FIC -- "The Talisman" -- Minerva, Lucius, Abraxas

[kelly_chambliss]

A couple of months ago, hp_darkarts ran a nifty little dark fest -- only 13 entries. Unfortunately, the works didn't generate many comments (I still have several to give myself), but it was a fun fest, and I enjoyed writing for it. Here's my fic.

Long-timers here know that every December, in those end-of-year fic summaries that ask for your plans for the new year, I always say that I want to write an evil!Minerva story. And I never do.

Until now.

Here she is, folks -- my Evil!Min. I tried to build her evil out of canon aspects of her character, just pushed to gradual, self-justified extremes. That's how genuine evil works, imo: very few ranting Voldy maniacs, but plenty of people who just take one rationalized step at a time, until they gradually become moral monsters, even as they tell themselves that what they are doing is necessary or right or logical or the only possible response or something their pride is owed or just what "anyone" would do . . . Even Donald Trump and Hitler apparently convinced themselves that they were in the right.

This story is pretty over-the-top, as evil!fic tends to be. It didn't make too much of a splash at the fest, but then, I don't think any fans of these characters will be happy with how they are presented here!

Title: The Talisman
Author: kellychambliss
Characters: Minerva McGonagall, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Abraxas Malfoy
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~7200
Warnings: I choose not to include them, but expect dark themes.
Summary: After the war, the Malfoys have gone into exile. Then one day, Lucius receives a letter.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lucius Malfoy stood before the mirror that hung on the damp-stained wall of the pension and fastened his cravat with his favorite pin. Emeralds and diamonds in the shape of a serpent. It was a tasteful ornament, of course -- the Malfoys didn't do gaudy -- but only a peasant would fail to recognize that it was the best of its kind. It had belonged to his great-grandfather, a man who had understood the social and political importance of luxury, and so the gems were flawless.

As was Lucius's ensemble, he decided, checking the dim mirror once more and giving himself a nod of approval. His linen was starched, his coat perfectly brushed, his stick gleaming. Just because they were exiled here to this most shabby quarter of Nice didn't mean that he would excuse any slacking from the one house-elf they had been able to bring with them.

He could feel Narcissa's accusing eyes on him from across the room, and he addressed her before she could raise her objections once again.

"I know you do not wish me to go, Narcissa," he said. "However, needs must."

"But you don't need to, Lucius! That's the point. We have finally reached a safe haven here, we no longer suffer from constant harassment and persecution, we can at last live without fear of Azkaban. . .and now you're starting all these cloak-and-dagger spy games again? Going to secret meetings, keeping me in the dark. If the wrong people notice you, you could arrested on sight -- "

Lucius turned to face her. "Do you honestly believe that I will not take precautions? That I will let myself be seen by just anyone? Maybe I'll wear a glamour."

Narcissa threw up her hands in frustration, and in the pale sunlight that managed to find its way through the grime on the window, Lucius could see how much she had aged. The war had no kinder to him than to her, but his face had better withstood the ravages. Well, the Blacks had never had as strong a bloodline as the Malfoys.

"You know there are spells that can pierce glamours! And whoever arranged this meeting in Paris will know it's you, glamour or no glamour!" Narcissa raged. "Why won't you tell me who it is? It's a trap, you know it is, and at least if Draco and I knew who you were meeting, we could be some insurance in case -- "

"No! How many times must I tell you? The less you and Draco know about this, the better. I will be safe, and if all happens as I believe it will, our troubles will be over."

"Lucius, think! Would you please just think, if you're still capable of it? It could be someone in disguise from our Ministry. There is hardly a wizard in Britain now who would not be delighted to capture the one of the escaped Malfoys. They all know how important we are. So they've set up this trap, and you're foolish enough to fall right into it."

"We've been over this, Narcissa," Lucius said, keeping his patience with difficulty. Really, she was becoming tedious. "I have agreed to this meeting -- and will of course take every precaution to ensure my safety -- because anything is better than doing nothing, day in day out, but sit in this hellhole and watch our money dwindle. I need to do something; can't you understand that?"

"Oh, I understand, all right. It's just like it was in the early days with the Dark Lord -- you and your boy chums with your little codes and secret connections and magic talismans! Playing spy games and showing off. And you see where that led you! Where it led all of us!" She was almost shouting now, like some Muggle fishwife.

Lucius gritted his teeth. "Those connections have protected and maintained me more than once -- and you and Draco as well. Do not disdain them."

