Birthdays had never been a particularly celebrated tradition in Minerva's family. The only one who actually got upset when it wasn't acknowledged was her younger brother. Each year he insisted that he wanted everyone together, there must be a cake, and after the pair became legal, everyone must get suitable drunk. It was a family affair, and the McGonagalls used it as an opportunity to meet with extended family and get a little sloshed in the moors of Scotland. So, in a way, it wasn't necessary dedicated just to her little brother, despite the fuss he made over the necessity of the birthday celebration. It was a family celebration, but on the day he was born. Minerva never said it out loud, but she was quite sure it was the only time he actually let himself have an ego. For the remainder of the year, he lived his life as a humble artist with his pets, content to work for the minimum as long as he could do what he loved. Minerva, on the other hand, was like the rest of her family when it came to birthdays. For the most part, she didn't care. Of course, she liked the lovely little card her parents would sign for her, and sometimes, if she was in the mood, she would treat herself to something special with dinner. However, she usually didn't tell people that October 4th was her birthday, and when it passed without anyone giving comment otherwise, she decided that suited her just fine.

In all honesty, she didn't like the attention birthdays brought. She usually felt embarrassed with all the attention focused on her, and she wasn't one for getting completely drunk, greedy for gifts, or eager to be doted on. Therefore, why should she bother? It made complete logical sense to accept her card from her parents, which arrived in the Great Hall at breakfast from the family owl, and she hoped no one else pushed for anything more. The staff team was really big on birthdays. She discovered last year that whenever someone had a birthday, there was a hefty amount of drinking done in the staff room until the wee hours of the morning. Like Christmas, it was an excuse for everyone to get together, have a good time, and get a little more alcohol in them than the average Hogsmeade trip could offer. It wasn't like they were all drunks; Minerva was always pleasantly tipsy whenever she allowed herself more than a glass of some beverage concoction, but never drunk. Everyone had their limits, and they were all perfectly aware that it was inappropriate for a student to see them drunk. Now, a student could certainly see them feeling the effects the next day, but could chalk it up to their professor being in a particularly sour mood.

Her birthday was on a Wednesday, and it passed without a hitch. She started her day with a full three blocks of lessons, where she only came close to losing her cool once with a group of third years. After a lovely lunch with Albus, the only other person she permitted to know and acknowledge her birthday, she monitored Tom for a period, in which he was perfectly civil, and then ate a cosy dinner in bed with Gus, courtesy of the house elves. All in all, it was actually a great day. It wasn't even her week for prefect rounds with Tom, she wasn't forced to spend more time with him than necessary. If she had, she felt like he might have said something to spoil what a fantastic day she had been enjoying, and certainly didn't want the stress.

After all, it was October now, and she had all of her students preparing for their first set of examinations for the year. For the most part, she had nearly everything written, as her exams began next week on everything they had done in their first month, along with review from the year before. If students thought it was stressful to write them, Minerva found it exhausting to create them, and the thought of grading them afterward was certainly daunting. All of that was compiled with her normal assignments, Quidditch practices (which she felt she needed to attend to work on the chasers after a disastrous first game against Hufflepuff), and losing a full period a day (nearly) in an effort to watch Tom Riddle. In summary, Minerva had a full plate. Naturally, the woman was adept at handling stress, and took it all in stride. A weaker person might have crumpled, but she did her best to ensure that she stayed on top of everything. After all, that was why people had faith in her; she was reliable under pressure. Besides, she wasn't the only professor who had extracurricular activities. Slughorn had his 'Slug Club', Pomona ran a bi-weekly meeting for Herbology enthusiasts, Hooch had a flying club, Riddle had the duelling club, and Flitwick had an underground choir movement on the rise. Everyone was busy! That was to be expected during the year. Not everyone was spying on a fellow professor, but that was beside the point. Minerva could handle it.

In fact, Tom was making it increasingly easy to handle the heavy load that she had for the year. Yes, he still seemed as confusing as ever, but since their run-in on the Quidditch Pitch, Tom Riddle had been remarkable civil. Perhaps he just needed an adjustment period once he returned to Hogwarts, but the week following Quidditch saw him eating more often in the Great Hall with the rest of the staff. He was still quite antisocial, and usually only spoke with Slughorn, and occasionally Minerva if they ended up sitting next to each other. Hagrid hadn't become any more comfortable with the man, and she felt bad for him the instant Tom decided to sit next to him. When she asked Albus about their history together, she learned the Riddle was the one who found Hagrid's beast in the castle all those years ago, when the Muggle born students were being attacked and the death of Myrtle stung the school. Apparently, Tom was the one to turn him and his beast in, and therefore directly influence his expulsion. She wasn't sure what his angle was when he sat next to Hagrid, as he never spoke to the man. In fact, Tom barely looked at the half-giant when she saw them together, and she wondered if he was trying to make a silent atonement for his past involvement in Hagrid's drama.

