Disclaimer: Once again, Harry Potter is not mine and I am making no money from this.

A/N: This chapter is not based in any way on the previous two, it is an independent work based on the request of Mia, who asked for a Lucius-McGonagall sexual pairing while she was his teacher. Please read and enjoy!

Conversion

"The son of Abraxas Malfoy would be a valuable asset," Voldemort said idly. His solitary listener did not reply, waiting for the rest of the statement in an easy silence, knowing that to volunteer information before the self-styled lord finished his thinking would only irritate him. "The father, unfortunately, staunchly upholds the Ministry. I suppose allowing those of impure blood at all levels of government broadens the field for his roving eye." A beat, and then, "You are in contact with the boy?"

"Of course," came the affirmative reply.

"Can you deliver him?"

"Will you have the patience to wait for him?" the shorter, slender figure responded swiftly, almost brightly, as if dangling a much desired sweet in front of a child. It spoke volumes of this follower's station that Voldemort neither lifted his wand or even his eyebrow at this borderline-impertinent behavior.

"You know me too well to ask that question," Voldemort answered. "I am made of patience. How long will it take?"

"Two or three years. The boy is in his fourth year. I can ensure that by his graduation, he will be ready to take your Mark."

The lord nodded, and his hooded follower likewise tilted their head, acknowledging the silently given command. "When you deliver him, you can ask for anything you wish. I will wait."

888

"What are we waiting for?" Franklin Nott's impatient voice floated back to Lucius Malfoy and Walden Macnair as they stood on the stairwell, the blond absorbed in watching a female figure with a long sheet of black hair and an easy, feline grace to her footsteps, Walden staring at his friend with a mixture of amusement and pity.

"He's obsessed," he muttered to their third friend as Frank re-mounted the staircase. The thin, dark-haired seventh-year tossed a glance at the object of Lucius' yearnings, rolled his eyes, and slapped the pale boy on the back, the sound ringing against the stones.

"She's a prof. No point in going for her."

"She's a challenge," Lucius said speculatively, his grey eyes still locked on their target, "Not everyone could sleep with a professor."

"Who'd want to? Other than McGonagall, they're all old bats."

"Or men," Frank swiftly added with a faint shudder. "Can you imagine Flitwick-?"

"And it's illegal," Walden reminded him, volume rising in an attempt to drown out the third member of their triad, as if stopping the voice could also erase the sudden influx of unwanted images – most of them involving Professor Dumbledore in his underwear and various positions from the Kama Sutra. Lucius flipped a long-fingered hand carelessly.

"Who would know? And I'm not talking about Professor Sprout or Slughorn or any of the others," Lucius continued, eliciting pained groans from his listeners. "I amtalking about McGonagall. She's not like anyone else. Sleeping with her would be…different."

"Why? 'Cause you've had all the rest already?" Frank sniggered. Walden laughed with him, but Lucius ignored them both, gazing after the older witch until she had rounded the corner and vanished from view.

"And I don't suppose it bothers you that she's literally twice your age?" Walden pressed as they continued their interrupted journey down the stone stairs and towards the Great Hall for lunch.

"I read somewhere that women peak sexually at thirty-six," Lucius replied smugly. "But guys peak at eighteen, so I would say we're perfectly matched."

"Except that she's your Transfiguration teacher. And the Head of Gryffindor, which was, last I checked, our rival house."

"That just makes it more interesting," Lucius answered, and Walden halted in his tracks to give his best friend a hard look. Lucius had been eyeing Minerva McGonagall for over a year, and it wasn't at all difficult to see why. Though in her mid-thirties, the unbroken waterfall of raven hair that fell to her waist was untouched by grey, her lithe, tall figure unstretched by childbirth and unmarked by age lines. And she carried herself with a grace that the young women they shared classes with lacked, teenage uncertainty still too recent for them to already have the poise and dignity of a woman grown.

Nor was Lucius her only admirer – either in Slytherin or the other Houses of Hogwarts – but today, in his mischievous tone and the brightness of his cloud-colored eyes, Walden could see that Lucius was thinking about more than quietly lusting after her. He was thinking about acting, which could only end in disaster.

"Lucius? Are you out of your mind? You can't actually go for her."

"Why not?" Lucius had indeed worked his way through every sixth and seventh year in Slytherin and Ravenclaw over the past two years, and many of the Gryffindors. He was often heard to sneer that he would never touch a Hufflepuff on principle – a condition that apparently did not extend to their teachers. Walden ground his teeth. While Lucius was accustomed to the girls of their own age group fawning over him, the other boy very much doubted a teacher would feel the same way, and though Lucius had charmed several girls that Walden and Frank had both claimed would never look at him, Walden was sure a professor was well beyond the reach of their flamboyant friend.

"She could have you expelled for approaching her," he hissed.

"Not if I do it in the right way," Lucius said cockily, and strode onward into the hall, where, for the sake of discretion, the conversation had to be over.

"He's lost his mind," Frank muttered, shooting a glance Walden. The other boy nodded his head sharply before following their friend. What on earth would possess Lucius to do this now, thoroughly endangering his academic career, only six months from their graduation?

888

Minerva kept her head deliberately bent to her desk, though she could feel the heat of the gaze on the back of her neck. His glance had changed in the past two weeks, lust firing openly in the grey eyes, and she smiled to herself as she carefully marked one of the papers of her lower years, excitement fomenting in the bottom of her stomach. She had laid this path stone by stone for the past three years, knowing that at this critical age of self and sexual discovery, that which was taboo was often most desired, and she had taken great care to make herself desirable. Her considerable natural beauty was easily enhanced by robes that covered everything while clinging to the right places, by the hair she wore unbound like a maiden, by the enchantment for her eyes that made her glasses unnecessary.

Combined with the grace granted by her Animagus form and her quiet, confident skill as a witch, these traits were an undeniable allure for the young men of Hogwarts – especially those who counted themselves conquerors in all arenas containing a bed.