He spoke as dismissively as he could, but her use of the word "talisman" worried him. Could she have somehow have seen the token he'd been sent? His father's amulet?

The thought sent his mind jolting to scenes of the past, something that had been happening more and more often since he and his family had fled Britain with only the small cache of jewels and cash that Lucius had managed to hide before his world and his cause had collapsed. Now that he was in exile, he found himself more and more drawn to the days of his youth, so that he often spent entire afternoons adrift in memories.

Today, he shut out Narcissa's nagging and let himself think about the first time he'd ever heard of the talisman -- the night before he left to start his schooling at Hogwarts. His father had summoned Lucius to his study and gazed at him from behind his desk before saying, "Tomorrow will be an exciting day, Lucius. Your first trip on the Hogwarts Express."

"Yes, Father."

"I know I do not have to tell you to acquit yourself well and never to forget who you are. I trust you will contribute nothing but honour to the House of Slytherin."

"Yes, sir."

"You will make many friends at school and have good times, but never let your friendships distract you from what is really important: blood, Lucius. Blood purity and family. You are a Malfoy, first and foremost."

Lucius had felt the pride well up inside him. "I know, Father."

Abraxas Malfoy had come around his desk then and taken his son's hand, turning it palm upwards. On it, he placed a small, flat disc, darkened with age, not quite a perfect circle. Lucius could feel the metal grow warm against his skin -- a piece of magic, tangible and strong. As he looked at it, the disc glowed green for a moment, then gold, and finally returned to its original state.

"This is old magic, my son. Part of the Malfoy birthright, property of Salazar Slytherin himself. It was shown to me by my father on the night before I left for Hogwarts, and now I show it to you."

"What is it, Father?" Lucius whispered, keeping his awestruck voice low; somehow the ancient disc seemed to demand reverence.

"It will be your salvation, when you least expect it. One day, when you have a great need, this talisman will appear to you. You will not know how or when. But on the day that it does appear, you must follow its dictates to the letter."

"But what will happen?" Lucius was breathless with excitement.

"You will know when the time comes. If it comes. Not every generation has need."

"Will there be treasure?

"So the story goes. Treasure and support, though no one knows what form either will take. Magic this powerful is unpredictable. But whatever it will bring, the Malfoys are worthy heirs of Salazar. We will not come out the poorer."

"Did this help ever come to you yet?"

"That will do, Lucius. No more questions. You must respect the magic and never enquire too deeply into its workings." Abraxas lifted the talisman from Lucius's hand and turned back to his desk. "You may go. Your mother will be looking for you."

Lucius had almost reached the study door when his father spoke again.

"Know only this, son: the Founders never worked alone. Until their final break, when the others were too timid to accept those truths about pureblood superiority that only Salazar Slytherin was brave enough to defend, they always joined their magic. When this talisman appears to you, it will appear in connection with one of the followers of Godric Gryffindor. A blood-traitor he was, and a coward in the end, but for a time, he and Slytherin made glorious magic together. Remember that."

"I will, sir."

"Good."

". . .to me? Lucius? Lucius! You haven't listened to a word I've said."

It was with an almost physical wrench that Lucius pulled his mind back to the grubby bedsit and the sound of Narcissa's endless harangue. She was still sitting on the bed, her face ugly and lined in its discontent. How could he have ever thought her lovely?

"Enough, Narcissa," he snarled. "I will do what I please. What I must. I'm leaving now. I expect both you and Draco to be here when I return."

"And when will that be, oh lord and master? I suppose I -- " Narcissa was still talking as Lucius seized his walking stick and Disapparated on the spot, not caring whether the Muggles in the boarding house heard the crack of his departure or not.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He didn't go far, just to a wine bar within sight of the Promenade. He needed a drink. Just one glass, to soothe his nerves and sharpen his wits. No matter what Narcissa thought, he was not approaching this appointment without careful planning and self-protection. He was as wary of this situation as his wife was, and if it had not been for the talisman of Salazar Slytherin, he would never have considered agreeing to a meeting.

And he most certainly would never have considered returning to England.

Yet here he was, about to do just that.

Lucius had often thought of the talisman since that long-ago afternoon in his father's study. In his darkest days in Azkaban and in that last painful year of the war, he began to wonder if perhaps he'd imagined his father's words, or dreamed them -- for surely if those days did not constitute a "great need," he couldn't imagine what would.

