A/N: Here is my attempt at carrying on a story I now have no idea what to do with. Suggestions are welcomed! I lost the funny, but I'll make it come back... I just really need a bridge chapter. Sorry. Thank you to Sachita for reviewing so promptly. You never fail to make my day with a review. :)

"Minerva, what do you think of this?" Riddle burst into her room, reaching into a pocket for the parchment forms he had filled out that morning. He had slept in, so naturally the writing was hurried, but it wasn't really an issue...

"Merlin, Tom, it's eight o' clock on a Saturday, can't you let me..." Her words trailed off as she pulled a pillow over her head, clamping down the sides with clenched fists. Her body twisted under the sheets into a more comfortable position, only to suddenly stiffen. Her eyes, obscured from Riddle's sight, snapped open. "Why are you in my room?" She flung the pillow off in a comical frenzy, hand scrabbling along her nightstand for her wand. (A/N: There's a cliche and creepy 'I was watching you sleep' Twilight line in there somewhere...but not today. :) Riddle observed that the room was sparsely furnished. The bed had white and red patterned sheets, and the only other furniture was a desk, the nightstand, and a dresser. Very little memorabilia was present as well, save a family picture and a photograph of a tabby cat. It didn't seem to fit her personality.

Riddle laughed. "Don't be a prude, Minerva. I can't help it if you don't lock your doors. Besides, I had an idea, and I need your help." The last few words hurt, especially since they were true. Riddle would rather give Dumbledore a full pedicure, complete with nail polish and top coat, than ask for help. He rationalized it, telling himself it was all part of the plan.

Minerva narrowed her eyes. "Regardless, it's highly inappropriate for you to be in my bedroom." She Summoned her dressing gown, tugging it on without leaving her bed, feeling oddly undressed despite her nightgown. "You had better have an excellent reason for intruding, Tom, so help me..."

Riddle reached into his pocket, pulling out a roll of parchment. "Oh, but I do." He unrolled it as he handed it to her, wondering whether or not there'd be yet another intrusion. It was doubtful; if Slughorn had a habit of barging into a young female teacher's bedroom, it would give rise to a host of creepy problems. And not the kind of creepy' he was okay with. "I want to start a dueling club for the students."

She picked up her triangular reading glasses from the nightstand, rubbing her eyes vigorously before putting them on. "You woke me up early on a Saturday to look at your proposition for a dueling club," she said in a voice loaded with disbelief. She read the paper a second time and threw it aside, gazing up at him blearily. "There has to be more to it than that."

He smiled, sitting on the side of her bed. "Apparently. You have multiple scenarios. I'll offer the most ludicrous and the most likely. Scenario one: I'm a potential stalker and am using the dueling club as an excuse to get to you. In that case, I've already succeeded." He leaned forward, closing much of the gap between them to emphasize his words, amused when she inched away. "Scenario two -and far more likely- is that I need your help for reasons I'll elaborate later, and also found it an excellent opportunity to spend a few moments with ma mie before beginning the day."

Minerva fell back on the pillows, exasperated. "Do you plan on elaborating any time soon? Or am I allowed to make myself presentable first, since clearly my plans of sleeping in are now hopelessly dashed?"

He shifted his weight, propping himself up on his elbows and bringing his face close to hers again. "No. Oh, I forgot to tell you 'good morning.' Good morning." Riddle smiled charmingly, knowing he perhaps appeared intoxicated with this drastic character change. Briefly, he wondered what would happen if Slughorn were to get wind of the new development. He was fairly certain this display would meet Dumbledore's definition of "indecorous" behaviour.

"Then I don't have time for this." Minerva slipped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom, after yanking a fresh pair of tartan robes from the closet. "When I come out of here you'd better be gone, Tom!" she snapped through the closed door.

"Unlikely," he called back. "You're eager to hear what exactly it is that I need help with. You know it hurts my pride to...require assistance."

Fast forward

"I do not require assistance," Voldemort said coldly. Harry pictured Bellatrix withdrawing a helpful hand.

In the Battle of Hogwarts, McGonagall straightened suddenly, ceasing in her duel momentarily. "I feel...dramatic irony, Kingsley."

Resume story

She poked her head out after opening the door a crack. "What is it?" Her hair was free of its hairnet, loose and wavy from its imprisonment in a severe braid and repeated coiling to fit. It made her look much younger than the mid-twenties he knew her to be.