And the son's appetite for pleasures of the flesh was as vast as the father's, Abraxas' example of flagrant infidelity a model Minerva had relied on Lucius to follow. Halfway through his fifth year, rumors began to reach her, and even as her mouth had murmured about "moral laxness" and "the depraved state of youth" with the rest of the staff, she had felt a shaft of relief and triumph that her assumption had been correct.

For Lucius would tire of the girls who came with little or no resistance to his bed, and then turn his attentions to that which was nigh impossible to attain, seeking the challenge that all men of his kind needed. As his professor, not only tradition but law forbade him from touching her – and these facts, far from being a deterrent, merely added spice to the dish, an element of real danger to the chase.

She smirked as she dipped her quill into her inkpot again, the feeling of his eyes following her graceful movement prickling in her skin. With the right words, the right touch, the right glance, he would follow her into Hell to get what he wanted.

She intended to lead him there.

888

Walden saw his friend's wand almost too late. He lunged for Lucius' right arm, knocking the wood aside before a curse could land on its third-year target. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "McGonagall is still in there!" The younger Gryffindors were emerging from their Transfiguration class, oak door still wide open, allowing their professor a clear view of the corridor.

"I know! Get off!" Lucius snapped, thrusting his friend of many years away from him angrily.

Fortunately, they moved in one huge pack, bottlenecking in the hallway like so many lemmings rushing out to sea. Lucius had been hoping to peg Sirius Black – the boy was too cheeky by half to his elders and betters – between the shoulders. Walden's interference had put the boy and his bratty companions on the other side of the crowd. But hitting Black would have merely been a bonus, and any curse he fired now would hit someone in the constant stream of people.

And then…detention. With Minerva McGonagall.

He muttered the Jelly-Legs Jinx under his breath and swept his wand to widen its range, making three Gryffindor girls go wobbly, tripping over one another and their classmates. It was a matter of seconds before half the class was in some state of disarray, most of them piled on the floor and furiously blaming each other.

The commotion brought their teacher, all strict commands and no-nonsense demeanor, into the hallway, as Lucius had known it would. "Mr. Levin, Mr. Kander and Mr. Asling, get up off the ground. Miss Fairchild, Miller and Njus, what happened?"

There was some additional racket assigning fault to this or that party before a ringing voice cut from the other side of the throng.

"Malfoy did it!"

Thank you, Black. At least you have some uses. Trust a Gryffindor to hand the blame to a convenient Slytherin any day.

Her gaze turned down the hall for the first time to take in Lucius, lounging some ten yards distant. Walden and Frank had made themselves scarce when McGonagall had appeared, and the cool Slytherin stood on his own, pose deliberately casual as he leaned with one shoulder against the hard granite.

As her dark eyes locked on his, Lucius was startled to see something like mirth ignite there for an instant, and her eyes rake over him, a smirk twitching at one corner of her lips.

And then the moment was over, and the stern taskmistress she had always been was striding towards him. As he stood up indolently, he noted with delight that tall as she was, he was a good six inches taller, and could easily look down at her.

She stopped close to him, so near that when she glanced up, it was through her lashes, and Lucius suddenly had a difficult time breathing. Her tone was not coy, her words were threatening, but that look…

"Mister Malfoy, I asked you a question!" she snapped.

"Er…what?" he wrenched himself back to the situation.

"Why did you find it necessary to hex three students right in front of my door?"

There was no right answer to this question, and there never had been. He resorted to his usual reply and shrugged carelessly, omitting words.

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" The 'all' was almost drawled, and he peered at her closely, wondering what she was daring him to answer.

"Yes, ma'am." He tacked on the title of respect to see her reaction, but it garnered none.

"Well, Mister Cool, since your sense of humor seems to be distinctly lacking in the maturity you should have at your age, I think a detention is in order."

Success!

"Mr. Filch will expect you at eight tonight. Don't be late." She stepped back from him, and in the instant before she turned on her heel, he saw vivid amusement sparkling in her face, telling a different story than exasperated teacher and erring student.

She knew what he wanted, and was deliberately denying him. Lucius controlled the uncharacteristically broad grin that threatened to distort his mouth.

He might have detention with Filch, but she had engaged in the game.

888

"Mister Malfoy, when I ask for three rolls of parchment, two and a line does not make a completed assignment. Ten points from Slytherin," she snapped at the end of their next class as he handed her his homework. He held his breath. She took her subject seriously, but enough so to detain him, or just remove points?

"Professor Sprout has some re-potting to do in Greenhouse Five this evening. You can join her there after dinner. Wear work clothes." Lucius blanched. He hated the physical labor of Herbology – it had been one of the major factors determining that he would not be taking the class after passing his OWL with an 'E'.

She glanced up at him again, and he saw genuine annoyance tainting the dark eyes now. Her next words were so quiet that if he'd sighed he would have missed them. "Don't try to get what you want by neglecting your class work, Malfoy."

888

"He's actually, one-hundred-percent, gone-round-the-twist obsessed," Frank remarked to Walden one evening as they sat in the common room, playing chess and waiting for Lucius to return from yet another detention, this one being served with Kettleburn and one of his breeds of magical creatures. Working with animals was Lucius' seventh level of Hell, preceded only by dealing with flora and scrubbing floors.

Walden grunted vaguely, making a noise that could have been agreement, but his mind was on a conversation he'd had with Lucius just hours ago, after his friend had confided that he would be serving his third detention in the space of ten days.

"Don't you think she just finds you irritating?" Walden asked as they wound their way down to their dungeon House. "I mean, Lucius, I think it's obvious you should shelve it. She's out-of-bounds, and she knows that. Why don't you?"

"Because she's not," Lucius countered with the cheerfulness that had baffled his friend over the past week and a half. Even now, set to serve another three-hour slot doing something he hated, Lucius was more…alive…than he had been for months, energy practically radiating from the boy who had been so flat and completely bored with life at the beginning of the term..