But no help had been forthcoming, and he had reluctantly concluded that the talisman, if not imagined, must have been lost or stolen; certainly he had been unable to find it among his father's things after Abraxas died.

Then, two days ago, an owl had appeared at the window of the pension. Narcissa and Draco had been out -- spending money, no doubt -- and so luckily there was no one to see him be so weak as to jump out of his chair in fear. Here they had hidden themselves so carefully, or so he had thought, plastering themselves and their rooms with all the concealment and mis-direction charms they could muster, and yet. . .

Yet somehow this owl had found him.

It had brought an envelope, addressed to "Mr Lucius Malfoy. . .in exile and on the run."

Lucius had been tempted to blast the thing to ash without even reading it, but then his native caution reasserted itself, and he had opened the flap.

Immediately, the talisman had fallen into his hand, its magic so strongly activated that it was already almost too hot to hold.

Inside the envelope was a card. "Mr Malfoy," it read, "I trust you will recognize the enclosed and will grasp its significance. Your father has left some unfinished business, and it will be concluded to your advantage if you are willing to meet me in person. You will be reluctant, of course, and understandably so. Thus I leave it to you to set the time and place of our meeting; I ask only that it be somewhere in the United Kingdom. Do whatever you need to do to ensure your safety, and once you are in place, tap the talisman with your wand, and it will summon me.

"You have my word that you will not be arrested. I will tell no one of our arrangement."

And it had been signed -- incredibly, astoundingly, impossibly -- "Minerva McGonagall."

As soon as he had finished reading, the parchment and its envelope had disappeared in a flash of red and gold sparks. Only the talisman had remained.

Lucius had spent the rest of the afternoon walking around Nice in a daze, trying to make sense of this.

How the hell had Minerva McGonagall got hold of the amulet of Salazar Slytherin? It had to be a trick of some kind. . .Then again, his father had told him that the talisman would appear in connection with a Gryffindor. And now that Dumbledore was dead, there was no one more Gryffindor than McGonagall.

Headmistress of Hogwarts now, of course.

"Headmistress." What a travesty. "Dumbledore's whore" is what the Dark Lord had always called her, and since the war, she'd been carrying on the old bastard's crusades -- bleating about Dumbledore's "legacy of love and compassion" while she bullied the Ministry and everyone else for funds to rebuild Hogwarts. Giving interviews to the Daily Prophet about the need for "healing" and "forgiveness" while she testified against Slytherin Death Eaters at the Wizengamot war trials. She talked at length about a "new Hogwarts" that would foster inter-house communication and scholarship and would "remove the taint of blood politics." But as far as Lucius could tell, it was all just an elaborate plot to push Slytherins to the sidelines of power.

Hypocritical old bitch.

And she had the gall to think that "her word" was enough to provide him any security. Only a Gryffindor could have that kind of arrogance.

But the ironic thing was, she wasn't wrong: he did trust her word -- for what it was worth, which was usually not much. Yes, she had developed an apparently deserved reputation for scrupulous honesty and rectitude. Yes, he could believe what she said. But so what? Again, only a Gryffindor would think that honesty in and of itself was a virtue. Slytherins knew better.

By this time, Lucius had been sitting at a sidewalk café, a carafe of wine in front of him (if Narcissa and Draco could spend money, then so could he), and he had made up his mind.

He would meet McGonagall. He would go to one of his Master's still-secret safe houses (there were far more than the Ministry would ever learn of), he would ward it and himself with an inch of their lives, and he would send for Dumbledore's whore.

And he would gather what he was owed -- Salazar Slytherin's treasure.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Now he finished his current glass of wine and prepared to Apparate to the abandoned building in Burnley that had been one of the Dark Lord's many meeting places. Or at least, it looked abandoned to Muggles or to anyone not specifically invited to it by a Secret-Keeper -- which Lucius still was.

Outside, the old, boarded-up pub looked as desolate as it always had. Inside, the accommodations were spartan, for the safe-house had only ever been a way-station and temporary refuge. But Lucius didn't expect to be here long.

A quick check revealed that all the wards and protection hexes were still intact. To them, Lucius added a complicated Dark spell that would block McGonagall's magic, should she try to use it against him here. A particularly nasty block, too, one that would cause pain and disfigurement. . .for a moment, he almost hoped she would trigger it.

All was ready. Lucius flashed a quick mirror spell to check his reflection -- nothing less than perfect Malfoy elegance would do for a meeting of Slytherin and Gryffindor -- and touched his wand to Salazar's talisman.

