A/N: Here's my second drabble. Afraid it ran long. :P Hope you like it!


He had learned to be more lighthearted around her, and drop the charming facade. He realized it didn't work on her when he'd heard her mention it scathingly to a fellow prefect -"nauseating," she'd called it- and his blood boiled at that line...but he gradually changed. No, never actually changed, but he made the facade seem more natural. People, he knew, always wanted to feel special, and Minerva was no exception. So he altered his behavior just enough that she would believe he was truly himself with her. She was perceptive, he knew, and would know his innocence was feigned, at least in part, so he let slip some of his darker doings. No, nothing that would compromise his plans, of course, but enough: a glimpse of Magicke Moste Evil stowed in his bookbag, a knowing smile when she saw his sketches of a dark mark, an elegant eyebrow raised at her scrutiny of his darker experiments on the small animals and insects on the grounds, but never attempts to cover them up. And whispers made their way back to him. He heard of how she inisted at first that he wasn't really as he behaved. She grew frustrated when she wasn't believed, not even by her friends. And she came to think perhaps it was just her, perhaps she was the variable that, introduced to the fray, caused the difference in behavior.

And he would smile when he learned all this and return to his work.

"You look positively wicked this morning," she said, tone brisk as she slid next to him on the bench.

"You look positively lovely," he said, scooting over to make room and ignoring the looks they were now accustomed to getting. "Anything in mind for today?"

She ignored the pleasantry. "Not going to tell me who you poisoned, hmm?"

"It's a slow-acting poison," he said, humoring her. "You'll know when it's too late. Sausage?"

"Thanks." She ignored the other boys, his group of friends who deliberately crowded them, refusing to allow them a true bit of alone time. It was pathetically obvious, Tom thought. They wanted to hear what they said. "Will you help with the tutoring today, or are you busy researching all the secrets of Salazar Slytherin?"

"I only skipped once, Minerva," he said, rolling his eyes. "Give me a break."

"You get no mercy," she said dismissively. "So will you be there, or not?" She jabbed his chest with a finger. "And tell the truth." Now her voice was playfully mocking.

Tom rolled his eyes as the boys around him tittered. "I'll be there," he said in a lazy drawl.

"Good," she said, leaning over and taking a bite of his eggs and a sip of his juice, as if to show that she could. She didn't say anything else for the rest of the meal though; she seemed slightly annoyed by the company of Slug Club boys that hovered around Tom seemingly at all times. The bell rang for class.

"What time?" he asked as she stood up, hoisting her enormous bookbag.

She bent down and kissed him quickly on the mouth, in full view of everyone before he could stand, catching him by surprise. "At three," she said. "Bye." And she was gone.

That afternoon went utterly wasted, Tom decided, spent apart and trying to teach arithmancy to third year students who were hopeless. And he told her so later that night.

"Why do you bother helping, then?" she demanded in another argument, wincing as he grabbed her upper arms. "And watch it, you're bruising me."

"For some reason I keep thinking if I do the insipid things you enjoy..."

"I'll what? Help you with your stupid dark arts research?" She snorted. "I don't care what you do, but I'm not getting into that. Do something practical if you must, like Transfiguration. You're brilliant at it, even better than me."

"You're so tame," he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I can't stand you when you're patronizing."

"I love it when you are. Remember, that's how i first took an interest in you."

She cut off his words as she kissed him, roughly pulling herself up against him. From that point on things progressed as they always did. "I'm not fragile, Tom," she would always whisper when he thought to reign himself in. "I won't break like the other girls."

"What other girls," he would say, not really asking, and things would begin anew.

By now she was unabashed about leaving his room with him in the mornings, and she cooly walked through the snake pit of a common room on his arm with all the indifference of a cat. She said she didn't care about gossip. He knew no one would, openly. His influence extended farther than she knew.

They lived arrogantly, secure in the knowledge that they were each the top of their respective classes, each in positions of authority, and each able to get away with anything. For Minerva this knowledge was enough, and she stayed within the lines -mostly. For Tom, he took advantage whereever he could. He liked what they had. There was no worry of her emotional investment -severing those ties was always messy, he'd learned. Their respective attraction was there in full force, but the risk of feelings becoming entangled was absent. Her brusque manner with him irked and fascinated him; she was the first girl who hadn't behaved like an idiot when faced with his soft advances. And he was certain that she was as fond of him -if not more so- as he was of her.

It worked out. He wasn't sure if it was youth's arrogance that made him so confident that things would remain this way for a good while, but he felt sure they would.


A/N: Oh Tommy-boy. You douchebag you. Next drabble will have some more Minerva POV! Review for me, lovelies!