"How in the name of Merlin can you say that?" Walden cried in bewilderment. "She's done nothing but make it crystal clear that she wants nothing to do with you. Hasn't she always given you detentions with other teachers?"

"Yes," Lucius replied smugly. "And she has chosen their order very carefully, starting with what I least like to do. To know my habits takes study and attention, Walden. The kind of attention you don't pay to someone whom you have no interest in."

"You dropped Herbology as soon as you could and never even attempted Care of Magical Creatures," Walden answered, shaking his head. "It doesn't take a genius or even very much attention to remember that and assign punishment accordingly."

"She's interested, trust me," Lucius had responded with confident buoyancy. After which, Walden had surrendered his ambitions of curing his best friend of this fit of madness. Lucius would try something stupid, McGonagall would get angry, his father's money would save Lucius expulsion and scandal, and life would continue as it always had.

But his thinking had taken an abrupt twist as they had sat down to dinner right after their argument, and he had looked up the hall to see a speculative look that wasn't quite a smile passing over their Transfiguration professor's face. He had followed her dark eyes to settle on the finely-shaped profile of the Malfoy Heir.

Protectiveness surged underneath shock as Walden's gaze had flickered back towards their teacher to see an expression he had never imagined gracing her features – a look of ruthless determination, dark eyes hard and predatory.

It was clear that Lucius had caught her interest. Walden was not at all sure that it was the kind of attention his friend wanted.

But Lucius was blind to all except the prize that he saw held out before him, and Walden could not now persuade him to change his mind.

888

"Professor, could you show me that wand movement one more time? I don't think I have it quite right," Lucius asked, standing in front of her desk as the rest of his classmates filed out. Minerva took a moment before lifting her dark head from her paperwork. Lucius had been actively trying to force her hand for almost three weeks, and after a string of detentions served with any teacher but her, he was getting more subtle. His current approach had all the grace of a dropped brick, but at least it was no longer a ton of them.

Minerva deliberately waited until she heard the last footstep echoing from the stone as her students left them alone, Lucius still standing patiently in front of her. He was persistent, she had to give him credit for that.

"Show me," she commanded finally, rising, the persona of his teacher still completely impenetrable. She saw disappointment flare in the grey and contained a snort. Lucius was, after all, accustomed to courting women who came to his bed after one or two encounters. She had built herself to be his unattainable desire, knowing that his need to taste victory would spur him to action – and condition him to obedience.

He flicked his wand and murmured the incantation. Minerva arched an eyebrow at him. He would have it perfect, had he not purposefully added the extra hook at the end of the short motion.

"No hook. Just sweep your wand," she corrected him. He repeated at her nod, hook still present, pillow still unable to sprout the feathers it was supposed to have. Their eyes locked as he looked to her for her reaction, and she to him for his reasoning. For a moment, neither moved, suspended in space as they weighed one another, and Minerva arrived at her first decision.

He had waited long enough.

She swept around her desk, and gently touched the back of his smooth hand with her fingertips, feeling his pulse jump suddenly, his breathing betraying the erratic gallop of his heartbeat.

"Again," she ordered, and he jerkily moved the wand in the correct motion, her light touch stopping the addition he had made specifically to catch her notice. She withdrew her hand with a brief, challenging smile.

"I think you understand it now, Mister Malfoy. Practice it for next class."

888

James Potter came flying down the staircase, books in hand, late once again for his first class: Charms. Skittering around a corner, he ran slap-bang into McGonagall. The older witch was knocked off balance and her armful of books scattered to land on the floor, each with a loud bang! like small bombs going off. Reeling backwards, she found herself supported by someone bearing a spicy, undeniably male scent, and firm, muscular chest. The long hair falling over her shoulders, white-blond striking against the shining black locks of her own strands, betrayed the identity of her helper, and she twisted her head to look into the face of one Lucius Malfoy.

But he was already setting her right on her feet, and her abrupt recognition of his adult masculinity went unnoticed as he smoothly turned to Potter and began lecturing. The younger boy glared at him resentfully, but did not dare talk back with McGonagall standing right in front of them.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for carelessness and tardiness," she snapped as Lucius finished his smug tirade.

"Yes, Professor. Can I go?" Potter begged, his feet already backpedaling towards Flitwick's classroom, where there would surely be a further deduction of points. The little half-goblin professor was kind, but strict, and expected his students to respect him and their classmates by not wasting their time.

"Hurry!" Minerva snapped.

She waved her wand and the books flew back into them, and Lucius added the two he'd picked up to the top of the pile.

They were standing so close together that Lucius could speak quietly, and he pressed one long-fingered hand to her arm as he whispered, "Are you all right? Potter hit you with some force."

"Nothing a quick draught of Bruise-Away won't fix," she answered swiftly, and stepped away from him. Two or three hundred years ago, male teachers had often taken at least one bride from amongst their students, but starting with Armando Dippett early in the century, that practice had been frowned upon, and if someone were to see Lucius touch her here, it would undo what she was trying to accomplish.

"Five points for helping me. But I believe you also have class, Mr. Malfoy." It was not a question, and Lucius knew it. He retreated quickly, safety granted by distance.

888

Minerva smiled as she read Lucius' essay. His interest in her had increased his study of her subject, and the mind that she had not known existed beneath the polished, often spoiled, façade that the son of Abraxas adopted was beginning to flex its formidable muscles in her field. He would never be Hogwarts' best student, but he could have been one of them had he cared to try, and she found his insights and the depth of his research since she had told him off for deliberately short-shrifting an assignment refreshing.

She dipped her quill in ink and scrawled her comments across the bottom of the parchment, along with a reading list and a note. My office hours are on Monday starting at three. I know you don't have class that afternoon.

888

"Let's go shoot some goals," Frank was standing at the end of Lucius' bed, broom in hand. Lucius waved him off, apparently absorbed in reading his textbook.