It turned first green, then gold, and then jagged bolts of light shot from it until the entire room was blindingly aglow.

When Lucius's vision cleared, Minerva McGonagall was standing before him.

She looked just as she always did, virtually unchanged from his student days. The same upright, thin frame, the same tightly-wound black hair, the same square glasses, sharp jaw, ironic eyebrows, sternly-pursed lips.

She held her wand in dueling position before her and did not lower it when she saw Lucius.

"You can put your wand away," he said, in his most bored tones. "If you try to use it here, you will be sorry. Very sorry."

She replaced it in her sleeve slowly and nodded. "You have taken precautions. Of course. I would have done the same. I have done the same, in fact. If you attempt to harm me, you will be very sorry."

"Fine. Let us both agree that we are fully protected and move to the business at hand. Where did you get my father's talisman?"

"He gave it to me."

"He gave it to you?" Lucius did not bother to conceal his incredulity -- or his disdain. "Why on earth would he entrust such a priceless item to a Gryffindor half-blood nobody?"

Behind the spectacles, McGonagall's eyes glittered with anger, but her answer was relatively tempered. "You always were a slow learner, Lucius. Your father came to me because he needed someone trustworthy and reliable -- in other words, someone not a Slytherin."

"But why you? And why would you help him?"

"I know it is often hard for offspring to understand, but your parents had full lives before their children were born. Your father and I were at Hogwarts together. We were not friends -- as you say, I am a Gryffindor half-blood nobody, and he was a Malfoy" -- she shaded the name with just a touch of disdain of her own -- "but we respected each other's abilities. "

"So he just came to you out of nowhere and said, 'here, I need someone to take charge of significant piece of magic, and I've chosen you' -- and you agreed? Why? Were you flattered by his attention? Plain women usually are, if a handsome man notices them."

He hoped to needle her, to put her off balance, and he could tell that he was succeeding. Her response was sharp with irritation.

"Don't be even more of a fool than nature has made you," she snapped. "With your typical self-centeredness, it doesn't seem to have occurred to you that you and your father were not the only ones who knew about this talisman. It was legendary among Gryffindors, though thought to be long lost -- an emblem of a better time, when Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were friends, when the Founders were united, before this blood nonsense tore our world apart and made a mockery of what Hogwarts stood for."

Lucius was intrigued. No, it had not occurred to him that the talisman was known to others. He couldn't resist satisfying his curiosity. "What did the legends say?"

"That there was a charm of ancient magic that would bring treasure and succor to Gryffindor and Slytherin both -- but only if they worked together, in cooperation and trust. As soon as I saw it in your father's hand, I knew what it was. He proposed that he and I represent our Houses and join together in ownership."

"I don't believe it," Lucius said flatly. "Legend or no legend, my father would not have given a Slytherin heirloom to anyone outside our family, let alone a mere Gryffindor schoolteacher."

"Believe what you please; it doesn't signify to me," she replied, though her cheeks were flushed with rage. "But the facts are these: when your father was dying, he came to me and gave the talisman into my keeping."

Lucius gave an involuntary start, and she noticed. "Oh, yes, I know about the manner of his death. I know he didn't die of dragon pox, no matter what lies his powerful family managed to spread to the public. He died because he was hit by a rogue curse thrown by his own son and his friends, idiot adolescents playing at being big, bad Death Eaters. You were going to show the world how important and powerful you were, weren't you? And all you did was kill your father and now drive your wife and son into exile."

She paused, letting the words hang in the air, and it took all Lucius's self-control to stop himself from beating her senseless with nothing but his fists.

"I --" he began, but she went on, inexorably.

"Abraxas knew the curse, knew it would spread. He knew he was dying, and he also knew that he couldn't trust you. He told me -- 'The boy will waste his birthright,' he said. 'He will spend it on the ravings of a madman.'"

The bile rose in Lucius's throat, and he had to will himself not to be sick. He believed her now. His father had used those very words to him as well, as he lay on the deathbed to which Yaxley's ill-aimed curse had doomed him.

Merlin, but he needed a drink. Or at least a chair; his legs were trembling. But he wouldn't show such weakness to this hateful old witch.

"Your father was a complex man," McGonagall was saying. "He was as blood-bigoted as any Death Eater, but he was also not stupid. He knew that Tom Riddle was an insane megalomaniac and as dangerous to you so-called purebloods as he was to any Muggle-born. Abraxas needed a Gryffindor he could trust, and he was wise enough to choose me. He hoped that the talisman would save us all, if used properly, and I hoped the same."

