Sheathed Claws

Professor Minerva McGonagall stepped from Flourish and Blotts into the sunshine of a late May afternoon. She mentally ticked off her completed tasks: she'd ensured the bookshop would have enough stock for the coming year's book list, ordered a term's supply of some of the rarer items needed for her Transfiguration lessons, and given the Gringotts' Head Goblin his instructions about the Hogwarts account - as well as that more sensitive matter of Albus' new plan for the contents of vault seven hundred and thirteen.

Now she was glad to be free for a few hours before she had to Disapparate back to Hogsmeade. She removed her hat and shook out her hair, considering her options. She was tempted to look at the new dress robes at Madam Malkin's, or have a quiet drink at the Leaky Cauldron. It was too pleasant a day to spend indoors though, especially considering the dreary weather they'd been having at Hogwarts. She stretched, revelling in the warmth of the sun; perhaps she should just spend the rest of the afternoon as a cat. There was a nice sunny spot on a wall that would afford her a fine view of all the alley's comings and goings.

A tall figure strode from a side alley, nearly knocking her down. She turned angrily with a swift rebuke, but her irate words died as she recognised him. The curl of his lips turned swiftly from snarl to smile.

"Minerva!" He bowed slightly.

"Lucius." She warily nodded acknowledgement.

There was a sign on the wall behind him. Knockturn Alley. She glanced at the sign, then back at him, one eyebrow raised fractionally. He ignored the look.

"Such a pleasant surprise to see you here today," he was saying smoothly. "I don't suppose you'd care for a drink?"

"Why not?" She accepted, adopting a nonchalant tone. "Have you anywhere in mind? Somehow I don't expect you frequent the Leaky Cauldron."

He didn't dignify that with a reply as he led her past the Bank.

The door they entered was unmarked. Upstairs was small, dimly lit room scattered with comfortable dragonhide chairs and sofas. Two wizards whom Minerva recognised as senior Ministry officials sat deep in conversation, looking up to nod a greeting as the newcomers chose a table by the window.

"And what can I get for you today, Mr Malfoy?" asked the house-elf who approached from behind the panelled bar. The wizard murmured something she didn't catch, then turned to her.

"Laphroaig, please - if you have it," she replied with the slightest hint of a smile.

Lucius gave a delicate grimace. The house-elf showed no reaction.

"And would you like ice with that, Madam?"

"Certainly not!" she snapped with a mock-offended air.

"I'll never understand how you can drink that Muggle poison," he complained when the drinks had arrived and she was swirling the peaty liquid in her glass. She didn't comment on his drink, which was tall and cobalt blue and smoking slightly. Knowing Lucius, it was rare and foreign and a bottle would be worth a week of her Deputy Headteacher's salary.

"My cousin was a stillman," she explained, "so you could say that it runs in the family. I would have thought you, of all people, would appreciate that."

"Indeed," was his dry reply.

She smiled. She enjoyed reminding him of her Muggle relatives, a none-too-subtle challenge to his own worldview. To be with Lucius was to play a dangerously elaborate chess game, with pieces that sometimes moved unpredictably of their own accord. It was a game that somehow had never been brought to a close. She'd often wondered why, especially in the darkest days, though she couldn't deny that there had been value in knowing the mind of one of her side's key opponents. The game could be useful, then, if occasionally dangerous, but it was also strangely enjoyable. While others avoided him or curried favour, it gave her satisfaction that she could dance with the snake and avoid the venom.

"So, who were you visiting in Knockturn Alley?" she asked, feigning innocence. Although his attitude to just about everything else suggested he would turn up his nose at the poky, dirty little shops, it was not exactly a surprise to see him there. His family's affinity for the Dark Arts was well known, and he had been a Death Eater, after all. She had been a little surprised by that; he wasn't the type to bow down before any master, no matter how terrible. He had claimed afterwards to have been bewitched, and everyone she knew said he was lying. There'd be more to it than that, she was sure. There usually was where he was concerned.

He laughed, his voice languid. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Minerva, but didn't you once tell me about a Muggle proverb concerning the fatal consequences of feline curiosity?"

Her expression was inscrutable. Typical Lucius - even at eighteen he had known how to wield the exact blend of charm and threat to suit his purposes. Most people didn't stay around to look further than that. She, on the other hand, was not about to waste energy being provoked. He was what he was, that was all, and it was better to see it clearly and be prepared than to complain when he transgressed a moral code that he had never accepted. Precious little point in whining about the heat when you sup with the devil, her grandmother would have said. She sipped her whisky, slowly.

"Lucky for cats, then, that they are also said to have nine lives," she answered him.

That was Minerva, he thought. A cool intelligence equalling his own, and beyond that...

He let a pause develop, then continued the conversation.

"And yourself? Was it business or pleasure that brought you here today?"

"Business." She gave him a brief run-down of her morning, making no reference to vault seven hundred and thirteen.