"Come on, you can do homework later," Walden joined them.

"I practiced Quidditch this morning with the team," Lucius replied, turning a page and not lifting his head. "I really need to get this done."

"What're you reading?" Walden was struck by a sudden suspicion and leaned over his friend, checking for the title at the top of the page. "Modern Animal Transfiguration Technique?" he breathed in disbelief. "Lucius-"

"Go play outside, Walden. I don't see what business it is of yours what I'm reading."

Frank and Walden locked eyes over their oblivious friend. Yes, Lucius had been spending more time in the library to write his essays for McGonagall, but they had never seen him lift a book not required for class and this was advanced learning – definitely not on their lists.

Shaking their heads, the duo tromped out, leaving an absorbed Lucius in their wake.

888

"What did you think?" she asked as she waved him into a large, suede-covered chair, busying herself over a teapot and biscuits.

Lucius had been intrigued to discover that the outer office was only part of the whole. Her professional space was every inch a teacher's domain, set to intimidate the erring or offer comfort to those in need. Minerva had taken him straight through this area, removing a leather-bound volume to make one of the bookcases swing aside to admit them to this much more personal space. The thick carpet under his feet and mahogany coffee table spoke of an inclination towards luxury and he smiled. This room betrayed the lie of her rigidly controlled persona. Minerva McGonagall was no more a Spartan than Dumbledore, with his flashy purple robes and spangled hats and boots, was a vampire.

"Interesting. Linguini has some good theories, but I thought his hogwash about mixing in Muggle String Theory with transfiguration of extremely large or small masses was ridiculous."

"Ah…but Muggle String Theory is still very new, even for the Muggles," she countered, eyes sparkling. "One lump or two?"

"Without sugar. Just cream." The thickness of the falling white told him that it was indeed cream, no milk for this woman, and he smiled at her hedonism. She handed him the cup, allowing her fingers to brush his in a way that could have been accidental and sat back in her own chair.

"And he does have some interesting thoughts on what happens to said large or small mass when you transfigure it," she said, settling back in her seat and making herself just far enough away to be difficult to reach, but close enough that occasionally the smell he had come to know as her own teased him.

888

"Where're you going?" Walden asked as Lucius sprinted past them on his way out of the common room.

"Office hours with McGonagall," he replied shortly as the stone door grated closed behind them.

"Again? He went on Friday. And the week before-"

"And the week before," Frank finished, and wonder sparked in his voice. "I think he might have done it. D'you reckon they're shagging right now?"

"No. He hasn't even gotten to her office yet," Walden pointed out. But it was true that Lucius seemed perilously close to attaining his heart's desire. McGonagall occasionally stood a shade too close to his friend, and he had seen Lucius deliberately reach out to touch her sleeve and get her attention. They were small details, but knowing his friend's attraction and the strange look he had caught on McGonagall's face, they were enough.

"And they haven't slept together yet, either. He's like a dog straining at the leash, jumping to her every whim. He wouldn't be like that if she'd already given in."

888

Minerva narrowed her eyes against the stinging rain and cursed whatever god had placed himself in charge of the weather. Why did Quidditch matches invariably take place in rain, ice or sleet? Even in late March when this final match occurred, she had seen more take place in freezing cold than pleasant warmth.

The precipitation made it harder than usual to see the players – it was Ravenclaw versus Slytherin for the Cup this year – and she strained to see, eyes slotted to protect them the weather, unwilling to truly admit to herself that she was seeking a flash of white-blond, craning her neck to track the lithe body of her seventh-year not-quite-yet-lover.

Who would have thought that under his perfectly kept appearance and aloof demeanor there dwelled a real brain? Not just the pureblood savvy that was requisite for their vicious society – Minerva had been raised in such an atmosphere by a mother rabidly mindful and ferociously prideful of their family's high status – but a genuine intelligence, an ability to absorb, process and discuss academic information. The young man's predilection for finding patterns in the information they discussed was gratifying, and Minerva had found herself sincerely challenged and occasionally stymied in their conversations as they began to range from the field of Transfiguration and delve into others – specifically the Dark Arts, Potions and Charms. Real enjoyment and a sense of partnership in his company were not bonuses she had expected when she had begun laying her plan of seduction three years prior, but they were welcome perks in a game that had, somewhere along the way, become halfway serious.

And the fact that they could also sit arguing over the best Quidditch league twenty years ago (Lucius insisted that Wales had been top and that they had only lost to Norway because of a biased referee in 1954) and debate the comic books of their childhood gave her an enormous sense of ease in his presence. Most of her colleagues endured Quidditch because the students liked it, and had no interest in talking about a match after it had happened. Hooch and Kettleburn were probably the only other two true enthusiasts on the staff, and students were not friends with whom one could happily wrangle with for hours over the details. As for comic books…one of the disadvantages of being the youngest professor by nearly three decades meant that they had been taking their NEWTs when your favorite stories had been published.

She sucked in a breath as he swooped overhead, hurtling the Quaffle far down the pitch, away from his position guarding the goalposts as Keeper of the Slytherin team. The red ball soared through the hands of Richard Davies and into the waiting arms of teammate Donald Parkinson, who threw it straight through a golden hoop.

Even in the pelting rain, it was a clear goal, and the predictable cheers and boos roared, in spite of the sound-absorbing moisture. And as Lucius tilted his head in acceptance of his House's ringing approval, doing a lap around his own triad of goals, Minerva gasped, surging to her feet without her brain's permission.

One of the Ravenclaw Beaters had found a Bludger and swung it squarely in Lucius' direction, intent on revenge. Her shout of warning was swallowed by rain and the clamor still coming from the stands, and she could do nothing but watch as the black cannon-sized ball connected with the back of his head, sending his blond hair flying as he slid towards the front of his broom…came off the handle, and began to fall – limp as a rag doll in his green and silver robes.