"Why didn't you use it, then? To stop the war, if that's what you wanted?" He needed to focus on details, externals. Anything to give him time to push the memory of his father's death to the back of his mind.

"Think, Lucius!" She was clearly exasperated. "Do you truly believe I had any choice in this matter? Or that your father did? This talisman is ancient, powerful magic -- it doesn't perform on command. It presents itself only at a time of great need, for the benefit of all."

"So why now? The war is over. What great need do we have now?"

McGonagall gazed at him almost pityingly. "You still do not understand, though I should not be surprised. You've never been able to see beyond your own interests. But the Founders were able to look at the larger picture. Only one need ever really mattered to them: the need for magical education. For preserving Hogwarts."

He stared.

"Yes, Hogwarts," she repeated, sensing his disbelief. "The castle is in desperately bad shape since the Battle. Its very magic has been wounded. The talisman somehow knows this. I am hopeful that it will provide the funds and the magic we need to restore the school."

"But it. . .you. . " Lucius was having a hard time making sense of this conversation. She was talking as if she were at a budget meeting with the Board of Governors. "You're worried about funding the bloody school? When between us we may have the key to untold magic and riches?"

"Typical," McGonagall snorted. "Yes, Lucius, I'm worried about the school. You may worry about whatever you wish. I suspect that the Talisman is like the Room of Requirement: it will give us both whatever it is we need."

This, Lucius could understand. Salazar Slytherin looking after his own. "Then what are we waiting for?" he demanded. "Let's activate the talisman and be done with it."

"Yes," said McGonagall, looking at him strangely, he thought. "Let's be done with it."

The circle of metal had been hanging in mid-air between them, and now McGonagall held out her hand. The talisman floated gently to the centre of her palm, and Lucius covered her hand with his.

As soon as their fingers clasped, the room was bathed in green and gold light, and they were both jerked forward into darkness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lucius found himself on his knees in what appeared at first to be a meadow, but as he stood, he could see that they were in a tiny graveyard, an old one, if the four tilting, lichen-covered tombstones were any clue. Yet except for the graves and for himself and McGonagall, everything seemed slightly out of focus, tinged with a greenish glow.

"It's the Founders' resting place," McGonagall breathed, something like awe in her voice. "Albus told me about it. Unplottable and hidden. I thought it was a myth. . . ."

She was stretching out her hand to touch a headstone that Lucius, with some difficulty, could finally see was inscribed "Godric Gryffindor."

"Never mind that," Lucius snapped. This bizarre place was raising his hackles. "Let's get what we came for and get out of here."

As he spoke, a glowing mound began to take shape in the center of the circle formed by the four graves. He could see piles of galleons, and gemstones set in gold and silver, and carved, inlaid chests, and unaccountably, what looked like dozens of old books. . .

He was starting toward the mound when a sixth sense seemed to warn him, and he whirled around to see McGonagall pointing her wand at him, her arm steady and straight. Before he could respond, she cried, "Expelliarmus!" and Lucius could only watch helplessly as his own wand spun through the green-tinged darkness into her outstretched hand.

He turned to run then, but she stopped him with a quick immobility jinx and a charm to hold him upright.

"Tsk, tsk," she said, shaking her head. "Sloppy of you, Lucius. Tying all your personal protection spells to your wand. I would have thought your Dark Lord had taught you better than that. But as I said, you've always been a slow learner."

Lucius was more angry than frightened. "What do you want? Are you actually trying to take my share of the treasure?"

McGonagall smirked at him. "I don't believe there is any 'trying' about it. The deed is done." With a twist of her wand, she turned his paralyzed body so that he could see where the gold and gems had lain. An empty space met his eyes.

The first worm of real fear entered his heart. "Are you planning to summon the Aurors? You gave me your word that you wouldn't have me arrested!"

Now the old bitch was laughing outright. "Good heavens, for a hardened Death Eater, you're certainly a trusting sort. But of course, all the wizarding world knows that my word is my bond. I spoke the truth. You are not going to be arrested."

"If anything happens to me, Narcissa knows I was meeting you," he said, wishing desperately that he had told her, and still not certain why he had not. Well, at least McGonagall wouldn't know that he was lying.

But she was shaking her head, still smiling. "Nice try. But you don't really think that I would have sent that letter without encrypting it with a muting charm, do you? As soon as you read it, you were incapable of telling anyone about its particulars."