Regardless of how uncomfortable he made Hagrid, Minerva built her tolerance for the man right back up after their somewhat ridiculous weekend of duelling and Quidditch problems. Since then, he had been civil. And by civil, she meant that he kept his temper in check (even with some of the more trying students) and kept his snide remarks to himself when they were together. In fact, she had seen a vast improvement in many aspects of Riddle's life at Hogwarts. He seemed a little more enthusiastic with teaching, though the effort usually waned by the end of the lesson. She noticed he kept his word and did take students back to his office for private tutoring in duelling when someone came out on top. In a way, that almost quelled house competition; people wanted to duel because he taught them how to do it properly. The house points he gave out were minimal, at best, and it made them strive hard to personally do their best. It was strange, but she hadn't seen students this dedicated to anything outside the classroom aside from Quidditch, and nearly everyone was involved. She certainly didn't want to give him too much credit, but he was actually doing a decent job as a professor at this point. Yes, he was still short with students who didn't grasp the criteria right away, but he seemed more willing to repeat something for clarity's sake as the month wore on.

He had been so good that Minerva expressed her concern to Albus that she was wasting her time. In fact, she had expressed it more than once. However, each time Minerva went to Dumbledore, he told her to hang in there, and remember that patience would always pay off. He never seemed frustrated that Minerva doubted his reasons for her little mission, nor was he disappointed that she occasionally faltered. Instead, he would smile, and ask her kindly to carry on as she had been, and inform him if something out of the ordinary came up. Now, what 'out of the ordinary' was for Tom Riddle seemed to be she hadn't quite figured out yet, but Minerva decided that by the time November hit, she was bound to fully understand what made the man tick.

She had sort of hoped Albus would give her more clues to figure out the enigma that was Tom Riddle. However, as the two strolled down the hallway toward the staff room on that Friday night, two days after her birthday, he seemed as unreadable as ever.

"He certainly isn't as insufferable as before," Minerva explained quietly as they walked side-by-side. It was drawing close to eleven thirty at this point, and she had spent the evening running her sixth year exam rubric over with Albus, who was kind enough to give her a few suggestions for changes. After all, he had taught the class for more years than anyone might suspect; he was definitely the one to run to for advice. "However, I'm not sure what you want me to find out, Albus."

"Now, Minerva," he chastised. "You know I can't give you anything like that… If I tell you what to look for specifically, that's all you'll see when you look at the man."

"I suppose."

"Trust your instinct," Albus urged as they rounded a corner. "I know that when you get a feeling that something is wrong, you'll act appropriately. For now, keep him on his toes."

"I'm trying my best," Minerva told him as she fiddled with the cuffed sleeve of her dress. For once, she opted to steer clear of those long sleeves that were so in-style with elegant witches these days. "He seems to know how to stay within the lines. He's very clever."

"More than clever, I'm afraid," Albus insisted, taking her hand away from her wrist to clasp it, giving it a little squeeze. "I have faith you'll catch him, Minerva. Don't forget that."

She gave him a weak smile, "Thank you."

With that, he released her hand and nodded toward the staff room, "I need to pick up the letters I was addressing in the staff room… Peeves managed to distract me enough this afternoon to make me forget them in there."

"He does seem to do that, doesn't he?" Minerva groaned, rolling her eyes. "I don't see why you can't permanently remove him."

"Oh, I could," he chuckled, "but I think we would be missing a little something around the castle if he was gone for good."

"Hardly."

"Peeves will prove his worth one day," the man said happily, "I promise."

When pigs grew wings Peeves the Poltergeist would ever prove his worth. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, and merely shot him a sceptical look. He only smiled in return, "We'll pop in quickly, grab my letters, and then I'll walk you to your room."

"So chivalrous, Albus," Minerva chuckled as they neared the rounded door to the staff room. He gripped the copper knob and pulled it open for her, bowing a little in the process. Shaking her head, Minerva slipped down the thin corridor and stepped into the dimly lit room. It was a fairly large room, much larger than one would have guessed walking down the initial corridor, with a large, long table in the centre, many plush chairs around it, a small wine cabinet at the back (for extra tough days), and couches ranging in firmness along the outer walls. Torches kept the room alit around the clock, as there were no windows to be seen.

The second she stepped into it, something internally felt off. The only reason she noticed it was because the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood up, and she looked around the darkened room quickly. Suddenly, the torches illuminated brilliantly, revealing the entire staff team – well, most of them anyway – standing in the corners, glasses in hand, and she stumbled back as they toasted her noisily for her birthday. Minerva turned around quickly, shooting a venomous glare at her mentor, who merely beamed pleasantly in response. Her eye twitched threateningly, and she faced her colleagues with slightly reddened cheeks.

