Minerva needed Quidditch today. After her embarrassing defeat at the duelling club last night, she was in no mood to discuss Tom Riddle with Albus, nor did she want to see him. She had spent all of last year instilling a certain image in her students. Just because she was the youngest professor on the staff team didn't mean she wasn't to be taken seriously. She detailed her reputation around the school to represent the one she wanted; a young professor who was good at what she did, and would have no problem putting anyone in their place, should it be necessary. However, in one night, she felt that Tom Riddle had spoiled it for her. Now, she never claimed to be the best dueller in the world, but she never thought her abilities were lacking in that department. She fended him off for two minutes or so, all the while feeling a little overwhelmed. Naturally, she wouldn't show that he was absolutely beating her as the seconds ticked by, but she sort of hoped for a comeback. However, before she could bring out a signature move, one that had used to win duels in the past, he hit her quickly with two spells at once, and summoned her wand to him immediately after. It threw her, and she had to double check to make sure it had actually happened. The whole thing came to a halt so quickly. He was an expert dueller, no doubts there, but he was even better than she expected.

After their duel, the students watching applauded, and Minerva wanted to bark something at them to make them stop. Her logical side knew they were cheering on their professors for a rousing demonstration, no doubt in an exuberant mood because they were at the first duelling meeting for the year. However, her illogical side, the side that sometimes surfaced when she lost, told her they were only clapping for Tom, the man who finally put the point-deducting Professor McGonagall in her place. It was… embarrassing. Pride hurt, she left the room as quickly as possible and locked herself in her room, grading papers until the wee hours of the morning. She might have just been a sore loser, but there was something extra potent about losing to Riddle. Something in the way he looked at her made it that much worse.

So, when she woke the next morning, a little too early, she stormed down to breakfast in a bit of a fog, frustrated at her loss. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had practice at nine o'clock that Saturday morning, and the morning clouds matched her mood; grey. Mercifully, they didn't look like they would open anytime soon to let the Heavens rain down, so they were probably safe until the afternoon. However, she needed to be out in the open air, high above the ground, shouting at the chasers of the Gryffindor team. Shouting was always much more acceptable in Quidditch, and it would come across as her trying to be helpful on the pitch, rather than releasing her frustrations over the previous night.

After storming into the Great Hall, she took a seat next to Pomona and helped herself to some eggs. The hall was nearly empty, save for a few Gryffindors nursing a cup of coffee. If she studied them, she would note all were on the team, and would see in her an hour's time.

"Morning, Minerva," Pomona greeted. She was the only other staff member at the table aside from Madame Pomfrey. "How are you this morning?"

Minerva stared at her black coffee for a moment, and then sighed, "Bitter."

The dumpy little witch, one of her closest friends here, giggled as she forked the remainder of the bacon from a platter onto her own plate, "This bitterness wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you lost a very public duel last night, would it?"

She looked at the woman sharply, "How do you know about that?"

"Horace mentioned it in passing this morning," Pomona explained as she drizzled her plate with syrup. Minerva felt her gaze harden. Although they may have looked professional, she had come to realize that every member of the staff was actually a horrible gossip, and loved to discuss their own amongst one another. Minerva liked to stay out of it, but Pomona always brought out the worst in her. Suddenly, she frowned. When had Pomona seen Horace this morning? It had only just gone eight, and the man barely ever made it to breakfast…

"Where is Horace?" Minerva inquired, putting two and two together, but keeping her opinion silent. She heard her friend clear her throat, and then take a sip of her coffee.

"Oh, he… He was on his way to his office before breakfast," Pomona stammered a little weakly. "I saw him in the hallway."

Suddenly, Minerva didn't feel quite so embarrassed about her ridiculous failure at duelling. She brought her black coffee up to her lips and blew on it, eyeing Pomona Sprout over the top of the cup, "And he just decided to get up this early on a Saturday to… go to his office?"

"I think he wanted to start marking early," the woman replied, her cheeks reddening. Ha! Minerva's eyes widened and she poked Pomona's arm.

"You saw him somewhere else this morning, didn't you?"

"No."

"You did!" Minerva marvelled as her friend's cheeks continued to redden, "Are you… Are you being… intimate with him?"

"Keep your voice down!" Pomona hissed, her eyes darting around the nearly empty hall.

"I'm already whispering," Minerva stated, setting her coffee down and facing Pomona directly. "How long?"

"It's a recent development," her friend sniffed, scooping some bacon onto her fork and shoving it in her mouth, "and you can't breathe a word of it to anyone!"

"Don't be silly," she said briskly. "The only person I gossip with is you."

"Well, good," the curly-haired woman exhaled. "I don't know what's going to become of it, but I don't want anyone to know. He'll be dreadfully embarrassed, I think."

"What nonsense," Minerva rolled her eyes. "Any man would be proud to have you as his… partner."

She wasn't particularly sure about what to call this relationship. Women were slowly becoming freer with themselves as the decade drew to a close, but after her one horrible relationship with a Muggle man in her youth, Minerva wasn't exactly jumping on the bandwagon. The man had been her sweetheart, but it could never work out. They were just too different, and while working for the Ministry, she couldn't reveal herself to a Muggle. Therefore, she ended it before she fell too hard for him, and kept herself closed off ever since. Her parents had raised her with the right moral integrity, and Minerva McGonagall wasn't about to go jump into a man's bed after one date, of which she had had a few over the years. They were all miserable failures too, but it wasn't something she focused on. She had work, her clients, and now teaching to occupy her time. Unlike the new generation of women, she wasn't completely intent on exploring her sexuality with the first man who bought her flowers. Not that she looked down on Pomona and Horace for what they were doing. Pomona was older, and really had the right to be with any man she pleased. It would be very hard to date while teaching in Hogwarts, and if she found a man who could… satisfy her urges, even if it was Horace Slughorn, then Minerva wasn't about to stand in her way.

"Now, wait," Pomona said suddenly the moment the blood left her cheeks. "Why are we discussing me? You were the one who came in here in a mood!"

"I think you've managed to lift it, as always," Minerva lied as she pushed her eggs around on her plate. "I'd rather not talk about it anymore, if that's all right with you?"

"If you can respect my privacy, I can certainly grant you the same," Pomona mused, shooting her a friendly smile as the woman continued to eat. For some reason, Minerva wasn't hungry. She waited for her coffee to cool a little and watched as students began to file into the Great Hall. The hour ticked by slowly, and as the tables began to fill, Minerva downed the last of her coffee and rose. She would have waited the final twenty minutes before she needed to leave, but at the off chance of Riddle actually coming to breakfast today, it would be better to leave sooner.

She took the long way out to the Quidditch Pitch, stopping at the shed nearest to the castle to grab one of her older brooms. At the start of the year, she had put a broom in each of the Quidditch cupboards, as she had a few to spare from her old days on the pitch. That way, whenever she wanted, or needed, to fly, she would be able to find one quickly. Like her previous venture back to the stadium, she left her wand in her office. She found that it was just a distraction during the game; she never played with it during matches, so why have it on her during practices?

Despite the horrible cloud cover, it wasn't actually too cold outside yet. It might be mid-September, but the temperature was quite lovely this time of year. Clad in a black sweater with the school's emblem on the breast and a pair of khaki Quidditch pants, she felt ready to face the day. Most of the students on the team had probably been at the duel last night, and she hoped no one would bring it up. As she tromped down the natural stairwell to an open field, the Quidditch pitch in the distance, she spotted Roger Wood waiting for her at the bottom. He grinned as she approached, both holding their brooms the same way, and then fell into step with her.

"The rest of the team should be along shortly," he told her. She frowned a little as the wind picked up, and then looked at the sky, pleading silently for it to stay the way it was, nothing worse. "You know… I think you could have beaten him last night. He just got lucky."

Her lips thinned distastefully, but she reminded herself that he was just trying to be nice. That, or he genuinely thought she would be able to best Tom Riddle had he not been lucky.

"Thank you," Minerva forced. "I'd really rather not talk about it."

"Noted, professor."

"Have you drawn up the plays I asked from you?" Minerva inquired, changing the subject to ease some of the tension, which mostly emanated from her.

"I just finished the last ones this morning," Wood beamed. "I'll bring them to your office after practice, if you want to have a look."

"You don't want to implement them today?"

"I was hoping for your stamp of approval first," he admitted with a shrug, making her eyebrows shoot up. "You obviously know what you're doing."

"Don't take everything I say as law in Quidditch," Minerva chuckled. A broom in hand, the wind in her ponytail, and a pair of comfy pants… Yes, Quidditch was already making her day a bit better. "After all, I haven't played a game in years… And we never actually won a tournament when I was captain."

"Doesn't mean you don't know what you're talking about," Wood argued. "Once we get into it, I'm sure you'll be fantastic."

She shot him a bit of a look, one that he missed as he stared out at the pitch. Minerva wasn't particularly sure how comfortable she was with his overfamiliarity when they were out here. That was probably the only reason he gave off that vibe, but she didn't want him thinking he could overstep his boundaries elsewhere. The only reason she encouraged him about Quidditch was because she was friends with his cousin, as the pair had played together during school. They kept in basic touch over the years, but nothing more than a Christmas card and a few letters.

The pair slipped into the pitch through the side of the stands, and she noticed that all his Quidditch equipment for the day was already set out. He was certainly dedicated to his team considering he must have been up for well over two hours lugging all the gear down from the sheds. Unless he used magic, but she assumed it was a little too early for students to function, and he probably didn't think of it.

"So, I think I'm going to get everyone to do some warm-ups together," he explained as she leaned her broom against the Quidditch trunk, "and then I'm going to work with the keeper for a bit, if you want to take the chasers on. Our beaters are the same as last year, and they know what they need to work on. Can't say either of us will be much help for the seeker-"

"He can train by himself," Minerva informed him. "That's how it always is."

"True."

She turned her head at the rambunctious sounds coming from the entrance to the lower half of the pitch, and she frowned as the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team came barrelling in. None of them looked particularly pleased, and it certainly didn't take long for her to figure out why.

"Professor, the Slytherin team is on their way here," Bill Hawthorne, keeper, informed her loudly over the outraged conversations of his team. "They say they've booked the pitch, but we've had it booked for weeks now!"

"Rubbish," Wood snapped, throwing his broom down irritably. "I checked last night, and the pitch was still ours… Unless one of those sods went and changed it, it's ours for the next two hours!"

"All right, all right," Minerva barked, getting Wood's attention, if anyone's. "Keep your tempers in check. I'll talk to their captain, and inform him that the pitch belongs to Gryffindor… and he should have signed up for it sooner."

"Thanks," she heard Roger mutter, and she nodded. Her moment to shine came shortly after, as the Slytherin team soon marched into the pitch, brooms in hand, and a Quidditch trunk of their own. She was about to walk toward the captain, a rather lanky boy named Avery, but Minerva felt her steps falter when she spotted Tom Riddle amongst them.

Oh, for Merlin's sake!

Her eyes narrowed, and he shot her a bit of a smirk before sauntering to the side of the pitch to put down a bag. Annoyingly enough, they were actually dressed similar, though Tom had opted for grey pants instead of tan. Hers hid the dirt better, she thought smugly. However, with all eyes of the Gryffindor team on her, she had to act quickly to diffuse a potentially dangerous situation.

"Avery," she called sharply, marching directly over to him. He was actually about a foot taller than she was, but she held her ground, hands on her hips. "Would you care to tell me why you and your team are here this morning?"

"Well, to practice, Professor," he replied dully, and her eyes narrowed at his tone. She could have sworn she heard some sniggers behind him. This was exactly what she wanted to avoid being the young professor, and standing here in a similar training uniform to her Gryffindor team certainly didn't help matters.

"I am fully aware of the theoretical reasons for coming to the Quidditch pitch," Minerva snapped harshly, making the boy frown. She noticed Tom had joined the group and was working his way to the front, no doubt to defend the boy. "What I want to know is why you are all here right now, when Mr. Wood tells me the pitch has been booked for Gryffindor for weeks?"

"Well, Wood's mistaken then," Avery remarked. "It says Slytherin when I checked this morning."

"Filthy liar!"

"Wood, temper," Minerva hissed, forcing him to back down a little.