Damn it, of course! He had heard of such charms. But they were extremely difficult to perform, and he wouldn't have thought her capable. The Dark Lord had always disparaged "Dumbledore's whore" and scoffed at the idea that she was a powerful witch. "A sidekick, a second-rater," Voldemort had said, when Snape had ventured to suggest that McGonagall could be formidable. "What can she do besides spread her legs for the old man? She's negligible."

And so she had seemed, a prim, unattractive spinster obsessed with rules and O.W.L.s. An eternal schoolmarm, the epitome of the saying, "those who can, do; those who can't, teach."

But perhaps, Lucius thought now, he had been wrong.

McGonagall was looking at him with an unnerving glint in her eye, and he couldn't help thinking about cats and mice.

"What do you want?" he said again, hating the note of panic he heard in his voice.

She didn't answer, but put her wand into her sleeve. For a moment, hope soared in him, but then he saw that she was pointing his own wand directly at his heart.

"Do you know, Lucius," she said musingly, as if she were mentioning the most casual of notions, "Your father was right. You really are quite boring."

He heard the start of her Avada Kedavra, but not the end. By the time she finished speaking, his world had ended in a blast of green.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Minerva watched as Lucius's body twitched its last, and only when he was completely still did she approach to turn him over with the toe of her boot.

Like most corpses she'd seen, even Albus's, he was diminished in death, floppy and broken, the "patrician" face on which he'd prided himself showing nothing but slack-lipped petulance. His sightless, staring eyes unnerved her not at all; he was no more blind in death than he'd been in life.

In the ghostly greenish light that came from the graves, she caught a glitter at his throat and stooped to push aside the ridiculous affectation that was his long hair. An emerald-and-diamond serpent pin shone up at her, and she pursed her lips. It would have to be destroyed, of course; she couldn't risk having it surface anywhere, certainly not in connection with her.

Pity. It would have paid for part of the restoration of the Great Hall ceiling. Such a waste. Still, there was no point in regretting.

She lay Lucius flat on his back and placed both his wand and his absurd walking stick on top of his body. With a whispered "lumos," she lit her own wand and slowly scanned the area; it was imperative that nothing be left behind, no indication that anyone had been here.

Lucius Malfoy would disappear, and if his exiled family ever did dare come looking for him, who would expect Minerva McGonagall, highly-respected head of Hogwarts, to know anything about him? In the extremely unlikely event that she was ever questioned, she would willingly offer her wand for inspection -- the only traces of Unforgivables to be found would be those she had reluctantly been forced to cast in the war, when she had been so bravely fighting to protect her school and her students and her heroic Harry Potter.

When she was satisfied that she had left no signs of their presence, Minerva stepped well away and carefully constructed a fortified circle around herself. Then she spoke the words of an ancient spell:

"Ignis ignire diabolic."

Immediately the little clearing was ablaze, with great tongues of flame leaping skyward, twisting and turning into dragons, roaring basilisks, giant fanged creatures of all descriptions that swarmed over the dead body and over the grass-covered graves.

Using every ounce of magical power she possessed, Minerva managed to confine the fire to the small area inside the circle of headstones, and the instant she could see no more of Lucius, she shouted,

"Finite incendium!"

The flames disappeared at once, as if they had never been; not even a scorched leaf remained to mark their existence. The night air was cool and fresh.

But the Fiendfyre had done its job. All trace of Lucius Malfoy had vanished.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was late when Minerva returned to Hogwarts. She'd taken a detour to assure herself of the safety of her hard-won treasure, and she'd been very pleased: it was all there, in the little cottage that had been her first major purchase. Real estate was always a sound investment.

The cottage was under a Fidelius charm, of course, its location known only to herself and one other. There, in its tiny sitting room, had been the piles of galleons and gems, the chests full of unique magical ingredients, and best of all, the ancient books of spells and lore, rare texts of Dark and Light that even Irma Pince would swear had long been lost to the ages. Here would be the old magic that she needed to heal the mortally-wounded Hogwarts.

Godric Gryffindor had served his House well.

Minerva had smiled and whispered "thank you" before Apparating back to the gates of her school.

There was light glimmering under her door when she reached her bedroom.

He was waiting for her, as she'd expected, in her bed, his naked, well-muscled chest rising above the duvet as he sat reading. He looked up as she entered and laid his book on the bedside table.

