Disclaimer: I don't own any of the original stuff except for the things I made up in order for the story to make sense (:

Yeah..I kind of suck but that's okay.. (;


I officially met Tom while I was in my fourth year, and he was in his second. Even though I was older by two years, he had a lean, slender, and tall figure that always made me feel like I was the small,

powerless one. I don't have many friends—just one; we fight so much, because she likes to talk about boys and gossip and makeup, but I like to study. One reason I enjoy Tom's company so much is

because he's one of the few that…understand me. Forget about my family—none of them give a damn about how I'm doing, and when they write to me, it's like they marked a piece of parchment

randomly and sent it to me while the other girls got sweets, clothes, and love. Tom and I both lack love. And when you lack love, it leaves you bitter and cold inside. I walk by myself, mostly, in the

hallways of Hogwarts. The good thing about being quiet, studious, and determined is that people actually pity you. They think you need their pity. Due to that, there is much less drama, tears, and

rough break ups. You live a quiet life. That's how I like it. When I pass Tom in the hallways, he catches my eye, but doesn't smile; doesn't acknowledge me in anyway, and nor do I. I can't expect so

much from him—after all, he's like the role model of Slytherin; beautifully handsome, merciless, but so damn charming. If you were just someone to look at us from the outside—you wouldn't even look

twice at the two of us, but really, I am probably the closest person to Tom. We meet at midnight every night; that's why there are always dark circles around my eyes, but unlike me, he can still look

gorgeous with sleep deprived circles under his eyes. And this is our story.

"Minerva," I heard someone's voice, low in my ear. Turning around; alarmed, I relaxed when I saw it was only Tom. He slipped a piece of parchment into my palm, and continued on his way with his

gloomy looking Slytherin followers. I smiled at him vaguely—something he did not return, or maybe was incapable of. Striding quickly away, I caught up to my conditional friend, Elizabeth Brown.

"Hello," She said, a fake smile spreading across her face.

"Hello." I muttered, running a hand through my raven hair. Elizabeth sighed with unmistakable jealousy, staring at my hair.

"I wish I had your hair, Minerva. It's so black…and shiny," She added, and it was no more than I expected from her. To her, everything was about the physical appearance, and the personality didn't matter at all. I was proud to know that I, Minerva McGonagall, would never fall into the category of fake girls.

"Thank you…the same goes for you," I lied, my eyes flickering to her dark, blonde hair.

"Oh! You really think so?" She said, breaking into another smile.

"Yeah…definitely." I said nonchalantly, but Elizabeth wouldn't be able to tell, nor care. She sighed sincerely again.

"Please, please let me do a makeover on you, Minerva! You'd be so pretty…I mean, you have those green eyes and raven hair…" She trailed off, looking at me pleadingly.

"No, I'm sorry," I said, not sounding like I was sorry at all, and Elizabeth glared at me and walked away. That's how easy it is to piss off a girl like Elizabeth Brown. In Transfiguration (easily my best class), Elizabeth veered away from where she usually sat, and gave me a dirty look. Writing furiously in my notes, I tried to add everything I had learned the past six years. I was so absorbed in my work, that I didn't notice the towering figure that lingered over me for a few seconds.

"Hullo," A soft, melodious voice rang out—it was oddly masculine, though, and when I looked up, I saw a handsome, dark-skinned boy standing there. Hero Zabini. How…how gentlemen of him to come greet me in such a polite way, when I had remembered him in the presence of unpleasant company—such as Malfoy, or Avery.

"Greetings, Zabini." I spluttered, slightly nonplussed as he slid into the seat next to me. I shot Tom a bewildered look—he was not looking in my direction, though. Professor Dumbledore pranced out of his office—yes, pranced—the man was always so happy.

"Hello, class," He said, smiling at all the grouchy, moody students that sat grudgingly in front of him. "I know the Christmas holidays are coming up, and I am terribly sorry that you still are required to write a ten-inch essay," An amused look sprawled across his face as a handful of students groaned.

"You may study as you please, we have no particular lesson planned for today." With this, he swept back into the office and Zabini turned to me.

"Can you believe our luck? After Professor Binns' class I wouldn't have been able to stand another one," He told me, as if we were old buddies. I stared at him.

"Zabini," I started, watching him write down his notes on a piece of blank parchment. He looked up momentarily, his quill hanging a centimeter over the paper and his hand twitching to write.

