This was the original oneshot that started this fic, written through facebook chat.

Riddle was deeply absorbed in Magicke Moste Evil, which he had charmed so that it appeared to be a copy of the latest Madame Malkin's catalogue. He found the looks he received when he was found supposedly reading a copy most amusing. But there were disadvantages...he strongly suspected one of his fourth year students of spreading rumors of his sexual preferences after finding him in his office engrossed in what appeared to be "sheer periwinkle chiffon dress robes (excellent for brides!)." The boy had shown a rather inordinate amount of glee in his supposed discovery. Riddle smiled to himself. Had the boy known he was perusing his own findings on stabilizing magic following the creation of a horcrux, he would be spreading an entirely different kind of rumor.

He was unpleasantly jolted from the recollection when a frazzled-looking, middle-aged wizard entered the staff room. Riddle hardly registered the man's look of shock-or could it be interest?-at his choice of reading material. Riddle was looking instead at the advertisement clutched nervously in his hands.

"Sir, are you an applicant for the post of Transfiguration professor, per chance?" Riddle asked out of politeness, nothing more. Pretenses must be kept up, after all, and the wizard was a potential future co-worker. It was rather premature to be looking so early in the year, but Riddle was well aware of the difficulty associated with finding a decent teacher, especially for the more challenging subjects. Interviews might be going all year, for all he knew. The number of loser applicants was appalling, if this man was any indication. Standards were bound to fall sometime soon.

The man nodded, and to Riddle's amusement, asked, "Are you, also?"

"No, I work here." he replied tersely, and resumed reading. To his annoyance the man sat down beside him.

"What're you reading, then?" he inquired, trying for a friendly smile and tone.

Wordlessly Riddle held up the "catalogue" without looking up. Had he, he would have seen the man's face fall a bit.

"Oh. Shopping for your girlfriend?" the man asked in what was clearly not a casual tone yet intended to be one. Riddle shook his head, eyes not leaving the text.

"Wife, then?" the man prodded.

"No." Riddle was getting seriously annoyed now. Wasn't it obvious that he didn't want to talk?

"Really? Handsome guy like you? No lady?"

Riddle closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "No. Now, as you can see, I am reading, so-"

"You know, I look at that catalogue too," the man said, winking. His thin hand began to wander towards Riddle's knee. Riddle found himself tearing his gaze away from his book as the hand slid onto his leg.

"How interesting." He jerked his knee away, clenching his fingers still more tightly into the book, leaving crescent tears in the aged paper, reminding himself over and over to not, not NOT cast a spell that would get him fired...

"How about a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks this weekend? I'd really like to...get to know you."

He winked again, leaning uncomfortably close, his breath a foul medley of firewhiskey and saurkraut. Riddle felt rather violated. The whole scene was repulsive. "I'm Phil-"

The door swung open to admit Minerva McGonagall. Though Riddle hadn't known her very well at Hogwarts, any semblance of familiarity would suffice to get out of this situation. Besides, he was fairly sure she had fancied him at the time, so rejection wasn't likely. He really needed to change his supposed reading preferences as well...this sort of thing happened far too often for his liking...

"Minerva! What a delight to see you! Applying for the Transfiguration post?" She had scarcely nodded before he barreled on. "Wonderful. I'm free this weekend, absolutely no plans at all. Care to join me for a butterbeer?"

"Well, yes I suppose, bu-"

"Perfect, it's a date then," he said, thoroughly relieved. He cast a deliberate, triumphant glance at the creepy man, who glowered back. Riddle walked McGonagall to a chair, the very picture of gallantry, all the while hearing the applicant bitterly mumbling. "No girlfriend my ass, reading THAT catalogue... should've known, I've made a damn fool of myself..."

Shortly afterward, the man picked up his cloak and left, muttering incoherently. Until his departure, Riddle was engaging in very animated conversation with McGonagall, but once the applicant left, he fell silent and returned to his book.

"Tom, you can't ask me out randomly and subsequently ignore me without an explanation," McGonagall said with a petulant frown after some minutes passed in silence.

"What?" He looked up. "Sorry, you can't imagine my relief when you walked in. That man was disturbingly forward." Seeing that she was offended, he hastily added, "You don't have to go; asking you was simply a necessity. You are under no obligation-"

McGonagall smiled thinly. "Oh, but I'd love to catch up. I've been with the Ministry. Where were you working before you came here to teach? Borgin and Burke's?" The jibe was obvious.

She clearly didn't take kindly to being used as his course of escape, Riddle realized, and he would have to pacify her somehow. McGonagall, though nothing remarkable compared to him, had been the brightest witch of her year and the only one able to hold her own against him in dueling club..perhaps she would be useful in his plans. She would certainly be hired to teach, if Dumbledore was involved in the hiring process, so he may as well start working on her now...

The gears in his brain whirred, spinning out a long-drawn-out plan. He'd start with friendly conversation, go out a few times, but never be overbearing...maybe employ some of his more trite tricks..she'd be his in virtually no time at all.

Dumbledore walked in. "Minerva! You've got the job!" Precisely my prediction.

"Oh thank you, Professor! Or may I call you Albus, now?" She smiled winningly.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Not yet, you start officially next year, remember."

He glanced at Riddle, suddenly staring at the catalogue. His eyes widened for a moment, but he quickly recovered himself. "I didn't know you went to Madame Malkin's, too, Tom. Surely I would've run into you by now," he said cheekily. "I find the crepe most soothing. Well, evening, Minerva, Tom.." He left, leaving the two alone.

And so it begins, Riddle thought.

"Looks like we'll be seeing a lot of each other now, Minerva," Riddle said. "May I start over? What a pleasure to see you again. Care to join me in Hogsmeade this weekend? I promise it isn't an escape measure this time."

"I don't see why not," she replied. She eyed the catalogue. "But leave that behind."

Damn. "Of course."

Easier than he'd anticipated.