Abraxas.

Only the paleness of his skin and a certain blurriness around his shoulders indicated that he'd spent the last thirty years behind the Veil. Otherwise, he was solid and real, brought back from the dead by the force of both their wills and by the power of the Resurrection Stone.

For of course she had gone to retrieve it. She'd made up her mind to look for it even as Potter was still telling his story of how he'd dropped it as he faced Voldemort on the night of the Battle, and as soon as she'd had the chance to slip away from Hogwarts unnoticed, she'd headed into the Forbidden Forest.

Potter had been a fool to think that an object with such a strong magical signature would just fade into the ground unremarked.

She'd found Potter's clearing easily enough, with the blackened remains of its fire and the tattered festoons of giant spider web. She could see the dais on which Voldemort had stood, and from there she could see the hole in the ground where his killing curse had buried itself after felling Harry.

Once she had these coordinates, it had been a simple matter of mathematical triangulation and diagnostic spells, and within an hour, the Stone had been in her hand.

And that very night, Abraxas had been in her arms.

Now he looked at her solemnly as he said, "It is done?"

She nodded as she quickly dropped her clothes to the floor and slid under the duvet. "It's done."

He loosened her hair, then pulled her close to him, and for the moment she needed only this -- Abraxas's lips on hers, his hands on her breasts, his cock already hardening against her hip.

"We were right, then?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes. We were right. The talisman did require all the things we suspected: a threat to Hogwarts, a living blood descendant of Slytherin, and, since Godric had no children, a Gryffindor head of the school." They had been unable to test this theory until her official investiture as headmistress, but now they were vindicated.

"And the treasure?"

"Oh, Brax!" She sat up, unable to stop smiling, and drew her finger down his chest. "It's beyond our imaginings. Galleons and jewels, yes, but also scarce magical herbs and rare spell books. . ."

She had to stop because he was kissing her again, pushing her onto her back and stroking her thighs.

"What about Lucius?" Abraxas said, then moaned as she circled her thumb over the tip of his cock.

"Obliviated," she assured him, which was true, in its fashion. "He'll be safe now. I will make sure that the Ministry does not look for him, I promise you." She would indeed.

He sighed and let himself slump back against the pillows. "It pains me, Minerva, to have to disown him. I told him once, many years ago -- the night I first showed him the talisman, in fact -- that nothing was more important than blood and family. And here I find myself in the position of having to cast off my own son, my heir."

"He destroyed your family, Brax, all that you had worked for generations to gain. The Manor is gone, seized by the Ministry; the Malfoy name is disgraced. You have no choice." Sanctimonious twaddle about "family" normally annoyed her almost as much as talk of pureblood superiority, but just now, it was more important to turn Abraxas fully against Lucius than to argue politics.

No," he said heavily. "No, you're right, I have no real choice. I wish him no harm, but he has forfeited his right to be a Malfoy. I still cannot believe that he was stupid enough to sacrifice everything for a half-blood madman."

A second later, he was crying out in pain as Minerva shifted rapidly to her cat form and raked her claws across his stomach.

"Abraxas," she hissed, once she'd changed back. "I have told you that if I hear any more of that blood-purity nonsense, I shall pound that Resurrection Stone to powder and leave you adrift forever between death and life. May I remind you that you spent the entirety of your marriage fucking a half-blood on the side because your pure-blood wife was so inbred and broken that she was no fit companion for anyone and ended her days drooling -- "

"All right! All right. Merlin, Minerva, but you're a hellcat." He touched the scratches on his skin and winced. His erection had noticeably faded.

She waited until he looked at her ruefully, and then she reached for her wand and healed the welts.

"I admit," he said when she had finished, "the world has changed since we were young. Blood is a great deal more complicated than I used to think. I believe now that you are right: pure blood alone is not the answer."

This was as much of an apology as he would offer, she knew, and it was sufficient. She'd won this round.

"We need a new order," Minerva said, stroking his abdomen gently and watching as he began to harden again. "A better way to ensure the continued strength and growth of the wizarding world. We can start here, at Hogwarts. The treasure will make it possible."

"It's what you've waited for all these years, isn't it?" Abraxas turned on his side, facing her, and slid his hands deliciously over her arse. "The chance to lead Hogwarts."

"I will make it a better place," she said fervently as he kissed his way from her breasts to her lips and held her wrists above her head. She opened her legs and her mouth, gasping with pleasure as he entered her and thrust deeply with both tongue and cock.