"Why have you suddenly decided to be in my company? Last time I remembered, we were sworn enemies," I added hastily. Zabini laughed for a second, but then turned serious.

"I…I don't know," He said, looking confused himself. "If you don't like it, I can move…" Trailing off, he lowered his gaze.

"Ah, no! That's not what I meant at all. Just a bit…puzzled," I said quickly, and relief flooded over his face again. He smiled at me—I returned it; I was not like Tom in every way. Tom did act friendly—but only when he wanted to manipulate someone. For the rest of the lesson, Zabini and I shared our notes and the dismissal came earlier than I had previously thought. I hurried to the Gryffindor Tower and when I got there, I unfolded Tom's piece of parchment.

11 o'clock, Astronomy Tower. Be there.


Well, of course I was going to be there—my thoughts were interrupted by a screeching and pecking owl outside my window. I opened the window cautiously, and when I recognized the owl as my mothers', my heart sank. It was a letter telling me that I was going to be going back home for Christmas, because my hated Grandmother, Pansy McGonagall was going to be there also. Angrily crumpling up the letter, I threw it into the fire. I hated it when my parents told me what to do. When were they going to stop, already? To my surprise, tears pricked up in my eyes out of frustration, I wiped them away hastily. The other girls in the dormitory were giving me sympathetic looks, and I crawled into my bed, pretending to sleep.

At 11 o'clock, I reached the astronomy tower and leaned on one of the pillars, my arms crossed. A few minutes passed, and I felt a cool, slender hand grab my wrist. Gasping slightly, I looked up and saw Tom. He drew me closer to him, and put a long finger onto my lips. Blushing, I allowed him to lead me onto the balconies that the fifth, sixth, and seventh years' did their O.W.L's on. It was very large—almost as large as the Viaduct. I could feel him peering at me curiously, and I gave him an annoyed look.

"What?" I asked, and to my distaste, my voice sounded soft and tender. His eyes studied mine for a moment, and then he leaned over so that his palm was propping his right cheek up as he watched me stare into the night.

"Have you been crying?" His voice was faintly amused, and I glared at him, my cheeks flushing, and I was thankful that the night was dark.

"No!" I replied defiantly, but he lifted his thumb and traced lightly over my cheek to my jaw. Shivering involuntarily at his touch, I returned his intense gaze.

"Don't lie to me, Minerva McGonagall. You of all people should know that you can never lie to Lord Voldemort." He said softly. Glaring at him, I backed away. His hand dropped very suddenly.

"Voldemort," I spat, fury welling up in my chest. "I'm not your follower, Tom. I'm…I'm just Minerva," I finished lamely. Tom looked truly angry for a second—I saw the dangerous flicker in his eye.

"You'll never understand, Minerva. You and your little Gryffindors, arguing about silly, unimportant affairs. Quidditch," He said, looking annoyed. "Quidditch is nothing compared to the Dark Arts. Nothing." I stumbled backwards—this time, I really took a trip, but Tom caught me swiftly around the waist. I felt his lean arm burn against my unexposed skin—I shuddered. He noticed, and gave me an amused look.

"So you have been messing around with the Dark Arts," I said, avoiding his gaze. His answer was soft and dangerous.

"Yes."

"Tom! Don't…please," I begged. "Just drop it…for me," Even though I knew that every word of begging that came out of my mouth was useless, I said it all, for Tom. He only smirked at my feeble attempt.

"Having you in my presence is not something I am proud of, Minerva. Maybe I am delighted with your company…but it disgusts me to see that I care about you. That I…" He trailed off, and I felt butterflies in my stomach. Tom…cared? He was not finished.

"Disgusts me to see that I have grown so close to another…yet I cannot let go," He muttered. "Maybe if I tried…" A hungry gleam flickered across his handsome face—he raised his wand, his blood red lips opening slightly.

"Are you really going to curse me, Tom Riddle? After all this time?" I felt my voice quavering and tears welling up in my eyes again—goodness, what was wrong with me today? My stern thoughts did not help. The tears trickled down. Tom looked shocked—disturbed for a moment, and he raised his fingers, wiping off a tear gingerly. I flinched away from him, and for a moment I thought there was a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

"I thought you cared," I hissed, and I backed away, so scared, so sad, and so confused. I stumbled back to the Gryffindor Tower blindly the whole way, tears stinging my eyes a big, heavy lump in my throat.


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