Thank you for your wonderful reviews, Taliesin19 and Sariniste! It makes me so happy to see that you are still here! Thank you :)

I promise to reply to your reviews this weekend, however, I need to do a few things today and I did not want to withhold this new chapter from you :)

I am happy about reviews from all my readers!

Sachita :)

Chapter 35

22nd of April, 1944, City of London, Wood Street

Minerva's flat was located in a street where only few houses had survived the bombing raids of the Germans a few years prior. While the rubble had been largely cleared away from the street itself, it still remained at the places where the houses had once been.

She had been assured of the grisly fact that "them people who died have all been recovered, not like them chaps in the East End," by the house's caretaker, a rather grizzled old man well in his seventies. Nonetheless, she preferred to keep her curtains shut and the tarpaulin pane firmly affixed to her window so she would even at daytime not see the mountains of rubble next door. The blackout was still fully being enforced, even if German warfare abilities seemed to decline as they slowly went to their knees.

Everyone grumbled about it, no one seemed to see sense in it any more. Was it not highly unlikely that the Germans, weakened as they were, would be able to start another attack? But in the end people acquiesced and did just as the authorities said.

Minerva went to pick up Tom at King's Cross Station. She had tried her best to make herself look very presentable - why, she could not have said, after all he did know and love her in her school gymslip also, yet she had, during their time in Australia, noticed quite well, how even girls older than herself gave him a once-over. Maybe, she thought with a self-disparaging little smile as she well recognised how foolish she was behaving, she was trying to show everyone that he was hers and would never belong to anyone else.

Turning into Tom, are you, what with your possessiveness? - Oh, hush, you, she scolded the silly inner voice that always seemed to make itself known whenever she was feeling unsure of herself.

She had got herself a new, dark blue coat with silver buttons - a bit of vanity that she allowed herself - and other than that wore a simple green dress with a bow at the side. She never quite seemed to manage curling her hair the way that was fashionable so she had resorted to a simple braid with a red bow tie at the queue. And yes, she was nervous. She could not even have said herself why, after all, it was not, as if she had known Tom only for a day and with all that had happened between them her hold over him was quite clear. But the words of Eugene kept ringing in her memory - how he had so ardently wished that she herself might never have to experience the pain he had to go through now. She could not even have said why the words kept coming back to her with such poignancy, yet, somehow, she could not bring herself to erase them from her memory.

Squaring her shoulders she watched as the train pulled in, venting steam and smoke.

And there he was - tall and handsome and paler still than she remembered him to be.

"Tom!" It was, after all, such a jubilant shout that escaped her when she saw him.

He smiled and it was a genuine smile. "Minerva, my dear."

She embraced him briefly, resisting the impulse to hold him close and ask how he had been. Two months only since she had seen him last and already it felt much longer.

"It's good to be back in London," he announced and offered his arm. Wordlessly, they walked for a while, just rejoicing in each others' company.

Minerva, however, could not help but feel oddly unsettled. She thought again and again of how he had attempted to leave her just before her flat had been bombed and they had gone to Australia, how he had described her as liability and how he had clung even tighter to her after that. She mused about that as she glanced at his arm that he had by now rather possessively put across her shoulders. How would he react were she to die like Eugene's Mabel had died? Or if she did not die but simply decided to leave?

Leaving Tom was nothing she would ever do voluntarily though, yet, she thought that they were both so unable to leave the other, so dependent on the other and so entangled with each other that there was no way out. And this thought scared her more than anything: was she not an independent woman? And yet the thought of a world without Tom seemed to her like the harshest punishment that could be there. It was like the thought of a world without sun, and, thinking of that, she relished the warm sunshine that tickled her nose and hurt her eyes as they stepped outside the station building - it was so bright.

She opened her eyes wider - even if it hurt - and allowed the sun's glare to blind her. Was not being blinded better than being without warmth? He kept things from her, she knew that, but she was scared of their magnitude and that left her with such a hollow feeling within her stomach that she did not know whether the warmth of all sunshine combined could ever be enough to calm her raging thoughts.

