My 7th year passed too quickly- like water through my fingers. I was the top student in my class, a Transfigurations genius. I spent all nights in Albus's classroom- studying and practising, again, and again, and again, until that memorable May night.

For it was in May- the 11th of May, that I, Minerva Héloise McGonagall, became an Animagus.

And Albus Dumbledore's mistress.

My first Transfiguration came very suddenly- I had almost given up my hopes in succeeding before my graduation, but all of a sudden, I was gone, and there stood a small, sliver-grey tabby cat…

I Transfigurated back immediately- and Albus's arms were around me. It was perhaps meant as a friendly hug- probably- to congratulate his star pupil, but our lips found each other and we were locked.

Locked together, melted together, one. Union.

We tried to fight it.

He, because he felt guilty in "seducing" a student. Oh, Albus, my love, how could you have been so naïve? As if Minerva McGonagall ever was a girl to be "seduced"… Still, he felt guilty, I knew. But I, and he, also knew that that did not matter. We were love- we did not feel love, we were love in its purest, most magical form. When his arms encircled me…

But there was also Tom.

For I felt guilty too. Tom, my love, you were the snake where I was a lioness. We were fire- fire and fire bonded together in one flame. And how could I betray you? How could my feelings be so double? How could I love Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle- already his greatest opposite by then- with one and the same heart?

But that same heart had been torn long ago.
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Albus kissed me, Tom kissed me- and I, I, ever-practical, did not know what to do!

Minerva Héloise McGonagall did not know what to do.

I recall I remembered the fate of the woman who had given me her name as my middle name. Héloise, She With The Torn Heart. Héloise.

I had read her story as soon as I was old enough to be able to read.

Héloise- a torn woman. In another way than me, perhaps, but still. She too had loved a man despite she knew better than to love him. Abélard and Héloise. Héloise and Abélard.

Albus and Minerva. Minerva and Albus.

Minerva and Tom. Tom and Minerva.
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I lived my life, years after Hogwarts- an Auror first, then a Professor. Tom grew darker and darker- I kept visiting him, though. When he held me, he was not Lord Voldemort. At least so I told myself over and over again until I started to believe it.

But through everything, I remained Albus's friend, lover, mistress.

He didn't know about Tom. He knew I visited him. He did not like Tom, but what could he do, after all? I was not his wife- I was not even officially his consort. Marriage had just- never happened between us. For both our safety, probably. Albus had many enemies.

Tom was one of them.

When Albus walked in on us, I proposed to leave him. It was mere selfishness from my side. I agree on that. But still- some part of me still capable of rational thinking realized- or seemed to realize- this was the best for both of us. He was so hurt. I read his eyes, I saw tears sliding down his already wrinkled cheeks. When he reached out for my hand- yes, that noble was he, I turned away.

It ripped my heart apart.
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And then later on- at the quarters we had secretly shared for almost five years.

I had grabbed my things together and I was standing at the door.

"Stay." he said.

"Stay." he begged.

I turned my back to him and I ran away. I heard him cry. I didn't stop. It hurt so much to leave him. But I had to go.

He called me.

He.

Tom.

A/N: The story of Héloise

Héloise was a young French girl who, in the 11th century, fell in love with a famous theologian, Pierre Abélard. He could not marry her- it would have ruined his carrier and her uncle would not approve of it after he had caught them in a rather compromising situation. Eventually, they did marry, but not because they wanted to- just because Héloise was pregnant. Their child was adopted eventually.

To keep their relationship a secret- Héloise became a nun and Abélard became a monk.

Héloise's uncle, who had taken care of her after her parents' death, was very angry because of the "dishonour" of his niece, and hired men to attack Abélard and castrate him. They succeeded, and the relationship of Abélard and Héloise grew platonic. They hardly saw each other again- Abélard had most probably ditched her for his career.

It's a very beautiful, but sad story.

This has not much to do with M. McGonagall's story, but Héloise has become, over the ages, a symbol of true and indestructible love, and isn't that what Minerva Héloise McGonagall is searching for?