888

Minerva peered around the ward, ensuring her privacy before she entered soundlessly. Padding gently across the tiles, patches of moonlight illuminating the hospital, she crossed to the only bed with curtains pulled around it, tossed a glance at Madam Pomfrey's darkened office at the far end, and slid behind them.

Lucius was awake, for his eyelids fluttered open when she brushed aside the sheet hung around him, and he smiled at her wanly.

"How do you feel?" she whispered, one hand extending to close around the arm lying on top of his white linen.

"I'm fine. Madam Pomfrey is quite the expert mediwitch," he replied softly, moving his hand to cover hers, savoring her warmth, the imprint of her smaller fingers and finer bones underneath his larger and rougher palm. White and delicate-seeming Lucius' skin might be, but he played Quidditch, and hours on a broomstick created calluses on and between fingers. Minerva's breath caught as he stroked the back of her hand gently, the light touch sending shivers up her arm and into her spine, like pleasant shocks of electricity.

She backed away abruptly, breaking contact, nervousness making its appearance in her for the first time since she had been a young girl, and the sudden wriggling of her stomach reminded her of how she had felt about a boy then, as well. "Good. I…sleep well, Lucius."

"What, no good-night kiss?" he asked her. The question was meant to be in jest, but it had become serious in the asking, and his grey eyes sought her dark brown, hand extending to re-capture the one she had tugged away just seconds before.

Uncertainty threatened to overcome her as her body swayed willingly forward, and Minerva sternly disciplined herself. Lucius could never have an inkling that he held an ounce of power over her, or the game would be lost. He reveled in having power, but sought to attain more. As long as she remained outside of his control, she would be what he wanted. As soon as he knew he had control, she would fall by the wayside.

"We are in the hospital wing. This place is too exposed," she whispered. Nevertheless, she leaned over him and dropped a kiss on his forehead, treasuring the warmth of his skin under her mouth. She stood briskly and pulled away her hand.

"See you in class," she told him smoothly, the emotionless quality of her voice belying the burning of her mouth where it had touched him, the ache in her fingers to curl around his hand. She withdrew swiftly, knowing that if she stayed she would lose her grip on her already-tenuous self control.

Lucius watched her go, unable to take his eyes from the door long after she had left. His memory conjured the weight and heat of her hand, the petal-soft stroke of her lips…

She had awakened his desire to learn, and he devoured their chosen subjects greedily, surprising himself with a fantastic memory. The girls that had come to his bed had been distractions, metaphorical notches on his bedpost, and even those he had dated briefly had been good for little more than a bit of gossip about teachers and other students, handholding and good shagging.

But this woman…he could talk to her. For hours. About any subject. He still longed to run his hands over her bared skin, to touch every part of her body, but his impatience was tempered by enjoyment, by the blood that sang through him when he looked at her, by the smile he had to fight whenever she neared him in the classroom.

He had never felt this out of his own control before in his life, and it terrified and exhilarated him.

888

Lucius was awakened by rustling next to his bed in Slytherin's dungeon. His hand went beneath his spare pillow, where he kept his wand, only to find that hand trapped by another as they lunged, their body laying partially across him.

It was her. Nostrils long since keyed to her scent, Lucius had no doubts that it was his professor. He felt his heartbeat soar, she hadn't been so close to him in the two weeks since he'd been released from the hospital, and his blood heated. He relaxed the fingers fighting for their freedom, and instead shifted his shoulders, preparing to roll her onto the bed next to him.

"Not now," she breathed, and he felt lips brush against his mouth lightly. By the time his brain had caught up with events enough to react, she had withdrawn and was standing upright again. "Hurry."

"Where are we going?"

"Hogsmeade."

Lucius blinked at this unexpected reply, pulled out his wand and muttered,"Lumos." The light falling on Minerva made it difficult to breathe. She was dressed in robes of pale silver, her over-cloak white and threaded with shimmering patterns. Her black hair spilling over her attire gave her the regal air and look of a queen, and Lucius experienced a moment of fervent thanks that this vision of perfection would even glance his direction.

He quickly seized his robes, dressing hastily as she turned her back, throwing on his green winter cloak. It might be halfway through April, but the snows had stayed late this year and the ground was still thick with ice. He pulled on gloves, scarf and hat, and even as he pushed his last finger into place, she seized his hand and started out of his dormitory, making his first strides jerky and uncoordinated.

Down the staircase, through the deserted common room – Lucius chanced a glance at the clock, silver gleaming sullenly in the glow emitted by the dying fire and saw that it was nearly three a.m. He silently thanked the gods that it was a Saturday, as sleep no longer seemed to be part of the night's plan.

She did not relinquish his hand as they hurried through the darkened corridors, cutting across the many narrow shortcuts that riddled the castle to get to the entrance hall and out the side door that Kettleburn always used to get to the grounds. As he was led through passage after passage in pitch blackness, Lucius focused on the smell of her perfume, the pressure of her fingers, on the heat he could feel pooling between their palms – even encased in their gloves.

And then they were standing on open snow, scampering across the lawn like two children running away from their parents, the wind ripping across their faces and sending their clothes flying out behind them. Their arms extended, hands still intertwined as they ran, Lucius glanced at her to see Minerva laughing freely as they reached the huge iron gates, excitement brightening her eyes. His heart squeezed as the wind streamed through her hair, whipping it around her head to get up her nose and in her mouth.

When they were through the gate, out of the sight of the castle and on the road to Hogsmeade, they slowed down, and he chanced a question. "What are we going to do?"

She grinned at him mischievously, strict teacher forsaken, the woman emerging from the shell of professor. "You'll see when we get there."

Both of his eyebrows rose. "Sneaking students out to Hogsmeade in the middle of the night? Who knew that Minerva McGonagall, staunch follower of Albus Dumbledore and upholder of Authority would be such a rule breaker?" He was teasing her, but at the mention of Dumbledore, something hard flashed in her face. He looked at her quizzically, but her features had smoothed into their placid cast and part of him was already convinced he had imagined it.