"But… But my birthday was on Wednesday," she stammered weakly. There were a few chuckles all around, and as her eyes bounced from person to person, she couldn't help but notice a few had started the celebrations early with a few drinks.

"Well, Dumbledore said you wouldn't be happy with a part then," Pomona told her, taking charge of the situation and flicking her wand at the table. Plates pulled themselves out of a nearby cupboard and arranged neatly, and Hagrid stumbled forward from the crowd with a rather large cake in his hands. From the quality of it, she suspected he might have baked it himself. The house elves usually had a little more finesse. Her eyes narrowed on her second closest friend, and Pomona giggled happily, "And we know you don't really like to celebrate your birthday, but you can think of it as an excuse for us all to let off a little steam… It's been a rough first month."

"Here, here!" Horace beamed, raising his glass, "Let us toast to Minerva McGonagall, who may not like her birthday, but we like it just fine if it means we can break out the elvish wine."

"Cheers!"

Someone else summoned the liquor from the cabinet at the back, and Minerva folded her arms over her chest as she watched bottles line up neatly along the table. Now she knew why they hadn't done anything on Wednesday night… They all wanted to drink a little, and then have a nice rest on a Saturday morning, rather than getting up to teach on the Thursday. Clever sods, her colleagues.

"They did genuinely want to celebrate your birthday," Albus said in her ear, "but I implored them to respect how you feel about it… They did, but I think they're using it as a bit of an excuse to relax."

"I understand," she told him, giving him a quick little smile. "Thank you for keeping them at bay."

"So you aren't too cross with me?"

"Never."

"Excellent," he mused, adjusting his half-moon glasses, eyes narrowing in on the rather exotic looking cake on the table. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Hagrid has been baking all day, and it seems no one is quite as tempted as I am to get the first piece."

"I'm sure you'll have little competition," Minerva whispered as he passed, noting the way Hagrid's face lit up as Dumbledore approached him inquiring about the cake. She smiled at those that wished her a happy belated, and accepted a glass of red wine from Pomona before the woman spirited off to have a conversation with Horace and Rolanda. Their little affair, as far as Minerva understood, was still in bloom at this point, and she almost wondered if her little friend was starting to develop odd feelings for the man. It wasn't something they discussed outright, as Pomona was quite shy over the issue, and Minerva wasn't one to press for information.

Taking a small sip of her wine, very much intent on only having one glass before retiring for the evening, she sauntered toward the table and noticed a small gift. The only reason she could tell it was a gift came from the rather reflective gold wrapping. With a hint of a frown on her lips, she set her wine glass down and carefully picked up the package. It didn't have her name on it, but who else could it be for? Looking around the room, she tried to see if anyone was watching her. Pomona, Horace, Hooch and now Albus were in a conversation together, Hagrid was cutting more cake for Poppy, and even Tom had his back to her by the liquor cabinet, filling a small glass with something. With no one watching her, she couldn't quite decide who sent it. With a slight shrug, she tentatively opened the packaging and discovered it was a book. She turned it over and then set the used wrapping paper on the table, and read the title.

Duelling for Beginners by Gwendolyn Hopkirk. Her eyes narrowed at the childish font at the two wands on the cover goofily fencing one another. It certainly didn't take a genius to figure out who might have gotten that for her birthday. She stalked across the room toward Tom Riddle, who had just taken a seat on the couch by himself, and stood directly in front of him, book held up. He leaned forward a touch to examine it, and then settled back into the couch, grinning at her.

"This is hardly an appropriate gift, Riddle," she snapped, more embarrassed by it than anything. Well, also a little infuriated that he wanted to keep gloating about his win in the duelling club, even though it had happened a few weeks ago at this point.

"Oh, Minerva," he sighed, shaking his head. "Still a grump, even on your birthday."

"My birthday was on Wednesday."

Tom rolled his eyes and then patted the spot next to him with his hand. Minerva glanced over her shoulder. No one was paying them the slightest bit of attention. At this point, it seemed more people were interested in Hagrid's cake, shockingly, than what the supposed birthday girl was doing at her own party. She sat next to him with a huff, keeping a comfortable distance between her body and his, and held his book on her lap, hands gripping it a little too tightly.

"It's a joke, Minerva."

"I beg your pardon?" she snapped, looking at him sharply. The woman shifted away a little as he placed an arm along the top of the couch, his fingers stopping just behind her head, and faced his body toward hers. She stiffened, automatically uncomfortable.

"The book," Tom explained, nodding toward it. "It's a joke… a gag gift. It's not what I actually got you for your birthday. I thought you'd be able to laugh it off at this point."

She gawked at him for a moment, looked down at the book, and then back at him, "You… You actually bought me a present… in seriousness?"

Not even Pomona had purchased a present for her. Dumbledore had, of course, but that was expected.