Riddle sat up and began. "I feel a dueling club should be brought back to Hogwarts. I think you'll remember during our time it was very popular. I can't imagine why Dippet terminated it."

"Perhaps he was appalled at your display of temper when I beat you in your sixth year." Minerva smirked.

His features stiffened into a grimace. "That was luck, first of all, and secondly, it was an anomaly." He shook his head, hand at the bridge of his nose. "That isn't the point. I don't think I can get it approved with Dumbledore as headmaster, so I want you to stand up for the idea. He'll listen to you."

Minerva tilted her head. "Why not?" she asked quizzically. "I think it's a good idea. It's not as though you'll be teaching serious curses or anything, just self defense and dueling for recreation."

"Of course," Riddle said, wondering how he could pass off naming the club the "Death Eaters Youth Movement" as "recreational."

Minerva withdrew her head, asking over the sound of gushing water, "Then what could be the problem?"

"Dumbledore doesn't like me. He's always had a prejudice towards me, though I can't imagine why."

Her laughter was misty through the water. "Perhaps it's that insufferable amount of self-importance you have."

Riddle frowned. "You secretly find it endearing. And I'm completely serious, Minerva. He genuinely can't stand me. He always did keep an annoyingly close watch on me at school, despite having no reason to do so."

"Well, then how will I be of any help?"

"He actually likes you," Riddle said. "I can't imagine why. Whatever could be appealing about a brilliant, beautiful young witch such as yourself?" He felt extremely cheesy saying this. For the greater good, he reminded himself.

The squeaking of a wet tap being turned was immediately followed by the gradual cessation of the water flow. "Very funny, Tom." Minerva stepped out of her bath, drying herself quickly. "I'll speak with him, but I still think you're overreacting." She toweled off her hair, bending forward and flipping the wavy, dripping mass off of her shoulders and back. "Assuming it's approved, when should we start?"

'We?' Riddle frowned. 'We' did not bode well for him. He had always made it a point to work alone, and never be in anyone's confidence. Then again, Minerva likely wouldn't go along with his "let's make out/by the way, help me with Dark Magic?" agenda if he excluded her from the dueling club, especially if she got it approved for him. Mentally he weighed the implications the two choices would have.

The door opened, bringing a cloud of steam with the scent of citrus and spring rain. Minerva held a brush in her hand, hastily combing through her tousled hair, sending water droplets to the floor with every stroke. "Well?" She walked the her bed, sitting next to him. "When are we going to start?" she repeated. "You can't still be upset about a silly duel from four years ago."

Riddle considered. He could always pretend to need her, and in actuality disregard any help following the club's immediate passing. And if she became too much trouble -he rarely took a lover after all- he was sure he could blame a surviving family member or errant house elf for her untimely demise...yes, it was an easy enough Plan B, if a bit lazy. "Not at all," he said smoothly, taking a lock of her hair as he did so, twirling it between his fingers. "Your hair is still damp."

"I'm not comfortable with that, Tom." Minerva said, pulling away. "And you have yet to answer my question."

"Why do you have such an aversion to me touching your hair?" Riddle persisted. He tilted his head as he entwined his fingers more fully into her hair. "You aren't doing anything...immoral."

He had determined that Minerva was no different from other women, despite her certain unusual character traits -that irritating Animagus quality, for instance- and alternating between boyish charm and intensity would allow him his way. It was vaguely disappointing, though he supposed he should be grateful; it certainly made his life much easier, which meant convenience, and convenience meant he could go about his necessary Future Dark Lord duties rather than focus on winning over Minerva. And this all made for a happy Dark Lord. A sudden longing to visit the basilisk stuck him. No attacks could be made just yet, though, not when he had just returned. Although the prospect of having a good long chat over lady troubles was nice.

"That's not an answer at all."

"Impatient, aren't you?" he replied. "And we can start right away, I just need approval. Put yourself down as the teacher sponsor, and then I'll volunteer to join you, once it's approved."

"Fine," she said, laying back on the pillows demurely, her damp hair fanning out. She closed her eyes. "So I've been wondering."

"About?" he prompted, playing with her hair, clearly having no respect for Minerva's personal bubble.

"How did Fawkes befriend a toucan?" She opened her eyes. "Is it Mr. Lowther, back from the beyond?"

Riddle grimaced. "I haven't the slightest idea, but it's extremely likely. Lowther is an obnoxious devil though; it shouldn't be long before their friendship ends." He wondered whether his toucan would be used as a spy against him, now that it had befriended Dumbledore's pet. More importantly, if it was in fact Mr. Lowther, how had his resurrection taken place? Perhaps Dumbledore knew more of Dark Magic than he let on, or, more likely, had preformed a reverse sort of Priori Incantato on the doorknob that was Mr. Lowther. Either way, if his own toucan was to be used as a spy, Riddle decided it would have to be silenced. Those cosy moments spent sharing grapes clearly meant nothing -though granted, he had violently killed the bird- if the toucan was working for Dumbledore to make sure no 'indecorous' behaviour took place. And while he was on the subject of said indecorous behaviour... "Well, my agenda is served, so I now have time for more... pleasurable pursuits."

Minerva's eyes shut again. "How rude. You basically admitted that the purpose of this visit was to get your dueling club passed."

"Very astute, ma mie, but erroneous, I'm afraid."

"Must you use pompous words? Something like 'inaccurate' would suffice. Really, who actually uses 'erroneous' in conversation? Overcompensating for something, Tom?"

Riddle arched a brow. "Rather immodest of you to voice that idea."

"Touche. Why do I feel once we lose a topic of substance we revert to childish banter?"

"I'm not sure," he replied. "It does seem to be a precursor though."

"Precursor to what? Be specific."

"Why, a precursor to gossip-inducing scenes."

She opened her eyes. "And to think, I thought you a gentleman. Clearly I'm a poor judge of character."

"Perhaps, but you've had ample opportunity to expel me from your room, and you've done nothing. Not to mention you're armed and I'm not." He smiled. "I'm hardly a threat."

"Well, what are you waiting around for, then?"

"An invitation to proceed or forcible removal."

She smiled. "You actually wait for an invitation. How sweet. Proceed."

"No, I think I'm past that now." He felt like being difficult.

Her lips formed a petulant pout. "If you want me to beg I'm not going to. I have pride, you know."

"Yes, but I refuse to be framed. You already have a solid case for assault-" and he pointedly looked at her face, beneath his own.

"True, but it's of your own making." She raised herself onto her elbows, closing the gap between them. "There's a cliche in here somewhere, about how our banter ends like this every time," she said, her breath warm against his lips.

"I thought I'd already made that clear."

"Don't ruin the moment, Tom," she said, exasperated. "And keep it appropriate this time. I don't want you thinking I'm any..." she trailed off, casting around for a suitable word as Riddle renewed his attentions.

"Whore? Harlot? Floozy? You can stop me at any time, since we both know you're none of the above."

"Good."

"Except for that small issue that we're alone, in your bed, in your room, which is locked."

"Noted. And you've successfully made it sound scandalous." She sat up. "Shall we go ask Dumbledore to approve the dueling club now?"

Riddle found the parchment and closed her fingers over it. "Don't you mean 'you'? I thought we discussed this."

"Fine." She left him, her steps brisk. "Don't stay in my room all day." The door shut behind her.

Riddles eyes fixed on the flutter of wings at Minerva's window; the curtains weren't drawn, making the bird clearly visible to inhabitants. Surely enough, Mr. Lowther had alighted on the window ledge. Riddle swiftly opened the window and beckoned to the bird, sighing and grabbing the bunch of grapes from Minerva's fruit bowl when it rudely ignored him. Lowther had changed. His eyes gleamed with intelligence Riddle was sure wasn't native to the breed, and his eyes were green instead of black. "What has Dumbledore done to you?" he muttered, more to himself than to the bird. Lowther squawked in response. Clearly it was the begining of a conspiracy against him. Wondering how much the bird had seen, and suddenly reluctant to kill it, should things not work in his favor, he set it outside the window and left the room. He had exams to grade and scheming to do.

Page break -haven't figured out how to yet

Dumbledore waited at the window for the toucan to return, a bag of grapes in his hand. "Now tell me everything," he said. The toucan narrowed its eyes evilly. The foolish wizards felt that they had a grasp on events that had never been under their control.