This was how he always wanted her, pinned on her back with her legs spread and her hands immobilized, at his mercy. It made him feel strong and powerful, and she was content to let him be in control.

In bed, at least. It distracted him from the fact that everywhere else, the power was all hers.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Moonlight streamed through the casements, and Abraxas snored lightly beside her as Minerva sat up in bed, clasping her arms around her knees. How could she sleep on a night as important as this one?

For tonight marked the culmination of all her dreams and hopes.

Hogwarts was fully hers at last, and now she had the magical as well as the financial means to make it the school it always should have been.

She regretted the necessity of Lucius's death; of course she did. But she'd had no choice. As she had researched the story of the talisman, it had become clear that she could never be sole owner of its riches as long as the other owner was alive. She wouldn't have been able to use Lucius's part of the treasure, even though taking it would have been a legitimate exercise of eminent domain: the support of Hogwarts was far more important than whatever selfish personal use he would have made of such bounty. Still, rules were rules, and the rule was that while both owners were alive, they shared equally.

So, for the greater good, Lucius had had to go. It was probably a blessing, really. What kind of life would he have had, always on the run and looking over his shoulder, growing old and perhaps ill, so far from home? In many ways, she'd done him a favour.

And it was not as if Minerva wanted the treasure for herself. Or for herself and Abraxas, though he had hinted that he wouldn't mind their retiring to a life of luxury somewhere sunny and warm. She had treated that idea with the contempt it deserved. As if she could ever live in indolence, away from her school! She was surprised he'd even suggested it.

She touched his cheek and hoped that she was not going to regret bringing Abraxas out from behind the Veil. Well, she could always send him back. True, she'd missed him every day of the thirty years he had been gone, but she had learnt to do without him. She could do so again, if necessary.

But perhaps it would not come to that. She would prefer to keep him with her, magically hidden in the castle or at the cottage or any of the several other properties she'd been able to save up to buy over the years; Minerva had always lived frugally.

She looked down at him again and smoothed his shock of yellow-white hair, so like his son's and yet nothing like his son's. They had been through a lot together, she and Abraxas, despite their many differences.

Their affair had begun in their seventh year of school, and while there had never been any question of marriage -- his family would not have allowed it, and even if they had, Minerva had no interest in becoming a rich man's brood mare -- neither had there been any question of ending their liaison. They were too important to each other.

And (though she would admit this only to herself) the sex was too good.

So no, she didn't want to send Abraxas back, but she would do so if he did not choose to help her in re-envisioning Hogwarts. Clearly, it was what the Founders wanted -- hadn't Godric and Salazar both joined together to give her the means to do so?

She would start with the academic standards. A magical education was a privilege, not a right, and it was time that both students and parents started to appreciate that fact. All magical children would be admitted to Hogwarts, of course, at age eleven as usual, but then they would have to prove themselves worthy of staying.

Anyone who messed around and didn't do their work -- like that slacker Ronald Weasley, or boy-crazy Lavender Brown -- would be expelled. And born dullards like Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle would be given their walking papers before the end of the first term. She would be more patient with someone like Neville Longbottom, who had suffered primarily from lack of confidence, not lack of ability, but his sort, too, would go if they did not buck up and meet their potential. They could do it if they wanted to -- Longbottom was a perfect case in point. He was a Gryffindor to be proud of, now.

Blood and family position would be irrelevant. Magical and intellectual ability would be what mattered. Hogwarts would be a meritocracy, where brilliant pupils like Miss Granger and even bright oddities like Miss Lovegood would flourish and would never have to waste their talents doing homework for their less able friends.

Minerva lost herself for a moment in the vision of classes filled with Hermione Grangers and Severus Snapes, students with fine minds and plenty of strong magic. Oh, there might be some rough social edges to rub off, as the thought of Severus reminded her, but with intelligence, anything was possible.

Perhaps she would start a second school, a vocational comprehensive or something similar, for those who washed out of Hogwarts. They would have to be trained for some useful occupation, of course; they couldn't simply be left to become burdens on society, maintained at the expense of their more gifted and deserving fellows.

Oh, the possibilities were nearly endless. . .

Minerva smiled and allowed herself a little stretch. She was beginning to feel a bit drowsy now -- it had been a long, if exhilarating, day, and she should really get some rest.

She lay down beside Abraxas, wrapping herself around his now warm and living body, and soon the Headmistress of Hogwarts was fast asleep.

End