Written For:

- QLFC Round #9: Character - Minerva McGonagall

- Assignment #5/Beauty Therapy Task #1: Write about noticing another person's perfume.

- Sewing 101/Gather Materials: (object) Purse, (word) Regret, (colour) Crimson

- Writing Club/Dark Lady: (word) Shimmering

- Writing Club/Count Your Buttons: Vampire!AU

- Writing Club/Ami's Audio Admirations: Write about Tom Riddle.

Word Count: 2,317

Minerva McGonagall looked at her reflection in the mirror as her mother, Isobel, raked her dark brown hair up on top of her head. She had been combing it for what seemed like hours, and Minerva's scalp was starting to ache.

After Isobel tucked an ornate comb into her up-do, she placed her hands on Minerva's shoulders and smiled at her reflection. "You look wonderful. The prince would be stupid not to notice you."

Minerva strained a smile back at her mother. An invitation to the ball up at the castle had been delivered by hand over a month ago, and Isobel had shrieked when she opened the envelope. All the maidens in the nearby cities and villages to the kingdom were being invited to the ball, including Minerva.

Initially, Minerva had been confused how the monarchs even knew about Minerva. Her family weren't poor, but they certainly didn't reside among the upper class. Minerva's father, Robert, owned a flour mill and lots of farm animals, so they lived comfortably on the money he made from selling flour, eggs, milk and meat.

Isobel was convinced, from the moment Minerva received the invitation, that the monarchy were looking to find a wife for Prince Cygnus III. From that moment right up until the night of the ball, she did everything she could to primp and preen Minerva.

"Imagine if he notices you tonight, Minnie!" Isobel gushed childishly, her eyes bright. "You could be the next queen!"

Minerva tried to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Frankly, she didn't care much for the prince, or marriage, or becoming a queen. She didn't really care that much about attending the ball, but she hadn't been invited to anything like this in all her life. She wanted to visit the castle, which was a vast, looming structure that remained closed up for the most part. She wanted to try the fancy food and those bubbly drinks that were served in tall glasses. She wanted to see what it was like to wear silk and velvet, instead of the usual rough burlap dresses she wore to tend to the fields.

Isobel had spent all month sewing a gown for Minerva from swathes of fabric more expensive than anything they'd ever spent money on before. Robert wasn't too pleased by his hard-earned gold being splashed around so frivolously, but he kept quiet. Minerva was his only daughter, and she presumed he was secretly looking forward to seeing her dressed up in finery to attend a ball at the castle.

When she was all dressed and ready, with her mother's best purse tucked under her arm, Isobel's eyes were shimmering with tears. "You look beautiful." She tugged at her husband's sleeve. "Doesn't she look beautiful, Robert?"

"She does," Robert replied gruffly. A fat tear rolled down his cheek and disappeared into his bushy brown beard.

Minerva's brothers, Robert Junior and Malcolm, sniggered and nudged each other from the corner of the room. Minerva threw them a stern glare—she knew they were laughing because they'd never seen her dress in anything other than farmhand clothes. How odd I must look to them, she wondered idly.

"Ignore them, Minnie," Isobel said, taking Minerva's hand as she led her daughter outside. "They're just jealous that they weren't invited to the royal castle." She shut the door sharply behind her so that her brothers couldn't reply, and gestured to the carriage that was waiting outside.

"Mother," Minerva started, looking up at the horse-drawn carriage. "I thought Father was going to take me in our cart. Surely we can't afford for someone to transport me to the castle after all the gold we've spent on this," she gestured down to her dress.

"We didn't pay for this, Minerva," Isobel replied. "The King and Queen have sent carriages out to collect all the ladies who are attending the ball. I told you, they're looking for a bride," she winked as she gave Minerva a gentle shove towards the carriage.

"Are you sure you can't come with me?" Minerva asked, after she had climbed up into the carriage. She was suddenly starting to feel very nervous about attending the ball.

