Seduced

Seduced by the Devil

By Anya Malfoy

*~*~*

Very few people remember what *Minerva McGonagall was like at Hogwarts. She was a struggling, judgmental child at eleven. Her parents had little to no interest in her welfare; they hadn't even planned to have any children. So, that was all she was. A mistake, the product of a fiery, but quickly squelched love.

Valdonus Ogg, who was the Gamekeeper in Minerva's Hogwarts days, spoke this of her, shortly before his death at the hands of Grindelwald, in 1941.

"Young Miss McGonagall was as different as they come. Quite a mind she had, bugger it all that she hated school. That one would have real potential if she'd only tried."

Ogg never spoke a truer word.

*~*~*

Minerva McGonagall, a short, fidgety, black-haired girl, stepped rather disdainfully onto Platform 9 ¾. She could see Hogwarts students with their parents buzzing about the Platform. But of course, her parents just couldn't find the time to bring her here. Her sixth year at Hogwarts, yet they had spluttered out a hurried excuse: the Annual Ministry Croquet Tournament.

If that were true, she really would be dumbfounded. Her parents liked to lie to her. They actually took pleasure in it. After all, she was just a child. They could feed her all of these cock and bull stories. She wouldn't know the difference.

Returning to reality and te platform once more, Minerva cast a hasty glance about for the few friends she had. She really hadn't fit it anywhere, House-wise, but thankfully, there were several girls in her predicament. She remembered the Sorting Hat's words in her head as though the had been spoken to her yesterday...

"Ah, Minerva McGonagall, Blanche and Vitus McGonagall's daughter. You're quite like your mother, quite a mind you've got there. Pity you don't use it like a proper Ravenclaw. Not Slytherin, you really haven't got any ambition, dear. Not Hufflepuff, though. You're definitely not hard working, certainly not loyal. Well, I suppose you'd better be Gryffindor, then."

Pity she didn't use her mind, was it? Oh, she used her mind; she just would never let anyone know. It was awful enough to be short and ugly, it was another thing to be brilliant. She shuddered at how people reacted to Tom Riddle. The boy was brilliant, but beautiful. And everyone, save the Slytherins and the odd Ravenclaw, hated him! They pointed, they jeered, they teased.

It really was natural, then, that they'd eventually get together. They were both just as strange as you please, he with his little secrets, she with her odd quirks. It had been last year, in the corridors, as Minerva was hurrying off to Transfiguration, when they had really noticed each other as male and female.

Tom had been nearly running through the corridor, winded, with his head down. He wasn't looking at anything. Minerva had literally run into him. Both of their book-bags fell on the ground, spewing their contents across the floor.

"You'll want to be more careful, Mister Riddle!" she spat rather contemptuously. He looked up into her dark brown eyes with his startlingly green ones as he sighed.

"Minerva, I know somewhere beneath that permafrost layer, you've got a heart. It's just a matter of finding it!" Tom smiled. He always was a charmer, if he wanted something enough.

Surprisingly, she smiled. He wouldn't have expected her to react that way. A slight blush found a way into her cheeks.

"Riddle, you're such a charmer," she sighed. She reached down to pick up her books. In the pile was a small, black book. Curiously, she peered through its empty pages.

"What's this, Riddle?" Minerva asked eagerly.

"Just a gift from a friend," he answered curtly, pulling the book out of her hands.

*~*~*

That was how their romance began. Things started small, just handholding and whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. They progressed onwards to better things, like passionate snogging in broom closets, and eventually late night, lustuous shags in the Astronomy Tower.

Those were some of the best days of Minerva's life. This was the happiest she'd ever been, she actually felt like she could be herself around Tom. She could be the real Minerva McGonagall, the intelligent and brave girl that no one knew.

Minerva was jolted back to the present by an affectionate hand entwining with her own, cold one. She did not need the softly spoken greeting to know that it was Tom.

The two embraced tightly, to the jeers of the older students, the giggles of the naïve first years, and the glares of some of the parents. Tom and Minerva went to together perfectly, their fellow sixth years said, seeing as his eccentricity and strangeness were only matched by her own.