"You seem preoccupied, my Minerva," Tom observed and brushed a feather-light kiss on her cheek, smirking derisively at the shocked looks of some passers-by.

"I just -" she broke off with a sigh. "Let's walk," she suggested instead.

He followed her along to nearby Regent's Park, where they sat down in the sunshine of late April on a park bench and watched the ducks in the nearby lake. It was already starting to become really warm again and Minerva was glad: with the blackout and the long, cold winter it had started to feel like the sun, even if it came out, would never be warm again. That was nonsense, of course, after every winter, there was a summer. But to Minerva every new summer had her marvelling. When it was winter, it felt to her like it would always be winter; and when it was summer, she sometimes thought summer might never end either. Such a strange thing, she mused.

"I am glad to be here," Tom repeated. "Nothing against your Scotland, Minerva, but there it doesn't feel like spring is going to come around any time soon." Scotland had a much harsher climate than London and Minerva knew what he was talking about.

"Why did you turn down the offer of the Ministry, Tom?" she asked softly.

"We don't see each other for two months and that is the first thing you ask?" he asked, shaking his head. "Oh Minerva...Well, I did tell you again and again: The wizard world needs change. What good would it do me to join an already corrupt system? The old elites with their stiff ways are dominating the inner circles of that very Ministry. We need to change that. After all, the wizard world should belong to everyone and again, I don't mean that pureblood balderdash your mother is so fond of."

"What do you mean, then, Tom? Can I not change your mind? The Ministry is a good place to work at." He had explained his views to her before but she nonetheless found his visions worrisome, even if they might hold some grain of truth.

"I want an equal world," he said, his eyes glittering in his pale face. "I want a world with justice, where everyone, no matter if half-blood, Muggleborn or pureblood gets equal chances. And for that, I am going to change the system. And I already have a strategy. You cannot change a corrupt system from within, I believe change can only come when you hit it at its weakest point"

"What kind of strategy?" she asked anxiously.

"I," he enunciated carefully, "as you already have discovered at Hogwarts have managed to enlist the help of the purebloods' sons. They do not know that I am going to turn their balderdash pureblood policy on its head. They are just pawns, you see?"

"Tom," Minerva whispered, horrified. "You swore an oath to me-"

"I know and I intend to keep it," he said, smiling. "Changing the world does not necessarily mean violence, you know. That is such an out-dated view anyway."

Minerva thought, sickened, of the time she had seen him with his followers in the dungeons. She clung to the thought of the unbreakable vow with a viciousness that surprised herself. Surely any loophole of that vow could not be big enough to actually go against its literal meaning of not hurting any innocents? It could not. It could not. No matter how worrisome she found him as he sat next to her in the sunshine, eyes glittering yet the look in them so cold.

"You worry me," she whispered with a strangled voice. "These pureblood elites are going to corrupt you with their views." She drew a deep breath and tried to fight the growing lump in her throat. "Tom, I love you."

He drew her to his side, smothered her in his warm embrace and kissed the top of her head. "I know, Minerva. And I love you, that will never change."

Looking up, she found that there was nothing but the truth in his eyes in that moment.

Later that evening, lying in bed side by side, she caressed his dark head of hair because she knew he liked it when he combed through her hair. Tom only made a sleepy noise and burrowed his head in the crook of her neck.

Not ceasing her ministrations, she asked: "Tom, what would you do if I were to die?"

That made him come alert immediately. "What are you talking about?" he asked slowly.

With a halting voice, Minerva told him all about Eugene and Mabel, something that had weighed her down those past weeks.

"Well, unfortunate for him," Tom commented, but his voice was cold.

"But you are not going to do anything as foolish as dying and neither am I."

"How would you know that?" Minerva prodded.

"Because," Tom said seriously, "I am not going to die. And you are mine and I will never let you die either."

Minerva looked at him silently and found that he was deadly serious. It unsettled her.

"But Tom, this is not your decision to make," she told him firmly. He frowned.

"Let that be my concern." He would not say more on the matter and so she was silent for a long time, almost thinking he had fallen asleep.

Then, out of the complete darkness that the blackout brought with it, came his voice: "If you were to die, Minerva, and if I happened not to be there to prevent it, I would go and defeat death himself, if only to bring you back. Much like Orpheus and his Eurydike, though I would not turn to look at you. Not even once."

"Promise me, that you are not going to leave me," she whispered.

"I will never leave you," he said, earnestly.

She was silent, but she drew him closer so they were touching from head to toe.

And, ensconced in his warmth and familiar scent, curled up against his warmth, she was finally able to sleep.

It was that promise, that he would stay with her, and the memory of his warmth that made her strong enough to finally seek out the address of the Chinese couple Professor Dumbledore had given to her. As such, a few days later, she was finally on her way to the Docklands.

April 29th, 1944, Docklands, London

London, Docklands - with its towering maze of masts and huge steamboat ships, workers, seamen and traders alike was a world of its own. At the same time admired as one of the busiest, liveliest and most crowded market-hubs of Britain it also held the reputation of a shady place with even shadier deals going on. The area of the docklands was vast and seemed even vaster once you set foot in that place. There seemed to be no end to the numerous arrays of docks and of ships of all sizes and of all countries. Big steam ships that came in from all over the world were moored to the respective docks. Lighters loaded with workers were often tied to their side, taking over the loads of diverse goods: huge and heavy jute and linen bags full of green, red and black pepper from India, wagon-loads of timber from Canada, rolls of tobacco from the Americas, sugar from Africa, delicate porcelain from the Far East, yes, even elephants were unloaded! All the world met in London or so it seemed.

Add to that a heaving crowd of all kinds of workers, who carried around heavy bags on their shoulders or loaded them onto the crates waiting to be pulled in by sturdy ropes into the huge red-bricked warehouses located just opposite the docks and the picture was complete.

Minerva ...stood and stared and stared and stared some more. There was so much to see! She had never dared to go to this place before, seeing that it held quite unseemly notoriety, but now she wished she would have gone earlier - her old flat had only been a few tube stations away from this lively, bustling world.

"Careful, miss!" That call made her jump aside and she gaped after a worker dragging behind himself a wagon-load full of bags saying "Trinidad, C.O., St. Katherine's docks, London". Minerva could not help but wonder what was inside? Having spent a good amount of time simply marvelling at all she saw around her, she continued on, picking her way across a fisherman's nets that he had put out to dry in the pale sunshine and walked around a salesman's stand who loudly proclaimed: "Broken ivory, ready for sale! Come on all you tradesmen, come on and buy - I promise you will not see a price like that anywhere else in this great jolly world!"

Minerva declined, smiling, and walking onwards. Turning, she frowned at the rather intimidating front of red-bricked warehouses with their numerous multi-lite windows. In front of many of them ropes dangled down to the ground and huge crates were being set down or pulled from from and to the open window fronts. "Ho," they shouted and the chorus of those shouts echoed down and up the streets. "Ho, heave, heave!"

But she could not discern any street names anywhere nor house numbers. How by Merlin's beard was she supposed to find the rather cryptic "Bei Ping Tea House, 59 Poplar High Street, Limehouse, Docklands"? Frowning in annoyance at her parchment and at the scribbled address, a young man's voice startled her.

"You need help, miss?"

"Umm, yes, I suppose. Thank you, kindly..." She held out the address to him.

The young worker smiled and pushed his flat cap back. He seemed a sweet lad with wide freckles scattered across his young face and a shock of dark hair just peeking out from underneath the cap.

"Willy, mate!" he called and a fisherman looked up from where he had been sitting and tending to his nets. "This young lady needs to get to Limehouse, Limehouse Causeway! Your boat up for some sailing?"

The fisherman smiled - quite a few of his teeth were missing - and invited Minerva to come with him. "Young miss, come with me, I can get you there."

Minerva followed him trustfully and thanked her helper. She sensed that these people, simple as they might seem at first glance, truly only had the wish to help her. Touched, she climbed aboard the small boat, more a cockleshell really, and out on the river they went.

The fisherman, Willy, rowed with firm strokes and a practiced hand.

"You going to visit the Chinamen?" he inquired. "Cause that's their street."

