It was the next day when Minerva woke up on an unfamiliar bed. She was naked, sweaty, sticky... and the air in the room, which had had a sweet, intoxicating scent the night before, now smelled unapologetically of sex. A lot of sex.
Her body ached, but it was a good, warm ache... and at the same time, it made her feel more relaxed than she had in years. However, as she woke, the memories of the previous day arranged themselves in her mind like a cold punch.
She sat up abruptly, alarmed, and only then felt another body next to hers: young, firm arms were naturally wrapped around her. Tom was there, pressed against her, looking at her... though Minerva didn't know if he had been awake for a while or if he had just watched her move.
"Good morning..." he murmured, clinging a little tighter and rubbing against her like a cat seeking attention.
Minerva didn't respond instantly. She watched him in silence, feeling her heart clench in her chest as the images of the night flashed back, one after another. She nearly hyperventilated.
"Good... morning..." she managed to answer in a broken voice, each word a struggle.
A lump in her throat almost choked her, but she forced herself to calm down. She was not an inexperienced girl; though, perhaps, if she had been, this wouldn't have felt so... uncomfortable. She took a deep breath, cooled her mind, and slowly regained her usual composure. She couldn't afford to lose it. Not now. Not in front of him.
Tom looked at her with bright, almost innocent eyes.
"Normally," he started with a hesitant smile, "at this point, I'd have to say something flattering... you know, like: 'you were incredible,' 'I never met a client like you'... things to boost the ego. But I don't know if that's what you want to hear, and I don't feel like I should do it." He immediately corrected himself, stumbling over the words, "Though that doesn't mean it wasn't great! It was... phenomenal. Possibly the best sex of my life."
Against her will, Minerva felt a pang of warmth and almost a nervous laugh. She didn't know if he meant it or if it was another one of the rehearsed compliments he admitted to using. It was obvious that the boy worked as... that. Suddenly, she didn't know whether to feel sad for the life he led or annoyed at being, to him, just another woman. Another story he would forget in weeks.
But she chased those thoughts away. They were emotions too juvenile, typical of the imbalance she still felt in her slightly rejuvenated body. They would pass with time.
She tried to get up; even though everything had already happened, remaining naked next to someone much younger than her generated guilt and discomfort. But Tom grabbed her arm and pulled her back onto the bed with a sudden movement.
"Don't go yet!" he exclaimed with a flash of desperation. Then he seemed to realize what he had done and instantly let go. "I'm sorry... I just... I wanted to know if... you wanted to stay a little longer. Here. With me."
He said the last word in a whisper, looking down, almost like a child afraid of his mother leaving.
Minerva wanted to leave. She wanted to run away and forget what happened, to erase that stain she knew would never completely disappear. But seeing him like this, vulnerable, something inside her softened. The almost maternal impulse to comfort him, to give him the affection he seemed desperately to need, was born.
Under the excuse that her body was still tired, she lay back down... though she covered herself with the blankets to hide some of her nudity.
The silence that followed was awkward. Tom looked at her with open devotion while she tried to pretend she didn't notice his presence. But every time their eyes met, the memories of the night before hit her full force. She couldn't believe the side of herself she had shown... or everything she had done with someone so young.
Tom finally wrapped his arms around her again, resting his head on her chest. His lips brushed her nipple, causing a small, involuntary squeak.
"Tom! No!" she said quickly.
He pulled away but didn't release her. He lowered his head like a scolded dog, looking at her with confusion, waiting for her to tell him what to do.
That image shook her heart. That confused boy, so obedient, dependent, almost seeking guidance... reminded her too much of her students. And at the same time, it reawakened that dominant tingling.
But she restrained herself. She wrapped a single arm around Tom, pulled him into a simple embrace—an embrace he clearly needed—and made it clear with her posture that there would be nothing more than that.
A strange moment. Intense. And, for Minerva, dangerously close to something she didn't want to acknowledge.
There was another silence, but this time it wasn't awkward. It was warm, almost harmonious. Minerva would never admit it aloud, but she felt comfortable. Too comfortable. Having that young body in her arms, feeling his warmth, the tranquility it brought her... it was a dangerous sensation. If it had been another person, someone her age, perhaps she would have allowed that moment to linger. Perhaps she would have enjoyed it freely.
But she couldn't. Or at least, that's what she kept repeating to herself.
Finally, she understood that she couldn't allow herself to be enveloped by that complacency. She needed to talk. To know who Tom really was. Yes, he was a prostitute with whom she had spent—though she didn't want to admit it—the most passionate night of her life. And yet, he was a complete stranger. Nothing could erase what happened, nothing could ease her regret... but perhaps she could understand him a little more. Besides, the curiosity inside her was growing uncontrollably.
She started with simple questions. Innocent ones. Questions that wouldn't immediately make her feel like a despicable woman.
But the answers... the answers squeezed her heart.
"I don't know... my life is this brothel."
"I live here. We have rooms when we're not working."
"Family? I suppose the staff is the closest thing to that."
"I hardly go out. I'm usually very solicited, so I have to be available all day. I don't get vacations... and even if I did, I wouldn't know what to do with them. I only know how to do this."
Minerva watched him as he spoke. In Tom, she saw something more: a boy who could become much more than a gigolo, if only he had had the chance. He stirred a painful mix of compassion, tenderness... and that protective instinct she usually reserved for her students. Perhaps even more, after all they had shared.