"Morning, Min," Tom said briskly. Se could feel heat spreading into her cheeks. Why had Tom chosen her, a hardheaded, audacious Gryffindor? He could have had any Slytherin girl, even with his decided oddness. Minerva knew that behind the visible disdain they showed him, they found him attractive.

Minerva thought the answer to her questions lay in her blood. Her family was one of the oldest pureblood wizarding families in the country. Tom valued pure blood, as he had told Minerva on several occasions. Though highly respecting all purebloods, Tom was not one himself. His father had been a Muggle. A thousand times over he cursed his mother for marrying that fool.

"Likewise, dear," Minerva replied slowly. She turned, sighed rather dispiritedly, and rolled her eyes. The two people Minerva would least like to see, Xander Malfoy and Aine Micas, were approaching with twin sinister grins on their face. Each one of Aine's white blonde hairs was plastered into an admittedly attractive up do.

Xander was like some awful travesty of a pet dog to Tom, the boy honestly worshipped him. Aine was the same way, if he'd let her, she'd shag him until he hyperventilated. As it was, she'd jump at the chance to force herself into his company.

Aine's personality was comparable to eating cookies: one or two bits of her was fine, but eating the whole jar was just revolting and gross.

For Minerva, even one "Aine Moment" was toxic. Aine loathed her because of Tom; the blonde wanted Tom so much it physically hurt her, Minerva knew. Because of Minerva, Aine had been forced to fall back on her second choice, a seventh year Slytherin called Marcus Baddock.

As for Xander, the man was intelligent enough, but he was so... blonde. No, that wasn't now Minerva wanted to put it, she had no prejudice against blondes, of course. He just wasn't really her type, as Aine would say.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Riddle!" Aine cried in tones of delight. She thought she was so posh, with her silly French. Minerva snorted.

"Ah," Aine smirked, her sanctimonious voice dripping with sarcastic delight, "Minerva. So lovely to see you."

"Oh no, Aine, darling. The pleasure is all mine," Minerva shot back. It really was amazing how that girl made her middle finger twitch.

Aine looked as though she'd have loved to make a sharp reply back. Inspiration seemed, at that moment, beyond the grasp of her feeble mind. In a huff, she turned away from Minerva.

"Aine, darling, don't cry. You could smear your makeup!" Minerva simpered in tones of mock-horror.

Still, no response came from Aine. Minerva seized the opportunity for another cutting comment.

"Aine," Minerva whispered, "Do you know why a fool and an idiot shouldn't breed?" A pause, and still no comment from Aine, "Well, I'll tell you. When a troll shags a Veela, you're the typical result."

Aine glared, her cat-like amber eyes flashing in warning. Minerva averted her gaze from the attractive xanthochroid for a moment.

"Minerva, why do you hate me?" Aine cooed suddenly in a babyish voice, dripping with sweetness.

Minerva was struck dumb. She cocked her head sideways and stared at Aine, who stood with the same silly, sappy expression on her face.

There was an unbearable silence, an impenetrable quiet of disturbing proportions.

At last, Tom spoke.

"La beauté sans intégrité est comme une fleur sans parfum." he said, stealing a casual glance at Minerva. She smirked back. Yes, Tom had shown Aine, hadn't he?

"Well, Aine? I thought you spoke flawless French!" he shot back.

"Ah, yes. You said I was a beautifully perfumed flower, did you not?" she smiled, "Oh, Mr. Riddle. You're such a flatterer."

Tom and Minerva found it difficult to disguise their humour. Xander was looking on rather stonily, but Aine continued to flash her silly **Dance Face.

If ignorance is bliss, Minerva thought sagely, Aine must be the happiest person I know.

* Minerva's actual age is not exactly specified in canon, so I tweaked the information from The Lexicon slightly.

** Dance Face is a fake grin often warn by the incredibly unintelligent. (See: The Cousin for more information).

La beauté sans intégrité est comme une fleur sans parfum translated to English is: Beauty without integrity is like a flower without perfume.

*Anya*