"I am," Minerva replied, cordially enough, without giving him any more information. He merely nodded, smoked his pipe and looked quietly over the muddy depths of the Thames, a man used to asking many questions and ever receiving only little answers. Thus, he did not prod.

Gazing at the river from this vantage point proved to be quite different than seeing it from the riverbank. It was such a mass of water, not unlike a big lake or an ocean. Minerva had not had the chance to see the ocean often; only when arriving in Inverness briefly, from afar, and of course, sometimes from the train. She followed gaily the flight of the seagulls and watched how the sunlight splayed golden highlights on the water. The loud sound of the waves crashing against the little boat and the ship horns of steamers making for the river delta and to the Channel made any conversation nigh impossible. It was a scary, yet somehow delightful feeling, passing those huge steamships by at so close a distance.

They arrived at Limehouse sooner than expected and Minerva felt almost sorry that she would not get to see the river from this close again. She left Willy a tip and then continued on walking in the direction he had indicated.

Upon arriving at Limehouse Causeway she asked a man for directions and he indicated that Poplar High Street was just around the corner. There, it was easy to find: it was the third of a row of small brick houses. "Bei Ping Tea House" it said. Minerva frowned at that, but then knocked cautiously on the side door, seeing that the main one was locked with a heavy padlock.

A small woman opened after only a moment. She was an elderly Lady with wavy hair and small golden glasses with a long golden chain that was fastened to her traditional dress: a strict-looking black qipao with silver embroidery that reached to her ankles.

"Miss McGonagall?"she queried in accented, yet perfect English.

Minerva nodded, confused and a bit wary. "A pleasure to meet you, Ma'am."

The Lady extended her hand: "Wang Siling, the pleasure is all mine. So Wang is my surname: we Chinese place our surnames before our given names." She explained that rather brusquely, then disappeared back in the house, before turning around and seeing that her guest had not dared to follow yet. "Please, come, Miss McGonagall."

Minerva followed her along a dark, wooden-panelled corridor that led to a small courtyard. There was a fountain in the courtyard and to her delight she discovered goldfish in the small pond. Yet Mrs. Wang seemed anxiously to go on. The door they walked through next was more of a half-circle archway than an actual door. Intricate wood carving formed the door-frame. They came to a room that held a large, round table. An old man sat at the table. His long beard was white and he was concentrating, with half-closed eyes, on a parchment with flowing Chinese characters.

Looking closer Minerva saw that he was actually performing intricate spellwork with his wand on said parchment.

"Wait here, take a seat," Mrs. Wang said in her apparently habitual brusque manner. "Liu Zepeng will join you soon." Minerva looked after her in bemusement, but sat down nonetheless.

"Do you believe in purity of mind?" The old man queried suddenly, out of the blue. Minerva was startled and gazed at him in confusion, yet not once did he look up.

"Yes, I suppose."

He did not say anything to that, but instead just posed the next question. "Do you believe in an altruistic mind which gains knowledge only for knowledge's sake and does not seek to use it for their own benefits?"

Minerva thought longer about that question, seeing that all this apparently constituted some kind of a test.

"I strive to be like that," she finally said carefully, "yet I do not believe that anyone has a fully altruistic mind."

"Good, good," the old man exclaimed. "I can see why Dumbledore sent you!"

He looked up and Minerva saw that he had a very alert gaze and seemed to be nimble like a youth. "You are Liu Zepeng!" she exclaimed in surprise.

There was something about his smile that reminded her distinctly of Dumbledore.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss McGonagall. Albus Dumbledore is my good friend and I am pleased to meet you finally. He speaks highly of you."

Minerva nodded quietly, unsure of what was expected of her. "Sir, Professor Dumbledore said that one of you would accompany me to China."

"That is correct," the old man nodded. "I will."

"You?" Minerva tried her best not to sound too incredulous, but it must have shown on her face.

"You mean because I am old?" He made an odd sound, as if he were giggling. "But your Professor Dumbledore, is he young?"

"I have never asked him," Minerva replied patiently. That elicited another giggle-like sound.