Isobel scoffed. "You were specifically the only one invited," she paused. "And even if I were to come with you, I couldn't come dressed like this." She held out the skirts of her dirty brown dress, her daily attire for cooking and cleaning the house and mill.

Minerva nodded. She had to be realistic. She was a grown woman now, and she'd agreed to go to this ball.

She held her head up as the horses broke into a trot, and the carriageman gave them a brisk whip to set them moving.

Isobel waved at Minerva from the front garden, wiping her eyes with her stained apron.

Minerva was sure that she was the only one who had attended the ball alone. All the other maidens who ventured up the stone steps to the great entrance were arm-in-arm with their sisters or friends.

The doors Minerva walked through led right into the vast ballroom. It had been decorated magnificently for the ball, with beautiful emerald green tapestries hanging from the upper balconies, adorned with the Black family crest and motto, toujours pur. A great wooden table was laid out on the eastern side of the ballroom, laden down with all kinds of pastries and cakes and tarts that Minerva had never seen before. Men dressed in smart black tailcoats and pressed white shirts milled around the patrons, balancing trays filled with glasses on one hand.

"Champagne, my lady," one of the waiters said suddenly. He bowed deeply so that Minerva could take a flute of champagne from the tray. She thanked him, and he floated away to another guest, leaving her to sip delicately at the bubbly liquid.

She glanced over at the far side of the ballroom. King Pollux and Queen Irma sat on their ornate thrones, on a higher podium, looking over their guests. Just below them stood their three children: Prince Alphard, Princess Walburga, and the one who was yet to be married, Prince Cygnus.

Girls were already fawning over him. They either huddled in small groups, glancing over at the prince every now and then and hiding their giggles with their hands, or they bravely ventured up to the prince to shake his hand and curtsey daintily.

Minerva supposed she ought to be polite and do the same thing. She didn't want to shame her family by appearing rude, and she certainly wasn't going to be passed off as one of the giggling girls either. She hitched up her skirt around her ankles, and walked towards the royal family confidently.

Before introducing herself, she bowed deeply. When she rose again, she saw that the princess was arching a dark eyebrow. "You bow?" she said with a smirk. "Like a man?"

"Walburga," hissed Prince Alphard. Minerva pretended she hadn't heard, and smiled her best smile up at the king and queen.

"Your highnesses," she greeted. "I'm humbled to have been invited to this soiree. My name is Minerva McGonagall."

"Welcome, Lady McGonagall," King Pollux replied politely. "I hope you have a lovely time." The King looked back out at the ball, effectively dismissing her, and Minerva made to turn away.

"Wait one moment," Princess Walburga's shrill voice spoke. "Come closer."

Although Minerva didn't feel as though she liked Princess Walburga very much, she wasn't about to disobey a monarch. She stepped slightly closer to the princess obediently.

"Walburga," Prince Alphard hissed again. "Leave the poor lady alone."

"Please, dear sister," Prince Cygnus said, though his voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Leave the lady."

"What a lovely dress," Princess Walburga stated, eyeing Minerva up and down. "Who sewed it for you?" she reached out and pinched a piece of fabric between her fingers, combing the uneven stitches. Minerva gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to snap back at the princess and her snarky tone. Isobel cooked and cleaned and tended the farm. She sewed clothes that served a purpose in the field, not ones that were for decoration.

"My mother," Minerva replied, a little haughtier than she intended.

"And your make-up," the princess reached out a finger and swiped it across Minerva's clavicle. "Is this flour?"

Minerva couldn't hide the blush that rose to her cheeks. She quickly bade goodbye to the princess and princes, and hurried away from them, though she couldn't drown out the sound of Walburga's laughter in her ears.

How could her mother think so highly of the royals? She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but she felt too angry. She clung to the edges of the wall until she came to a narrow wooden door, and she slipped through it. The rest of the party were much too occupied—they surely wouldn't notice her absence.