"Hmmm, yes," she recovered adroitly. "Only for some students." The smile curving her mouth was both coy and inviting at the same time, and Lucius forgot to worry about Dumbledore as he tugged at the hand he was holding, pulling her off balance and into his arms, their breath close enough to mingle as it condensed in the frosty air.

Months of wanting piled with a year of waiting to make their first kiss an explosion of desperation. Heedless of the cold air creeping through his clothes, Lucius buried his hands in her hair, holding her to him as he gained entry to her mouth with his tongue, a thrill racing up his back as she returned his kiss, passion rising to meet passion underneath the frost-gilded canopy.

Adrenaline surged through Minerva as her hands found the planes of his face, drifted over his neck and wrapped around him. She had thought herself prepared and appropriately detached for this necessary step, only to find it consuming her – no longer the calculating fisher, but one of the prey, trapped in a net of her own devising. She sought to undo the top row of buttons on his outer cloak while keeping her mouth accessible, fighting to get closer to him, needing to feel the muscled frame that she knew was at the heart of the woolen bulk.

"Don't you think we ought to be doing this somewhere a little warmer?" he whispered in her ear when he had disengaged for need of air. The puff of his breath sent a chill of pleasure straight down her spine, and Minerva almost turned around to take them straight back to the castle.

But that was not her objective tonight. She withdrew slightly and closed her eyes, willing her aroused body to calm, to release the sensations he had immediately stirred and the wanting that was eating her alive.

When she knew she had control of at least her voice, she opened her eyes again. "Later," she told him, smiling mysteriously. She resumed possession of his hand and continued leading him towards the village in silence.

They skirted the town and instead came to a small lake on its outskirts. Even into spring, the surface gleamed with the thick, dense light of heavy ice. A whispered Transfiguration spell made Lucius feel slightly unsteady on his feet, like the soles of his shoes had become long and thin.

"Catch me if you can!" Minerva dared, pushing away from him and out onto the lake…skating. And without needing to look down, Lucius knew that he also had the sharp blades on the bottom of his feet, and he fearlessly followed her, legs pumping in long strokes to capture her, spinning her around and tightening his stance to spin faster as he brought her close to him.

"How did you know I ice skate?" he murmured as they came to a halt.

"As your teacher, I have made it my personal duty to know everything about you, Lucius Malfoy," she said, her voice mock stern. She planted both hands on his chest and shoved off again, sending them both backwards until she deftly turned her body around and continued gliding smoothly over the ice.

This time, Lucius waited before following, shifting his wait from one skate to the other to keep himself upright, watching her greedily. Her natural grace transferred well to the frozen world, and her robes sparkled like the snow banks surrounding them, making her look as if she had been molded from them and given the breath of life. He felt that he could spend the rest of his life simply observing her movement, the curve of her body against the air, the stride of her legs over the ice.

Snow began to fall, thick flakes landing in her hair and studding the midnight black with pure white stars. Lucius felt happiness fill him and spill over, and he felt his heart might burst with the effort of containing uncontaminated joy. He chased her until they were both breathless from the effort of laughing and moving at the same time, at which point he wrapped his arms around her and their legs moved in unison across the lake, their bodies folded together against wind.

Minerva relaxed into him, resting on his hip as he lifted her from the ice, inscribing a large circle around the pond, supporting the weight of both of them.

"I love you," he breathed in her ear, pressing his mouth to the back of her neck as he settled her gently back to the hard surface. Minerva twisted her head to gaze at him and saw the truth in his grey eyes.

And her mouth answered the emotion radiating from him, saying the words she had never thought would cross her lips again. "I love you, too."

The snow continued to fall over them as they slowly skated over the pond, each only aware of the other, ignoring the rest of the night as it moved towards dawn, the sky gradually lightening to a dull grey under the clouds still spitting flecks of white. When they stepped back into snow and her wand made boots of their skates once more, Lucius extended one long arm, tucking her next to him as they crept happily back towards the sleeping castle.

Though he had been awake all night, Lucius felt none of the exhaustion he would have expected, only the heady rush of pleasure threaded with adrenaline as she allowed him to kiss her once more before they passed through the gates and parted. He knew the grin on his face was an expression he had never before worn, but couldn't quite care that it was hardly befitting the dignity he always wrapped around himself.

Lucius Malfoy was eighteen years old and in love for the first time.

888

As his quill hit the desk, completing his last NEWT, Lucius rose and stretched. His twice-weekly office hours with Minerva had better prepared him for his Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests better than the thick books published precisely for that purpose – guaranteed to help you beat the best scores over the last century, all for the very agreeable sum of fifteen Galleons. After delving into most of the subjects with his Transfiguration professor, the young man had found the rigorous exams easier than his OWLs.

Even now, his mouth softened as he thought of her and he stiffly repressed the smile that threatened to betray his line of thought. There was a week left of school to relax and enjoy the warm weather, and immediately following his graduation, he would be free to carry Minerva off to the Wiltshire Manor to meet his parents. He had no doubt as to gaining their approval – she was a witch from a pure line, beautiful and intelligent, and the young man who had sneered at the thought of marriage less than six months before was now mentally reviewing the London jewelers of high enough quality to fashion her engagement ring.

He strode from the hall, wrapped so deeply in thoughts of silver and gold, rubies and emeralds, that he didn't notice either Walden or Frank lift their heads or exchange worried glances. Lucius' preoccupation had been obvious for the past two months, and the blond's lifelong friends were worried that the traditional game of aristocratic men had turned into that which always spelled destruction: love. Walden had glanced at Lucius' bedside table and glimpsed lists of expensive robe makers, caterers and flower specialists from the best that London's wizarding society had to offer and concern had sharpened to intense alarm.

These were not the people one contacted for wooing, they were the creators of weddings. Expensive, high-class, pureblood weddings.

But Lucius remained deaf as ever to that which did not suit his purpose, and Walden couldn't persuade him to listen.

888

Lucius fidgeted nervously as he waited to see the object of his desires coming through the trees. He had graduated that morning, shaken Dumbledore and the rest of his professors – including her – firmly by the hand, and gone with the rest of his classmates to pack his trunks for the Hogwarts Express.

But she had pressed a crumpled piece of parchment into his fingers as they met in front of the whole school, and he had unfolded it to find the following missive: Don't leave on the Hogwarts Express. Meet me in the Forbidden Forest behind the gamekeeper's cottage at 7:00 p.m.

And here he was, five minutes early, and waiting, nervousness mounting. Outside of her office hours, in which she had insisted they mostly talk instead of snog, he had seen little of her ever since their evening in Hogsmeade. He had been worried that she might expect their flirtation to be over now that he was graduating, but surely she would not have bid him stay if she wanted it to be over…

There! Weaving through trunks slathered in summer moss came a figure-

-it was Minerva, and Lucius' eyes widened in surprise. She was wearing a robe of thick, tomb-dark black that gave her an eerie, deadly air. The color was completely unlike the varying shades of red she usually wore while teaching, and the jewel-tones that fitted her frame on weekends. The black eyes fastened on him looked slightly feral in the gleaming golden light of late evening, and Lucius wondered if it was so, or a trick of his mind born of her unsettling attire.

"Minerva?" he said hesitantly.

She smiled at him, and though it was genuine, its radiance was tarnished by – was that fear? – and Lucius stepped towards her, forcibly overcoming his gut instinct not to touch her midnight robes to thread his arms around her waist and pull her to him.

"What is it?" he asked her.

"We're going to meet someone," she told him, and though her voice was steady, Lucius could hear trepidation and tightened his hold.

"Who? What's wrong?"

Minerva felt her heart squeeze at his sincere worry, and swallowed, hard. She was not supposed to love him. This was not supposed to hurt.

But she had grown to know him in the past six months better than she had ever dreamed she would, and she knew from the jolting in her chest and the dreams and the way her eyes followed him irresistibly whenever he entered her line of sight that she did indeed love him. And for one, wild instant, she contemplated breaking her oath to her lord.

But Voldemort had promised her anything she wanted when Lucius was delivered…

Making her decision, she stepped out of his arms and rolled up her left sleeve. She had never bared her arms in the vicinity of Hogwarts since taking the Mark. Glamours covered it well most of the time, but if the magic failed, it would be a fatal mistake. Murmuring the spell that counteracted the cover enchantment, she watched her seemingly-smooth skin ripple, shimmer and change.

Lucius stared as the lividly red Dark Mark appeared on Minerva's wrist, appearing to erupt from her flesh on command. He knew this sign, knew his father railed against it and the man who had created it. He had heard rumors of torture and murder, of racism, eugenics and radical ideals. That this woman who could debate the use of Potions in animal transfiguration while beating him at wizard's chess, who had read The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle and who cozily argued about Quidditch in her sitting room also bore this mark literally rocked his world, and Lucius felt abruptly lost, a small boat jerked free of its tether to fight towering waves.

Minerva watched the storm of emotion cross his face, praying that her honesty had not cost her both his love and her lord's pleasure, for between them, they composed the two most important things in her world.

"You want me to meet him," Lucius finally said, his voice low and stressed.

"Yes. He has been eager to see you for some time."

"I see." The coldness in his tone told her that he was putting it all together, and he took another step away from her, putting himself out of the reach of her hands. The bitterness in his voice betrayed immense pain as he said, "So. All of this was an elaborate plan to trick me into going with you quietly."

It was not a question, and the protest against his assumption that rose to her lips was a lie that Minerva strangled. If she lied to him now, someone else would tell him the truth and ruin it later. She had never deliberately told him an untruth, and no matter what it cost her, she found she could not start now. If she returned to Voldemort empty-handed, then so be it.

She thought she could almost hear her heart cracking as she breathed deeply to calm the dread writhing in her stomach. "It started out that way, yes. Now…now it is different. It is not an act, Lucius. That's why I'm telling you where I wish to take you instead of just Apparating us away, which I could have done. I have never lied to you."

Lucius started to lash back in fury, and stilled his tongue just in time. He, himself, had started this flirtation with the intention merely of sleeping with her, of conquering a previously unexplored territory and moving along as soon as he had staked his claim. Did he have any right to be outraged that she, too, had come to it with an outside agenda, not seeking love?

For blazing in her dark eyes, over the robes that repelled him, were love, respect, hope and already the faint shadow of resignation, the teetering of her heart before it would fall and shatter at his refusal. His throat closed as he stared at her, overjoyed by the clear battle of emotions, the indication that she truly cared, and he willed himself to step forward and accept her offer. A few moments' pain for a tattoo, a few meetings in which he would agree with whatever was being said, and he could have her forever. But the memory of his father's enraged diatribes checked his stride. If he accepted this Mark, if he followed her, his father would never forgive him-

-and an image of his mother, cold, proud and formidably hard popped to the forefront of his mind. As a boy, he had never understood his mother's apparent hatred of his father, but as he had grown older, unwanted comprehension had been granted to him unexpectedly. He had seen his parents laughing together in their drawing room, a moment at ease where they seemed to fit like two perfectly matched puzzle pieces. A week later, his father's new secretary at the Ministry had caught Abraxas' ever-hungry and appreciative eye, and Lucius had watched his mother close away again as his father did not come home for many nights in a row, her laughter erased, joy locked behind a curtain of pain.

His mother loved his father. Still. After years of watching women take her place at his side in the bedroom, she continued the cherish the prayer that Abraxas would change. And so her heart broke every time another witch received that which should have been hers by right of oath.

Disgust for the older wizard's utter carelessness overpowered his fear of his father's wrath, and Lucius reached out to seize Minerva's hand. He had no reason to follow Abraxas, especially if the choice were between his father and this woman Lucius had held and kissed and fashioned dreams around.

