House. Slytherin.

Category. Bonus.

Prompts. Slytherin: Season: Autumn/Fall, [Speech] "Is 'No' a foreign word to you?", [Romantic Pairing] Rodolphus Lestrange and Minerva McGonagall

Word Count. 743

oO0Oo

It was good to be back at Hogwarts. It was even better to know that, he, Rodolphus Lestrange, was finally a seventh year. Although the snake and skull burned into his forearm spoke eloquently as to his plans after graduation, Rodolphus wasn't certain that was what he wanted to do. His parents were preparing his betrothal to Bellatrix Black, but he knew she wasn't the one for him.

He took a deep breath of the fresh fall air as he stepped off the Hogwarts Express. It was a rainy day, and the constant drizzle was beginning to wear on his nerves; nevertheless, he had a mission. Since fifth year, only one witch had held his heart. From the first Transfiguration class she'd taught him, Rodolphus had been utterly besotted: Minerva McGonagall, Professor though she was, outclassed any pureblood witch he knew. She was a halfblood, but she was markedly more sane than Bellatrix Black. However, he knew Minerva opposed his Lord.

He wished he could say he had ignored the witch and devoted himself entirely to his Lord; however, that was not the case. For the past two years, he had held a part of himself back from the Death Eaters, wanting to keep his hands as clean as possible for Minerva, but that could not continue. Sometime this year, his Lord would command him to make the ultimate sacrifice for the cause, and when that happened, Rodolphus could not afford to be undecided. He had to talk to Minerva immediately. Turning to his mates, he said, "I'll see you guys at the feast."

Avery raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing. The rest gave no indication they had heard him, but they must have, for they didn't speak as they headed toward the castle. Once his classmates were out of sight, Rodolphus strode towards the Black Lake. Like every other year, Minerva McGonagall was taking the first-years across the lake. He walked up to her, his heart pounding. This was it. This was the moment of truth. His future hinged on her next words. "I'd like to ride across the lake with you," he said.

"That is not possible," she said after a half-beat, her voice short and clipped. She squinted at him in the darkness. "Mister Lestrange, the boats are for first-years. As you are not a first year, please walk with the rest of the students to the castle."

Rodolphus shook his head. "You misunderstand. I will be riding across the lake with you. I have something important to tell you." He had to tell her. Couldn't she see the desperation in his eyes? Didn't she have even the smallest inkling of what he wanted to say?

She pursed her lips. "Mister Lestrange, it seems I must repeat myself. You shall not be riding across the lake."

She didn't seem to care about him. Rodolphus knew it shouldn't wound him, yet it did... "But Minerva-"

"You shall address me as 'Professor'," she snapped, her eyes flashing. "Mister Lestrange, is 'no' a foreign word to you? You may not ride across the lake. Especially not with me."

Rodolphus felt bitter rage bubbling up within him, and it was with considerable effort that he forced himself to turn away from Minerva. "I see," he said, his voice low. "I shall not bother you again. My apologies, Professor McGonagall."

He stormed away. Minerva didn't want him. She would never see him as more than a Slytherin, or even more than a student, even though she was only six years his senior. This was the beginning of the end. If Minerva didn't want him, there was no point in resisting the Dark Lord. There was nothing left to do. When the time came, he would make the decision that was required of him, consequences be damned.

At the thought, he felt a chill. So far he had only dabbled in the cold cruelty the Dark Lord commanded; however, he now saw a long, bleak winter stretched before him. His time spent in autumn, where he could still feel the summer's warmth, were quickly coming to an end. He would miss Hogwarts.

He knew that one day, while torturing muggles and alongside his insane wife, he would look back upon this time of his life with nostalgia. Although Minerva had rejected him, he had still been a fairly honorable man. Yet he knew that in ten, twenty years, that would no longer be the case.