"I did," Tom admitted with a smirk. "It's sitting on your desk… I got you a briefcase that doubles as a file divider. You always carry that mess of paper with you wherever you go. This way, you're more organized."

She continued to stare at him in disbelief, almost trying to gage whether he was serious or not. He merely blinked at her, a little less refined than normal, and downed the rest of his drink. She caught a whiff of it, and wrinkled her nose; scotch. He seemed so much more relaxed than she had ever seen him, and at that moment she realized the change in everything about him – posture, demeanour, tone of voice – probably added up to the fact that he, and the rest of the staff, had been drinking before she arrived. Was he… was he drunk? The very thought of it actually baffled her.

Clearing her throat, she forced a smile, "Thank you, Tom. That was… very thoughtful of you. A very practical gift."

"I thought everyone was into buying presents," he admitted, dropping his glass to the floor by his feet. It seemed by mere luck alone that it didn't shatter. "The way they were all giddy and excited for tonight, I assumed it was a big deal. However, I don't think anyone else got you something."

"Aside from Albus."

"Ah yes, of course."

Suddenly, she realized something, "Wait a minute. You… you said your gift is on my desk?"

"Put it there a half an hour ago."

"My office has been locked since six this evening," she argued, her gaze hardening on him. He merely smiled and his head lolled back onto the couch.

"Perhaps you should lock your office a little better, Minerva."

"Stay out of my office, Riddle," she warned.

"Only if you promise to do the same," he fired back, rolling his head to face her, eyes coming square to hers. She looked away, mind racing. Did he know that she had broken in? Was he aware that she snooped through his office as an animagus? If he was, there wasn't anything in his expression that suggested it. Instead, he suddenly pushed himself off the couch and lurched forward a hint, suddenly off balance.

"I think another scotch will do me," he slurred quietly. A moment later, Minerva was on her feet, steadying him by holding his arm firmly with both hands.

"It seems you've had enough," the woman insisted firmly, struggling a little when he started to lean on her. Once again, no one seemed to be paying them any attention, and she suddenly wondered if anyone else was as far gone as Tom seemed to be. However, he seemed present enough to realize that he didn't need any more alcohol, and nodded.

"Yes, maybe you're right," Riddle agreed. "I'll just… go to bed, I think."

"A good idea," Minerva told him. "You don't want to embarrass yourself this early in the night."

If he was this way at three or four in the morning, when Albus and Horace were usually happily singing rounds from their respective spots on the couches… well, that would have been a different story. At this point, it was a little too early for him to be too drunk. They were both already the youngest professors on staff, and therefore it was automatically assumed they could not hold their liquor, despite being thirty years old.

"Why don't I help you back to your room?" she suggested, knowing it was nearby. He made some pathetic attempt to untangle himself from her, but she slipped an arm securely around his midsection to keep him in place.

"But it's your party-"

"It's everyone's party," she droned, rolling her eyes as she started toward the door. "I don't care about my birthday, and I suspect they don't really either. I think everyone just needs to relax for a night."

"Mmm, I think they are."

"Indeed," she muttered, her stiff opinion of him altering only a fraction. So he wasn't without faults. He was still susceptible to drinking too much, just like every other normal person. The man wasn't completely without his previous problems, mind you. He was still shrewd, a little harsh to his students, and apparently delighted in making her squirm, based on the gag gift. However, after seeing him stumble around the staff room, and grin goofily at the professors who wished him a pleasant sleep, she felt her intolerance for the man decrease for a fraction.

Had Minerva been paying complete attention to Tom, and not been lost in her world of thoughts about him, she would have noticed something in his eyes. A cruel look flashed across them, and he glanced over his shoulder at Albus for the briefest of moments. He gave the man a completely sober smile before turning his attention back to her as they departed from the room.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Oh Tom. You aren't drunk at all, are you? Devious. I also figured that if he actually got her a gift, it would totally be something useful and practical. The gag gift was just to rub in his win, I think, but I don't see him as completely immune to traditions. Maybe not at this point, anyway. When he's all reborn snake!Voldemort, I don't think he could really give a fuck about anything as ridiculous as a birthday celebration.

Also. HAGRID YOU ARE CUTE. I actually smiled at the thought of him baking a cake for Minerva. He always did seem to have a soft spot for her.

Anyway. I'm off for a holiday for the next week, so no updates until I get back! I was tempted to bring my laptop so I could write on my spare time, but I said NO firmly… to myself. My wrists and muse will need the break so they can come back refreshed. I think the chapter will be a Voldemort POV. Mwaha. Let him explain his actions.

Also, I was in a bit of a rush to post this before work this morning. Therefore, I apologize for any glaring errors, but I wanted to get it out before I left and didn't give it the thorough read I usually do before posting.

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE!