To Revive a Soul || Tom Riddle

9. Summer of '43

Summer was never kind for Eleanor Tippin, not at all. Ilvermorny had been her one opportunity to escape the dreadfulness of summer, but she blew that chance only four years in, and England was hardly better.

Dumbledore had friends that were willing to house her for the few months, and she was thankful. That man really was the only thing keeping her alive, and she didn't believe she'd understand why until her dying breath.

Robert and Isobel were kind enough, but their attention was always on keeping their young daughter at bay. She was wildly uncontrollable with her magic, shooting levitation charms out of her mouth and hovering in the air when Robert had strictly told her not to. Having Minerva around was fun, though; it reminded Eleanor of simpler times, and she had always adored children.

Isobel called her into the dining room of their home one evening in late June for supper. She walked down the stairs, smiling at Robert, who was trying to get Minerva down from the ceiling. "Need any help?" she asked him.

"Ah, I've done it before, but she's getting old enough now to avoid my tricks."

"Minerva," Isobel said sternly from the kitchen, "you're seven now. Please get down from there. The Ministry will have your father's head."

"I can't control it, mum," she squeaked from the ceiling. "It's really high up."

Eleanor giggled at the sight of Minerva almost walking on the tall ceiling. "Get down from there, squirt," she said, drawing the girl towards her with only her mind, and Minerva laughed loudly at the magic that consumed her. Eleanor set the child down on the ground, turning to Isobel with a knowing look. "I'll bet you can't wait for her Hogwarts letter."

Isobel sighed. "She helps out when she can, but she's filled with magic, more than I ever was. The day she learns to control it will be the day I can sleep with both eyes closed."

"You're in Slytherin?" Robert asked her. Eleanor nodded. "Albus told us what he could, but..."

"It's a complicated matter, Mr. McGonagall. You don't understand the level of gratitude I have for you taking me in."

"What Albus says goes," Isobel said, smiling as she set the table with plates of beef medallions. "He was just making a name for himself when I started Hogwarts. I always looked up to him. He's brilliant, you know."

"Oh, I've seen it. The power Professor Dumbledore has is unbelievable."

"He's told us you're comparable," Robert said with an upturn of his lip.

"I'm... far from being the person Dumbledore is. A bright student, yes, but..."

Isobel smiled, putting a hand on Eleanor's shoulder. "Whatever it is you need, dear, we're here for you. But what you just pulled, without words or a wand? I doubt you'll need it." Eleanor laughed dryly at her words, as she did any time someone would praise her for her wild magic tricks. It was strange, she felt, to be complimented for the very thing that she despised about herself. "Perhaps you should babysit Minerva more often."

"As much as I love Minerva," she began, dodging a rogue plush toy that had nearly taken her head off and throwing a playful glare at the child, "I don't think I'll be able to. School takes up nearly all my time now, and—"

"It's okay," Isobel said. "Only a suggestion. Although I have no doubt that she'd take you up on the offer if you were to propose it."

Minerva giggled from her seat at the table. "I'm sure she would," Eleanor agreed.

~•~

Eleanor awoke in a cold place, nausea overwhelming her senses as if her feet weren't touching the ground just a moment ago. There was no snow, no frost, but the chill of the air nipped at her skin, exposed in her night robes.