She wandered through the dark corridor, blinking back angry tears. The shrewd eyes of dozens of previous monarchs stared down at her judgmentally, but she ignored them.

After trailing through multiple corridors, and climbing at least two flights of stairs, she could no longer hear the music of the ball. She ducked through another door, down another short corridor, and pushed open a large wooden door at the end of it.

She found herself standing on a balcony, two stories high, overlooking the private gardens behind the castle. Despite the darkness and how distasteful she found the royal family, she couldn't deny that the gardens were truly beautiful. Ancient trees were planted in neat lines across the gardens, adorned by bushes of roses and crystanthaneums and hydrangeas and hundreds of other flowers that Minerva would never be able to name. A large, rectangular pond was flanked by ornate pillars and stone benches, and in the distance she could see the start of a hedge maze.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a smooth voice surprised her suddenly. Minerva spun around to face her intruder. She hadn't even heard the door open.

The stranger was tall and deathly pale, his pasty white skin looking almost opalescent in the moonlight. He had a mop of straight, ebony hair, and his eyes were a deep brown, almost black. When he smiled, his teeth glinted in a strangely menacing way.

He moved closer, effectively trapping Minerva between his body and the long drop below the balcony. "I noticed you enter the castle. You were the only one who came to the ball without a escort. Aren't you afraid of what might happen? A young woman out on her own…"

Minerva stuck her chin in the air. "I don't need an escort, thank you." She was reminded of how she'd timidly wished for her mother to be join her earlier in the evening, and masked her embarrassment.

"Who are you?" he asked curiously, gazing deeply into her eyes.

Minerva didn't want to answer him. This man made her nervous. But for some reason, her mind felt suddenly, blissfully empty, and her mouth started talking on it's own accord.

She told him her name, she told him where she lived, what she did on the farm and all about her family. She confessed that she'd never been to a ball before, how much she hated Walburga, and how little she cared about being a suitable beau for Prince Cygnus. Her jaw ached by the time the stranger tore his gaze away from hers.

"Who are you?" she queried, rubbing her jaw. "Why...why did I just tell you all of that?"

"My name is Tom," he replied smoothly. "And you told me those things because I asked you to."

Minerva glanced at his dark hair, pale skin, and handsome features. Her face paled a little as she remembered how she had confessed her hatred of the princess. "Are you...are you a member of the royal family?"

Tom threw back his head and laughed. "No, my lady. Merely...an old friend of the family."

They continued to talk for a short while. Minerva tried not to hold his gaze, feeling very vulnerable whenever his eyes met hers. There was something strange about whenever they locked eyes. She was almost compelled to do whatever he wished.

He had moved ever closer as they talked, until Minerva could feel his breath on her face. She clutched the wall of the balcony behind her, her fingers digging into the stone. All she could see ahead of her was the murky brown sea of his dark eyes.

"I can smell your perfume," he acknowledged quietly, taking a deep breath. "Now. You're not going to be frightened, and you're not going to move or try to run. Do you understand?"

The fear and confusion that was welling in Minerva's mind seemed to clear suddenly. She nodded slowly. "I'm not frightened."

When his gaze broke away from hers, regret blossomed in the empty space in her mind. Regret that she'd wandered away from the ball, regret that she'd come to this party in the first place, regret that she'd been so curious about the castle and its. Tom's face dipped into the crook of her neck, and she felt a sudden, sharp stabbing pain.

He was biting her.

Blood ran down her neck, soaking the front of her pale blue dress crimson. Tom was drinking from her, gulping down great mouthfuls of blood as he sucked it straight from the vein.

Her vision started to blur. She wanted to push him away and run back into the castle, but she was rooted to the spot. She couldn't move...because he'd told her not to.

With each fresh mouthful of her blood, the view ahead of her swam. As she was fading into darkness, Tom finally pulled away from her neck, and she watched him wipe the blood away from his sharp teeth. He was the last thing she saw.

What would become of her now?

-End-