A/N: I wanted to try my hand at writing Dumby, and I'm afraid it doesn't sound like him. Not to mention old Voldy has ADD. He seems to think about animals quite a bit in this fic. And for the sake of my sanity, let's say a week has passed, with the two of them dating, so my mental timelines all match up.

Minerva POV
Minerva walked into Dumbledore's office, noticing with a pang the portrait of Armando Dippet already hung behind the desk, sleeping peacefully in the frame. She conjured herself a chair -stiff backed, cherry wood, well varnished - as there were none present save the headmaster's, and waited.

Dumbledore didn't keep her for long. "Ah, Minerva. I was expecting you. Turkish delight?" She looked at the box with distaste and politely declined. "Very well-" he said, taking three. "Now, I wanted you to join the transfiguration department initially, but unfortunately Armando's passing..." He trailed off. "Well, I'm sure you understand the difficulty it brings. That is why you'll begin your teaching duties after Christmas vacation. You may observe my classes, and I will evaluate your teaching in turn, and hopefully if all goes well you may start before the vacation. I'm afraid you learning period will be quite short. What do you think?"

"It sounds ideal," she said at last. "But how will I move from my apartment at such short notice? And I haven't officially resigned from the Ministry..."

"I'll take care of the Ministry," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "They're always happy to hear from me. As for moving, your rooms are quite comfortable, and I don't think there will be much lacking...except in the way of clothing." He chuckled. "Forgive me, I had the same dilemma when I started." He stared off in the distance, apparently reminiscing. "Perhaps Tom can help with the clothing dilemma. He must have Madame Maulkin's stock memorized by now."

"Excellent," Minerva said, standing, Dumbledore's reference to half her reason for visiting passing by unnoticed. She felt uncharacteristically giddy. "When is your next class?"

"9 o'clock tomorrow, but please sit down. Don't you want to discuss what you wrote me about?" She sat again, slowly, with trepidation and eagerness. "Sherbet lemon?" he offered.

"Thank you." She frowned at the taste, unable to see their appeal.

"Quite welcome. Now, I've noticed you've been out with Tom." His tone, rather than accusatory, was concerned.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted the funeral proceedings. I hope it didn't appear rude."

"No, no. Nothing of the sort. But how do you find Tom?" He peered over his half-moon glasses intently. "You're clearly of two minds, or you wouldn't have mentioned it when you wrote me."

Minerva tried to assess her feelings honestly. "He's as attractive, intelligent, and shrewd as ever." She thought she detected a smile from Dumbledore.

"Is there anything...you want to tell me, Minerva?" She was silent. "Are you very fond of him?" he asked.

"Perhaps," Minerva replied truthfully, wondering if Dumbledore thought something more than what he had seen occurred. "It's hard not to be."

"I see." He was observing her very seriously now, and she felt self-conscious for some reason under what she was sure was his muted disapproval.

"That isn't to say I trust him!" A blush was creeping its way onto her face. "For the most part, I recognize his..his...I'm well aware he's likely up to something!" She felt very defensive.

Dumbledore smiled, though his eyes remained thoughtful. "You are no longer my student, but I feel obliged to warn you not to grow attached and maintain distance. Tom is not the sort of man I would like to see become intimate with a witch I respect and care about very much." His face grew serious. "It is my intuition, I think, and my knowing Tom as a student."

Minerva was peeved, despite her implicit trust in Dumbledore. His use of the word 'intuition' was also irritaing; that was Tom's favorite explanation and she didn't need to hear it elsewhere. It was annoying enough from one person. Also, there would be few other members of the Hogwarts staff she could talk to familiarly; most had been her teachers. Students weren't an option either; if she was going to teach, she couldn't undermine her authority by conversing with children. And he insisted she had to 'maintain distance'? Or I could just wait for Pomona to begin working here…she mentioned applying. "Of course, Professor."

Minerva found she now had the option to prepare to move in to Hogwarts or kill time in the library. In an unusual fit of procrastination, she chose the latter, hoping to squeeze a few moments of reading Muggle sci-fi literature, a guilty pleasure of hers.

Voldy POV

Riddle was quite sure Dumbledore would have mentioned him during the meeting with McGonagall, and not in complementary context. He would have to behave naturally, as if he knew nothing. Or at least as naturally as an evil dark lord can be, hell-bent on acquiring followers and reading about different varieties of toucans and horcrux protections at his day job, all while feeding a toucan grapes. He'd heard they were vicious, yet endearing.

The toucans, that is. The way they ate grapes was rather adorable. Horcruxes were almost never endearing, and if they were, something clearly wasn't right. Either that, or the person who found the horcrux endearing was an attention-deprived first year. But nothing beyond that.

