Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, folks! ;)

She didn't know what it was about him that fascinated her so. It certainly wasn't his looks, because though Minerva had no difficult to see why all the other girls fainted over such a tall and handsome young man, she had never cared about looks herself.

It couldn't be his personality either. Yes, he was perfectly charming and oh-so gallant, but to Minerva McGonagall, that did not matter. It was all on the surface. Who was he really? That was the question that burned inside her every day, every hour, every second.

He was so mysterious. Perhaps that was what intruded her about him. Yes, Tom Riddle, the poor but brilliant orphan, the head boy and model student. She knew there was more to him, though. There had to be.

Sometimes she lay awake at night, thinking about him. She wondered how her skin would feel like on his, the feeling of his lips capturing hers. She imagined them to be cold and harsh, like the rest of him. No matter how polite he was to everyone, Minerva had noticed it. The cold look in his eyes and the distant expression on his face, always there. He never let anyone close to him, and for some absurd reason, that made her think of him even more.

She was ashamed to think of him in that way. She was, after all Minerva McGonagall, the smart Gryffindor girl with her feet planted firmly on the ground. She did not giggle or whisper dreamily at the very sight of him, nor did she faint as he spoke to her, if only to ask what their next class was. She told herself that she quite simply thought he was nice, and it had been easy to go with this solution, as the only time she needed to speak to the Slytherin was in class. Not any more, though. As they were head boy and girl the need to speak to each other had grown considerably.

He was a responsible head boy. Just the kind she had hoped to be paired with. He took his duties seriously, worked hard on their assignments and patrolled every night. If it was late, he insisted that she should go to bed, and he could finish alone. She never let him, though, and not just because she wanted to be as responsible as he was, but because an odd part of her liked to walk with him in the dark. It scared her too, though. There was something about that thick tension that filled the air every time she was alone with him: so intense, yet so thrilling. And she wanted more.

"Minerva?" Tom said. She didn't know how long they had been on first name basis, but the moment her name escaped from his lips there went a shiver trough her. She wasn't sure whether she liked it or not.

"Yes," she replied shortly, pretending she had not felt anything. Her dark green eyes were focused on the essay in front of her.

"Maybe you should go to bed."

The smirk was present in his voice, and it made her stomach flutter, yet she couldn't help but roll her eyes. The clock hadn't passed ten, and as they were both heads, they were allowed to be out of bed for another two hours.


"Maybe not." She heard him chuckle at her reply, but she still didn't look up.

The library was empty except for the two of them. Not even the librarian, Mrs. York was there. The only sound that could be heard was the sound of their quills against the parchment.

Minerva had usually no problem with concentrating: she was in fact known for her ability to keep her head and concentrate in the most heated of situations. But as she sat in the dark library, supposed to be working, she found herself gaze at him trough the curtain of dark hair, hiding her face. And it bothered her, yet again, that she knew so little about him. Who was he? What was he thinking at that very moment, as he studied the book he was reading so carefully?

He looked at her, probably noticing that she had been staring. She quickly looked down, and was glad he could not see her face as she felt herself blush. Who is this girl, she thought angrily. It couldn't be Minerva McGonagall for sure, because she did not blush.

She took a deep breath. This was silly. But the moment she thought she was back to her normal, calm and not-blushing self, she felt a cold hand upon her own.

The feeling that went through her body was like ice and fire at once, and she gasped. Shocked and confused, she pulled her hand back. What had just happened? Not really wanting to, but unable to resist, she looked at him, and their eyes met. But unlike her, who looked just as shocked as she felt, he had an unmistakable amused expression upon his face, and a smirk, small but no less arrogant, was playing on his lips.

It hit her in that moment: he knew how she felt in his presence. And he was playing with her, taunting her just for fun. He probably enjoyed the control he had over her, because Tom Riddle, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise, loved control. She ought to be angry with him, and deep inside she was, but as she looked at him, she felt herself admire how calm and confident he looked once again.

Confusion was building up inside her. She couldn't bear to look into that arrogant face anymore, no matter how handsome it was. She could not spend any more time alone with him in this library. It scared her, but not like it always did when she was with him. This time it scared her in a much more intense way, and she felt her heart beat so hard that she was surprised it hadn't exploded.

"Goodnight," she said, and got angry with herself as she heard how confused and scared she sounded: like a child. She grabbed her books quickly, and in her hurry she noticed that Tom wasn't working on his head duties at all, but read some strange book she had not seen before… Not that it mattered. It took all the strength she had within her not to look at him, to see if he was still smirking or if he was angry at her for leaving, as she got up from the chair.

With fast, firm steps she walked towards the door. But as she was about to lay her hand on the door knob, she felt his hand upon it again. Her heart stopped. Not because of the shock or surprise, but because his touch had, yet again, sent shivers down her spine. It made her even more confused, even more scared, and all she wanted was to be as far 

away from Tom Riddle as possible.

"What do you want from me?"

The question seemed to hang in the room for several moments after she had said it. She was standing with her back towards him, her eyes staring at the door longingly. There went a jolt trough her as she felt his icy cold hands touch her long hair, caressing it. She wanted to run, but her legs were locked to the spot. And still, as the fear paralyzed every inch of her body, she felt something else, and it made her fear even more: excitement.

"What do I want from you, Minerva…?" he whispered, and she could feel his breath against her cheek. She shivered. His pale hands continued to caress her hair: his long fingers stroke her midnight coloured locks with such a terrifying tenderness, and it made her want to scream. She hadn't even thought it was possible to do anything with a terrifying tenderness before Tom Riddle came along and proved that it was.

"I want nothing more from you than you want from me."

He whispered the words in her ear. And to her horror, she felt the walls around her break: a tear run down face, landing on her thin lips. It tasted salt. She swallowed, and she knew that Tom knew she was crying. And with all the effort she could manage, she turned around and pushed the pale boy away harshly. But as she stared up at him, she felt another tear escape from her eyes, and then another one. She was crying.

"No," she said, trying desperately to hold in her sobs. "You are wrong."

She wanted to make an impressive image, though she doubted that she was. A crying girl is never something to be scared of. Non-less, she stared determined up into his eyes, his cold, dark eyes.

He raised an eyebrow, and was smirking as he leaned down, his face dangerously close to hers.

"Am I?"

Minerva closed her eyes. His hands were in her hair again. Smelling in his breath one last time, memorizing his touch, she made up her mind. And that decision would change her life forever.

She opened her eyes, staring at him. But this time there were no tears, no sobs. She wasn't even scared anymore as she looked at him, just determined.

"Yes," she said, with an authority that she later would become known for. "You are."

She walked away, not because she didn't dare to see his reactions, but she had nothing more to say to Tom Riddle.

Minerva McGonagall's hair never hung loose since that day. No one should ever touch it again.



A/N: I have become addicted to this odd ship and I had so much fun writing this story! :D I got inspired by the song 'Angels' by within temptation. It really sets the mood for this story… Reviews are more than welcome, and I really appreciate any feedback you have. :D So please review?