"Now, we do seem to be in quite the situation," Riddle mused, his hands folded together in front of him. "The word of one student against the word of another… Are you picking sides, Professor McGonagall? Surely house rivalries do not extend into one's teaching career?"

Her eyes narrowed at him, "And may I ask why you're here, Professor Riddle?"

"Well, you've inspired me to get more involved with the students," he explained, clapping a hand down firmly on Avery's shoulder, who winced. "So I decided to come out and help train Slytherin's seeker… Who, from what I've heard, is really just awful."

A stout boy named Grimsby blushed behind him and stared at his feet. She threw her shoulders back, acutely aware of the height difference between the two male combatants and herself, and then pursed her lips, "I suppose the only real way is to go check the sign-up sheet in the main hallway."

"Or we could duel for it?"

This time she definitely heard some giggles from the Slytherin crowd, and she glared at him dangerously, "A moment of your time, Professor Riddle… in private."

She certainly didn't give him the luxury to refuse, and stalked off toward the right of the pitch, her hands threatening to curl into fists. He had ruined it! He had ruined Quidditch for her that morning! She only stopped when the grass did, and glared down at the lower level of the pitch before turning back around to look at him. He approached her with something of a smug grin on his face, and he rolled his eyes, "Oh come now, Minerva, it was just a joke."

"Hardly an appropriate one to say in front of students," she sneered, her calm composure that she always reserved for Tom Riddle completely forgotten, "especially in a situation like this!"

"Don't act like it's an actual problem," Tom drawled, his face amused, but his eyes decidedly different. "All we have to do is go check the sheet, like you said."

"Why couldn't you have just agreed with me then?"

"I liked my answer better."

Her jaw nearly fell open, and she pointed a finger at him, "You… You are…"

However, instead of insulting him, she regained her normal attitude faster than anticipated, and took a deep sigh to calm herself. He merely grinned at her, his head cocked to the side, "You can't be this angry with me because I beat you in a duel... Such a sore loser, Minerva."

"Hardly," she sneered, "but I would prefer not to be demoted to something less than a student by you when we are around them."

"And yet you figuratively castrate me nearly every time we have a lesson together," Tom mused, a look of mock thoughtfulness on his face. "Yes, makes perfect sense to me now."

"If you have something to say, say it," Minerva demanded suddenly, shooting a quick look at the two teams. They were talking amongst each other, and so far that was all the rivals were doing. "Don't dance around it anymore."

She hadn't expected it to come out, but she grew tired of his snide remarks about her position around the castle, particularly when it came to the assignment Dumbledore gave her. His lip twitched slightly, and she noticed a remarkably cold expression cross his face. It was actually quite a startling change from the goading mask he wore before, and she nearly felt like taking a hesitant step back, in case he would rather do something than say it. However, his moment to do was lost when a fight erupted behind them. Minerva's head swivelled back quickly. She saw that at least five members of each team were involved, Wood one of them, and she let out an exasperated groan.

"Do you have your wand?" Riddle demanded as they jogged back to the scene. She shook her head and looked at him questioningly, and he growled, "Mine's in my bag."

So, wandless, both professors dove into the mess of students. Minerva ducked out of the way to avoid flailing fists.

"Stop this, stop this at once!" she cried, grabbing hold of a skinny Slytherin boy and dragging him off of Wood and Davies, another Slytherin who were pounding on one another. Minerva heard Riddle saying similar things as he wormed his way between another two students, a disgusted expression on his face, but no one seemed to heed their professors in the slightest. Those that weren't fighting were cheering on their teammates, and it was an atrocious mess in a matter of seconds. Wood managed to push the boy down onto his back, a few punches to the face as the Slytherin jabbed his knee into his stomach, and Minerva just wanted to end it.

"Wood!" she all but shouted, grabbing hold of his shoulder in an attempt to get him off before serious damage was done. Suddenly, he brought his elbow back with such force, blind in his physical rage toward Davies, that he actually slammed it violently into her nose, knocking her back. She didn't cry out, to her credit, but she crumpled to the ground and quickly grasped her nose, which had already started to bleed. It had to be broken. The pain made her eyes water terribly, but she made no vocal expressions of her pain. She had broken her nose on occasion before, and usually on the pitch, but that came from a ball hitting her, not the hardened bone of someone's elbow.