His toucan gave a loud squawk at the lull in grapes and pecked, attracting quite a few stares and giggles from students in the library. Riddle made a mental note not to use toucans to protect valuables. Clearly they were simply obnoxious, and would require far too many grapes. Adorableness was not enough of a redeeming quality. And, he reasoned, it would simply draw attention, the opposite of what he wanted. He was considering snakes, weighing effectiveness against redundancy when he noticed McGonagall in the Muggle Studies section. He did the only thing he could do after several minutes of her obliviousness to his presence: promptly Summoned her to his elbow to her surprise and displeasure. He was growing rather tired of waiting for her to put down the novel, and besides, Lowther the toucan was lousy conversation.

"Is that a toucan?" McGonagall asked, annoyance forgotten as she eyed the bird.

"Yes, his name is Mr. Lowther. He's generally well behaved when he's not demanding grapes." These last words were accompanied by a pointed look aimed at the bird as it preened. Riddle threw a grape in disgust, which was promptly snapped up. McGonagall charmed the bag of grapes to feed the bird at regular intervals. "What brings you here?" he continued innocently. "Careful, or I'll start to think you enjoy my company."

"Don't play innocent. You know perfectly well you brought me here."

"Delightful. So you do enjoy my company, then." She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"That's the downside of being a young staff member," she said lightly. "My options are so limited."

"Officially started, then?" He paged through the book nonchalantly. No, no. A niffler would only steal the horcrux.

"Not quite. I start shadowing Dumbledore tomorrow. I may begin teaching before Christmas vacation." She leaned over. "What are you reading?" She thought she detected notes in the margins of the book. His start made her wonder what it was he had written, and she leaned over the book.

Theatrically, he closed the book with a snap, displacing the strands that hung from her face with the puff of air. "Curiosity killed the cat, Minerva." He was disappointed when she smiled, unimpressed by his dangerous tone, and plucked the book from his fingers.

"True, but as Dumbledore says, 'to the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'" She examined the cover. "I didn't know you were fancied ornithology."

Riddle knew a witch of her caliber would have no trouble recognizing the book as a charmed item, and it was only a matter of time before she realized what it really was. He didn't need a repeat of Madame Malkin's episodes... they had been bad enough. Clearly, reading in public was no longer an option, at least not with her around. "Give that here." She began to page through instead, settling onto the arm rest of his chair. Annoyed, Riddle said in a sarcastic voice, "Why won't you move? I didn't know you fancied the DADA professor."

That earned him his book back, across his face. "How childish." Her eyes were blazing now. "Ah, or maybe it's a grain of truth in there that set you off? Quite the prideful Gryffindor, aren't you?"

"What do I see in you?" she snapped, more to herself than him. Without deigning to answer she turned to leave, only to find her wrist caught.

"What has Dumbledore been telling you about me?" Her eyes widened.

"How do you know-" She was convinced now, of his Legilimency.

"Call it... intuition." Riddle pulled her closer, his hand traveling up her arm to her hair, where a few deft movements sent her bun tumbling to the small of her back where his other hand now rested.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Riddle stopped, surprised. He had been certain she would've gone for that. Apparently, the discomfited look in his eyes appeased her, as she lifted her hands to his shoulders, bracing them there. "Um…"

"Just a tad bit forward for me," she said at last, pushing him away.

He sat again, pulling McGonagall down with him. "You don't honestly expect me to think you mind." Hastily he Banished the book, taking advantage of her momentary distraction. No need to leave evidence lying around.

"Why do you mind if I see what you're reading? Everyone's seen Lowther by now. Toucans are rather obnoxious, you know."

"Of course I know toucans are obnoxious." Riddle was heartily congratulating himself by now. He hadn't counted on this much luck. Perhaps Mr. Lowther was responsible. Once he was immortal and had time for in-depth studies on trivial matters, he would look into the properties of toucans. They must be imbued with a magic akin to Felix Felices. Maybe when eaten...

Lowther had apparently sensed the thought, and took action. "All right, but Tom?"

"Hmm?"

"Lowther's out of grapes."

"So?"

"He's eating your shirt."

"Lowther! Stop that right now." Lowther made no indication of stopping. "Damn it, Lowther, you leave me no choice. Avada Kedavra!"

Lowther died, never to beg for grapes again.

McGonagall looked appalled. "Why would you do that? You could have- have stunned him or something!"

Riddle sighed. After a week of seeing McGonagall, he figured he was finally due for a little drama-inducing scene. He wasn't averse to it, but now? He didn't feel quite up to the idea. And it would appear so unprofessional, and Slughorn would be insufferable… Ah well. It's all for the cause. Stowing his pride in a buttonhole (he clearly had little, so this wasn't difficult), he mustered his most intense look and said, slowly and distinctly, "My office. Now." Riddle was unfamiliar with shame, but he encountered a large dose of the emotion as the words left his lips.

"Why…?" She seemed puzzled, but a bit of comprehension and amusement appeared in her eyes momentarily. "Oh, you can't be serious."

"Can't I?" He exited, smiling to himself as he heard her follow after a brief wait of disbelief.

But first, he mentally re-crossed toucans off his list.

A/N: If you caught the Miss Jean Brody reference you get a cookie.