He raised his eyebrows. "I trust the state of Hogwarts' finances is not so dire that it requires the absence of one of its most accomplished Professors on a teaching day?" he drawled.

His proprietary tone irked her. "As to that, you'll receive a full report by the end of term," she replied tetchily. "If, that is, the rumours that you are becoming a school governor are true?"

"You are well informed," he confirmed. "I'm looking forward to taking a much closer interest in the running of the school."

She did not miss the hint of menace. So he would, in effect, become one of her employers. That was almost a reversal of their roles all those years ago, when he had been a final-year student and she a new teacher starting her career at Hogwarts after the years of Ministry work. She was not comfortable with this at all, especially not in the year that Harry Potter was due to come up to the school. Especially not considering the contents of vault seven hundred and thirteen. The stakes of the game had just been raised.

"I can't imagine why," she said diffidently. "You've never seemed that interested before." It was the 'why' that she needed to know. The 'how' was less important; what Lucius Malfoy wanted, he usually got - one way or the other.

"Of course I'm interested in the proper administration of the country's foremost School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he said. "But as it happens I have a more - personal - reason for getting involved this year."

"Oh?"

"My son will be joining you this September. And as you can imagine, I am most concerned for his welfare."

How could that have slipped her mind? She hadn't sent that year's letters yet, but still...

"Hmmm...Draco, isn't it?" she queried. He nodded.

"You know that well, I think."

"It's quite a name for an eleven-year-old boy to carry," she observed. "It doesn't exactly do your reputation any favours, to have given him a name like that."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I am quite satisfied with my reputation, thank you," he said coldly. "And 'names like that', as you put it, could be said to run in the family."

"Evidently."

That had been a step too far. She shifted the subject.

"Is Draco looking forward to coming to Hogwarts?"

He shrugged. "I suppose so. His mother will miss him though."

"And how do you feel about it?"

"That's completely irrelevant!" he retorted. "He's a Malfoy and he's eleven, so he's going to school! What have my feelings got to do with it?"

She leaned forward. "That's not an answer, Lucius," she said softly, "and I'm sure it's not irrelevant to Draco."

He twisted a strand of hair between his long fingers, considering his response. A memory stirred: the younger Professor McGonagall standing in front of his class. "You must maintain awareness," she had told them. "It is essential to know what you think, what you are feeling, what makes you strong, where your weak points are - especially when you engage the Dark Arts." Perhaps he should have heeded that advice better.

He didn't want to think too deeply about his son, but before her gaze his thoughts turned unbidden to the past. It hadn't exactly been the most sensible time to have a child, but there had been that growing pressure from his father to produce an heir, and at least it had made Narcissa happy. In different circumstances, perhaps he would have found time to be happy too. As it was, he had been too busy fighting to ensure that his family retained their position whatever happened - working to secure Voldemort's confidence, maintaining his contacts at the Ministry, keeping the Aurors at bay... It had been a fine and dangerous line to tread.

They had seemed more invincible by the day, on the verge of transforming the world, about to destroy those cringing bureaucrats who wanted to shackle everyone with rules because they were too weak to wield power themselves. But he had seen too many small mistakes to be completely confident, too many awkward situations that Voldemort in his arrogance had refused to plan for. As it turned out, of course, he had been wise to take precautions. The Death Eaters had melted away - most of them as pathetic without their supposedly invincible leader as the Ministry officials were without their laws.

Minerva was watching him, sympathy bright in her eyes. "Don't be too hard on him," she said quietly. "He has a lot to live up to."

He resented her compassion. "What gives you the right to judge?" he snapped.

She sighed. It was so much easier to feign self-control behind a wall of brusqueness. "I've seen hundreds of boys leave their parents and come to us. I speak as a teacher, and - "

She had been going to say "as a friend," but that would have been a lie. Too much knowledge and too little trust lay between them for that.

They sat in silence, each lost in thought. The shadows lengthened outside.

Minerva stood up and adjusted her long cloak. "I should be getting back," she told him.

"So should I." He smiled at her as he rose to his feet. It was not exactly a pleasant smile, but neither was it his usual haughty sneer. Perhaps that was as close to smiling as he could manage now, she thought. Even back then his calculating nature had made true smiles rare, and he had spent too much time in the dark since.

He took her hand in his, raising it to his lips. She shivered slightly at his touch, but ignored that response. They always had, except for the one time ng ago.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Minerva," he said, as he bowed - and Disapparated.

She smiled wryly as she descended the stairs. He enjoyed his dramatic exits, did Lucius - or perhaps he just found it easier to leave abruptly. Easier for him, anyway; she doubted he considered the effect on her, though at least this way she didn't have to walk away from him.

She had to regain her composure before going back to the school.

Yes, she thought to herself, she had faced the dark in her time. She knew from grim experience how important it was to know her deepest desires, and where they might lead her astray. But once crossed, some boundaries were impossible to maintain.

Crossing the threshold into the late afternoon sun, Professor McGonagall twisted her hair up into her hat and prepared to return to Hogwarts.