"I am ready," he said gently. And the smile she gave him was one of relief, disbelief and joy as she squeezed his hand.

"Let's go," she replied. And, because she knew how to tamper with the school wards to allow herself to Disapparate from where they stood, a muttered word and a crack! later, the trees rolled the echo of their departure into the empty evening air.

888

"My lord," Minerva bowed, and, a few paces behind her, Lucius did the same, straightening when she did. "I have brought you Lucius Malfoy."

Voldemort's gaze was already fastened on the young man and he smiled. "I can see that. He looks very like his father." At the mention of Abraxas, the young man stiffened slightly, and Minerva reached to him, tangling her hand with his in a silent gesture of support and understanding. Lucius flashed her a grateful smile as he moved forward to stand even with her, the pair a study in light and shadow before the Dark Wizard.

Voldemort noted the clasped fingers, the tentative, secretive smiles that told a story of true relationship, and frowned fleetingly. A real attachment would ill serve him and his plans. What had Minerva done to get the boy here?

"Leave us," he ordered the wizards near the door before turning his gaze to the woman in front of him. "And you, Minerva. Young Lucius and I have matters to discuss alone."

Minerva tilted her head in acknowledgement, but felt Lucius' hand clench around her fingers in sudden apprehension. She returned the pressure and gave him a sidelong glance. It said, Don't be afraid.

"I will not go far," she promised him in a whisper, and as he released her fingers, she backed out of the room.

She did not know as she closed the door that she would never touch him again.

When Voldemort emerged from his room of state – the only furnished room in the entirety of the dilapidated Riddle House – he came alone, and Minerva, who had waited patiently through the long hour and a half, surged to her feet, looking for the long, lithe body that should have accompanied him.

"My lord, where is Lucius?" she asked, tongue darting out to wet suddenly-dry lips. Had Lucius refused the Mark after all? Would she enter the room to find his bloodied body? She had not heard the many sounds that are wed to torture, but there were plenty of Silencing Spells to ensure that.

Voldemort gazed down at her with an expression somewhat like compassion – or as close as he could approximate on his blurring features. "He has returned home at my bidding." Minerva's body twisted, ready to carry her out of the old estate to where she could Apparate when Voldemort's orders stopped her. "You will not follow him, Minerva."

Her head snapped back around. "Why not? Is there another task my lord wishes of me?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. Stay away from him," Voldemort ordered gently.

"What? Why?" she hissed angrily, encouraging the sudden torrent of fury to prevent the abrupt, sickening feeling of loss from settling in her stomach and consuming her.

"Lucius told me how you convinced him to come here, told me that he planned to ask for your hand in the next six months." Voldemort sighed heavily. "But Lucius Malfoy is a powerful bargaining piece, his family line being as impeccable and powerful as it is. Some years ago I struck a bargain with the Black brothers – Aries and Orion – and I have their assurance that they will throw the financial weight of their family behind me if Lucius weds Orion's daughter, Narcissa."

Minerva felt her world slipping away from her, as if she were desperately trying to climb a sand dune, only to find her sinking and carrying her farther downhill. Voldemort had not told her that there was another, ulterior motive for the conversion of Lucius Malfoy to their way of thinking.

"You promised my anything I wanted," she whispered hoarsely, playing her last card. "I want Lucius."

"Chose another prize, Minerva," the tall wizard commanded. "We need the money that the Blacks can provide. Lucius is not for you. He never was."

And the conversation was over, Voldemort sweeping down the hallway as a pain brought about by her own desires forced Minerva to her knees in the dust, hair screening her face as she choked on her tears in a puddle of black.

888

Nineteen Years Later…

"Excuse me, I need to see the Headmaster. Do you know where he is?" The smooth voice behind her had not changed in two decades, and Minerva felt her heart burn, taking her breath away as she slowly turned around, feeling that she would never be ready to see this face again.

Lucius stifled his immediate reaction to gasp as the professor he had addressed met his grey eyes. Minerva McGonagall's hair was still pitch-black, but it was bound tightly in a bun on the top of her head and the lines carving her eyes and mouth told of her aging, effects enhanced by worry and sorrow. Glasses guarded the once-brilliant eyes he had thought he might spend a lifetime gazing into. Gone were the traces of the mysterious woman who had enraptured him. The toll taken by the re-opened Chamber of Secrets was clear on her features, and Lucius momentarily forgot his true reason for coming – the removal of Dumbledore as Headmaster – as he gazed at her for the first time since she had brought him to serve their lord.

"He has gone to visit Hagrid. I believe you recall where the gamekeeper's cottage is?" she replied steadily, her voice belying the turmoil of her emotions.

Lucius knew he had taken a beat too long to reply by the time he spoke, and knew that she had noticed, but what could she say? She would never know that he had raged and wept for months after being given his first orders as a Death Eater, that his marriage to Narcissa had been a loveless and passionless affair for the first two years as his heart bled for Minerva. They had both been betrayed by their master those many years ago and now…

Now he was contentedly married, his son was now one of her students. Voldemort had separated them as neatly and precisely as a surgical knife, and the world had spun them apart, to grow older without each other, until it had passed from the realm of reality into that of nostalgia, swathed in the mist of dreams.

"Thank you," he finally managed. "Good day to you…Professor McGonagall."

She nodded to him stiffly, the picture of perfect propriety and politeness. "Good day, Mr. Malfoy. I hope you find what you need."

As she returned to her work on a table in the staff room, Lucius hesitated an instant before letting himself out, gazing at the black hair he knew had not lost its silken sheen, the body still slender and well-shaped. Once he had burned needing her-

-he closed the door firmly as he exited, feeling as if the click of the latch sliding into place helped discipline his thoughts. That feeling had died years ago.

Beating back the tide of regret, Lucius Malfoy strode out of Hogwarts and across the lawn to finish what he come here to do.