"And why did you want to save up so much money?" she finally asked. She remembered how insistent he had been at the beginning, the very reason why everything ended as it did. But she didn't blame him. She was the adult. She had yielded.
Tom fell silent, surprised. Then he looked away into the distance before answering.
"To retire... maybe. In reality, I don't know how to do anything other than satisfy my clients' lust. So living here seems the most appropriate for me. But I know I can't do this my whole life." His voice became serious. Too serious for someone so young. "There's a beautiful, hidden place where the werewolves live. That's where the boss, Andra, is from. It has everything. And I would like... someday, to live there. Buy a small house, plant vegetables, flowers... have a pet," he added with a shy, almost ashamed smile. "But well, they are just fantasies of a young prostitute."
Minerva looked at him with a mix of compassion and affection that she tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress. That this boy, buried in such a harsh occupation, dreamed of something so simple and pure moved her deeply.
Throughout the conversation, she tried to maintain an emotional distance, reminding herself that getting attached to someone she wouldn't see again would be an unnecessary blow for her. But it became increasingly difficult to hold that barrier. It was impossible not to imagine him outside that brothel, living his dream, free. Just as impossible as not imagining, too, how his body was used night after night so that dream could take shape.
And at that instant, Minerva understood something uncomfortable: that intimate, silent, and almost affectionate talk in bed was much more dangerous—more devastating—than all the wild sex they had shared the night before.
Her mind, which had managed to stay firm just minutes before, was now trembling again.
But every moment must end. Tom knew it. He couldn't keep McGonagall, no matter how much he wished to.
"I know you have to leave... And as your one-night toy, I have no right to stop you. But... I would like to make you happy one more time." His hand slid under the sheets, finding the warm softness between her legs. He stroked her delicately. "For staying a little longer with me... Don't worry about the cost. This is something I want to do for you."
Minerva shuddered at the feeling, a gasp escaping her mouth, but she still took his wrist and pulled his hand away with a trembling decision. She had to leave before losing control again. She couldn't stay next to Tom. Like it or not, he awakened something dark in her.
"It's alright... your company already made me happy," she managed to say as she got up, trying not to look at him. She feared that a single glance into those eyes would make her turn back.
She felt Tom's gaze traveling over her naked body as she bent down to pick up her wand and her robes. Her underwear had been destroyed the night before, so she wouldn't be able to wear anything underneath. The sensation of the fabric against her bare skin excited her dangerously, accelerating her heart; another reminder that she needed to flee this place as quickly as possible. This place was corrupting her.
"Will you... come back?" Tom asked from the bed.
Minerva was already at the door. Her hand on the doorknob. She stopped. She turned her face slightly. Tom was looking at her, wrapped in the sheets, like a child clinging to a dream.
"It doesn't matter if you don't have money... or if you don't want to pay. I will find time to see you for free," he said shyly. "I just want to spend more time with you. With you, sex is... different. It's warm... not just in the body... but also here," he touched his chest.
Minerva felt panic hit her. She couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't destroy his illusion. The knot in her throat was unbearable.
"Thank you for everything... I hope you fulfill your dream," she whispered, almost tearfully, before opening the door and leaving.
As soon as she closed it, she leaned back against it, panting. She felt awful. She hadn't imagined she could become so attached to an unknown young man that she wouldn't dare tell him she would never return. Something wasn't right. This wasn't natural. It was as if a subtle magic had manipulated her emotions, her judgment... her whole self was in chaos since she had stepped foot in this place.
She had to leave. She had to return to her office, rest, think. She quickened her pace through the empty corridors, hoping no one would see her. Last night, she had been indifferent to being seen... but now, she truly knew what she had done. And the shame crushed her.
Her body reminded her of everything, too: every step hurt, a slight limp betrayed her.
Crossing the main, almost empty hall, she only found Andra, drinking her morning tea.
"I hope you enjoyed our services. Come back soon," the woman said, with a wicked smile.
Minerva felt her face burn. She didn't respond. She didn't stop. She just crossed the door and vanished from the place.
Shortly after, Tom entered the room and transformed into a red-haired young man.
"I hope you enjoyed it," Andra said, bowing to him.
"Very much, actually. Thank you for notifying me. I wouldn't have missed it," he replied, calmly adjusting his clothes. "You've done your job well. If you want something as a reward, ask for it."
"I have already been rewarded with the honor of serving you," Andra replied.
"Let me know if she comes back... or if anything similar happens. Let the story of 'Tom' be known by the staff, make it seem real. I don't want her to discover it was a lie. I feel we will see her around here again."
And then, the young man's body dissolved, dissipating like fog.
Andra was left alone, smiling with the satisfaction of a task accomplished.
...
I couldn't believe he had succeeded.
When I studied divination, I tried to foresee who the next woman destined to join my future harem would be... or with whom I would have a significant encounter. I had assumed it would be one of the girls at Hogwarts. However, fate pointed to McGonagall.
I wanted to try something, and I tried to force a prophecy. To play with the force of "Destiny." A risky maneuver. Dangerous. But I succeeded: I intensified the prophecy, I shaped destiny just a little... enough to secure the encounter.
The cost was enormous, and the sensation was... unsettling.
I had played with fate. And by doing so, something had shifted.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Something is coming... Something bad. A consequence for having changed what shouldn't be changed. And I wouldn't take long to find out.
My real self would face it this very day at Castelobruxo.