"Oh, professor, are you all right?"

She felt hands descend on her, and she pushed herself away from the fight with her feet. That seemed to rouse Wood from his anger, and he turned around quickly, eyes wide, "Professor!"

"I'm fine," Minerva managed, hastily wiping blood away before it drained into her mouth. "It's fine, it's fine… Broken noses bleed a lot."

It hurt to talk. She winced as two pairs of hands helped her to her feet, and she caught sight of Riddle dragging back the Slytherin Wood had been fighting with just as he attempt to jump him from behind. He gave her a once over, seemingly annoyed, "I can fix it."

"It's fine," she gasped, frustrated that he had already turned away and was off to, no doubt, retrieve his wand. "I'm going to the hospital wing. I suggest anyone else bleeding do the same. When I return, I want this sorted out like reasonable adults, or you'll all be banned from practice for the next two weeks for fighting!"

Wood tried to say something, but she pushed past him, too focused on getting to the Hospital Wing so she could have her nose repaired. The longer it was broken, the more painful it felt. It must have been a good break, as it had never hurt like this before, and she felt blood trailing down the front of her face like a fountain. As she stalked toward the entrance of the stadium, she heard Riddle call her name, but she ignored him. Instead, she headed directly into the tunnel and exited the other side, bent on walking fast enough that he might lose interest in fixing her nose. Why on earth he wanted to do it in the first place was beyond her, nor did she care.

Before she could get far, a hand caught her by her wrist and dragged her back forcefully. She collided with the hard outer wall of the pitch, knocking her head a little, and she cried out a little at what the vibration did to her damaged nose. Tom Riddle stood in front of her, his expression still horribly cross, and for a half second she considered telling him off again. He was angry with her, as she stood there with a broken nose? This man was insufferable, and horrendously difficult to read. He smacked her hand away from her face, and replaced it with his own as he held her by the top of her neck, fingers curved up to her ears as a way to manipulate her skull, perhaps keep it in place.

"I said I could fix it," he snarled, and then pointed his wand at her nose. "Episkey!"

Minerva released something of a strangled cry as the magic cracked her nose back into place and the trail of blood suddenly stopped, Her hand flew up and stopped just short of touching his wrist, a sort of knee-jerk reaction and her eyes widened as a hot and then cold sensation flooded her nostrils. Fixed, just like that.

"I didn't doubt your abilities," she muttered. He pulled his hand away, allowing her body to relax as she tried to wipe off the drying blood with the neck of her sweater. Tom gave her a look, one that made her a little uncomfortable, and then turned back toward the entrance of the pitch.

"I'll take the Slytherin team to practice elsewhere," Minerva heard him snap. With that he was gone, back inside to no doubt collect his troublesome team.


AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Oh silly Tom. He's such a hot and cold type of guy, and I can actually feel Minerva's frustration with him. How are you supposed to take a guy like that? I especially enjoyed seeing it in the films. One second he's all quiet and stalking around, the next he's Avada-ing a random Death Eater for showing concern. Oh Voldie, so complex. I like to leave the chapters in a fit of confusion sometimes… makes us feel what Minerva's feeling.

Also, Sprout and Slughorn make me giggle. Just because.

So, after reviewing the Minerva McGonagall HP Wikipedia page, suddenly her birth year has changed. It's moved to 1935, making her almost ten years younger than Voldemort. I believe it's been updated since Pottermore opened, because later in the article they make references to her and Voldemort being classmates, her being older. So, that's a little frustrating. I wanted to stick as close to canon as possible, despite being a "What if?" type of storyline, and … you know, an AU romance lurking in the background. So I'm a little frustrated now. Super excited about getting more information on her, but still a little annoyed that it's thrown off my dates. In the recent year of new fanfic for me, I try really hard to make dates work. It's kind of my pet peeve at this point.

Soooo. I'm going to roll with what I had planned – in this fic, she's still a year older than Riddle, and they did go to school together. Ugh.

LOVE LOVE LOVE FOR THE REVIEWS, MY DARLINGS. Until next time!