stronger than she at least. Then again she wasn't throwing all of her considerable efforts into getting out of his grasp. It was something that she had never seemed to achieve.
"Why do you fight me?" Voldemort said softly into her ear, having pulled her close enough to feel her breath coming in short gasps. "Is it not enough to show you that I have escaped death in order to come back to you?" He felt her stiffen as his words fought their way into her rather extraordinary mind.
"You always were a terribly gifted liar."
"And you always were an excellent accomplice." He sneered back at her.
Minerva leaned her head back in order to get a clearer view of his features. What she saw would have made most sick, however it only pained her. Far from being shallow, looks had nothing to do with why she had fallen in love with Tom Riddle, for it was something else, something that she could never explain. Although it didn't hurt that he was so achingly handsome during their time at school. No, the reason his snake like face and cold touch pained her was the heart wrenching revelation that he had truly changed. Abandoned were all traces of the man she had fallen for.
And now he was proclaiming that it was all for her.
"You left me." She admitted softly, so softly that Voldemort strained to hear her. He leaned in closer and looked into her eyes intensely.
"Do not think that I have forgotten." He returned harshly. Her eyes lit with indignation and he wondered once again why she had chosen to throw everything he could have given her away.
Dumbledore, he thought bitterly. Surely the old man talked her out of it somehow, or gave her an even greater incentive to leave him.
"Is that why you came back after all this time? To exact your revenge," she questioned.
"Surely you of all people know that Lord Voldemort does not forgive transgressions so easily."
"I would if I knew Lord Voldemort, but be it as it may I do not." Minerva returned with no small amount of scorn.
"You would know him if you had but chosen correctly all those years ago."
Here the conversation stopped as true surprise showed on Minerva's face and Voldemort's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He was under the assumption that she would try to reason with him as to her motive for leaving.
"Why Minerva you seem genuinely shocked," he hid his insecurity behind ridicule.
"Because I am. What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that when I offered you the chance to be by my side for all eternity you turned away from me." Into Dumbledore's waiting arms I suspect, he added to himself.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Ignorance doesn't become you." Here her anger started to show and she rushed into explanation.
"The last time I saw you was the day we spent in London. You had just graduated and we were celebrating. We said goodbye and after that I never saw you again. It left me quite…," here she paused and considered her next words, "quite desolate to be perfectly honest. I loved you and you left me." Minerva finished, the accusation falling heavily between them.
Voldemort could only stare at her. He wasn't surprised by her admittance of her love for him, he had always known that. But of course that hadn't been the last thing they had spoken of when they parted in London.
"Minerva now it is my turn to confess that I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about." Then as if a lightning bolt had struck him, the answer came. "Dumbledore," he growled.
The anger that consumed him was raw and uncontrolled. Vases, paintings, picture frames, and even the furniture exploded as he unleashed his wrath on her bedchamber. Minerva jumped in shock at the sudden change in him and watched as her bedroom was neatly destroyed. When the biggest part of his anger had been spent, Voldemort stood with his eyes ablaze and his breaths coming in deep even huffs. The arms that had been holding her in his grasp were now clutching her, bruises already starting to form. Absurd as it may seem, Minerva felt a strong urge to reach out and soothe him. Reason kicked in and she only just managed to stop herself.
"That old meddling fool," Voldemort hissed, his gaze far off as he deliberated this new revelation.
"Tom?" Minerva asked haltingly. His gaze shifted to her and in his eyes she saw bloodlust. Not for any living soul, but for one already dead.
"If I could raise the dead I would kill him all over again." Not wanting to incur any more of his horrible wrath, Minerva remained silent.
"When one thinks that the great Albus Dumbledore was incapable of treachery they need only look to what he did to his most faithful servant."
"I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
"He obliviated you Minerva."