"Well," the old man said, visibly amused now, "I assure you age does not have anything to do with this."

Minerva could have closed her eyes and hit her head in exasperation on the table top. Goodness! Trust Dumbledore to send her to his exact replica in the Chinese world. Whatever had she done to deserve this - this old man was as cryptic as her Professor himself. Just absolutely bloody great.

She swallowed down a few expletives - it would not do for a young Lady to swear and looked at the old man. "When shall we leave then?"

"Oh, there is time still," the old man told her. "Not until the autumn festival. Summer is a bad time to travel in China. Too hot, you see."

"I did some research," Minerva offered hesitantly. "On the holy mountains of China."

"Yes, yes," the old man nodded. "There is five of them. Good of you to do research beforehand." He nodded approvingly. "What did you find out?"

"They represent the union between heaven and earth," Minerva recited carefully. "And the Emperors used to pay their respects to the mountains before they actually started their reign."

"Good, good," he nodded, but did not offer anything else. Then, when she looked at him impatiently, he was finally forthcoming: "They are represented in the Yijing, the book of changes, which I assume you already heard about, in a very important way. They are part of the basic principles of life. Your Mr. Goodwill knew all of this. Now, we just have to find out to which mountain to go: but that shall be your task."

"Are you not better suited for this, as well-versed as you are surely in your culture?" Minerva asked.

The old man smiled, it was a sharp smile, that made Minerva suddenly think that she must not underestimate him at all. "No, indeed I am not. As well-versed as I am indeed, it is you, who seeks answers, not me. And enlightenment, as your European philosopher Kant used to say, can only be attained if you seek to release yourself from your inner bonds. Only you can find the true way, not me."

"Oh," he added, "I nearly forgot: please bring a companion on our journey. It would not do well if we were to travel alone. You see, an old man and a young Lady together are always bound to be looked at strangely. A group of three can sometimes make all the difference."

In slight irritation, Minerva finally thanked him, sensing that their conversation was coming to close.

"Come back anytime," he invited cordially. "I am here, as is my wife. Come back when you have answers - but see to it, that you find them before the autumn comes or passes again - you see, winter is a bad time to travel to China also. Too cold!" He laughed heartily at that.

Minerva said her good-byes, and, in the early dusk, made her way back to the nearest railway station. Trust Dumbledore to send me to someone such as this! she thought darkly. As confusing and as cryptic as himself! Goodness gracious, what did I do to deserve this! And whom on earth should I take along to China with me?

She thought, Tom would laugh at her, could he hear her thoughts. But it was imperative that Tom did not discover her mission at all. After all, he would certainly be able to put two and two together. And something told her that the Dazhi, with its powerful ancient spells, should definitely not fall in Tom's hands either.

Unbeknownst to Minerva, a man in a dark suit stood just behind a corner and watched her go. He smiled and it was not a pleasant smile.

Minerva, meanwhile, returned home to find a few letters delivered by Caelus waiting for her. On top was a letter inviting her to Tom's graduation ceremony as well as an invitation letter by Professor Slughorn, who hosted a party because of Tom's graduation ceremony and was urging her to come as well - of course, she thought with a sigh. Finally, there was a letter by her mother and by Andrew - she put them aside, thinking of looking at them later.

And - a letter by Poppy. Poppy! she thought with sudden glee and could not help the smile spreading across her face. She was already looking forward to seeing the face of her friend when she delivered the news that she invited her on a trip to China - out of all places.

That thought finally made Minerva grin.

tbc :)

Annotations:

1. While Chinatown is now located in the city centre of London, it used to be in the Docklands once. However, heavy bombings destroyed a lot of parts of the docklands in WWII and as the docklands lost their significance as the main trading part of London, a new Chinatown was established in the city centre.

2. You will learn more about the holy mountains of China in the next chapters, so I won't be talking about them now. However, there is a Wikipedia article if you are already curious to find out more about the basic facts :)

3. I googled for pictures of the London Docklands in the 1930s (not the 40s, because you only get wartime pictures as a result then) and it was so amusing and great to see what kinds of goods they had there. I can only recommend to you doing this as well - it's really interesting!