A/N: Well hello. I hope the funny is back, and thank you SherbetKitty and Sachita for reviewing! This is fresh and unedited so pardon the length and any typos you may find. And so I give you...A Christmas Eve Cliche!
"You want to start a dueling club?" Dumbledore put down the papers Minerva had handed him and steepled his fingers, peering across at Minerva behind half-moon glasses.
"Ye-es," she said, drawing out the word. "It was very popular when I was at school, remember?"
"I see," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "And how will you go about teaching it? Its popularity will result in multiple student members. Can you handle them all? Alone?"
She felt as though it were a trick question. Naturally, as he expected, she would say something to the effect of 'Tom wold be more than willing to help' and Dumbledore would have misgivings -assuming, of course, that Tom was right. But she owed Dumbledore her honesty, so...
"Tom could help me," she said casually. "If needed, of course."
Dumbledore, to her surprise, smiled. "If Tom is to help you, I have no problems. But there are some conditions." He unstuck two lemon drops, offering her one. She took it, wincing at its sticky feeling from prolonged time in his hand. Dumbledore ate his lemon drop sagely, showing no signs of speaking soon, a look of absolute bliss upon his face. They continued in this manner for several moments until Minerva broke the silence.
"...Are you going to tell me your conditions, Professor?" His habit of starting a thought and then zoning out was getting annoying, and she wondered if he did it for dramatic effect.
It wasn't working if he was.
"Yes." His eyes twinkled. "You are to remain the teaching sponsor, and only you. Tom may not become your equal. It's this or no dueling club."
Minerva was rather taken aback. Perhaps Tom hadn't been exaggerating about Dumbledore's double standard. "Of course professor. May I ask why?" She hoped the explanation would assuage her doubts.
"If there's disagreement, it helps having one person in charge of the other," Dumbledore supplied helpfully. Minerva felt as though he wasn't telling her everything.
"All right. But the dueling club's a go?"
"Correct."
"Wonderful!" She beamed, genuinely excited. "I'll just-"
"Wait a moment, Minerva." Dumbledore gestured back to her armchiar. "Meet Fawkes' new friend." The toucan flew down from its perch on the bookshelf, green eyes aglow, and gazed at her knowingly. It seemed to smile with its beak. Malevolently.
"We've met. Hello there, Mr. Lowther." She smiled innocently and gave a small wave.
"You have? Did you meet this morning?" He frowned at the bird.
"No, Tom introduced us yesterday afternoon."
Dumbledore looked serious. "I see." He paused. "Minerva, I say this from a fatherly perspective. Please be careful. I'm not very comfortable about you and Tom, and if you ever need to talk, my door is always open. You know the password."
She smiled, touched, and a trifle guilty. "Don't worry about me, Professor. I can take care of myself."
Dumbledore stroked Lowther's inky feathers. "I would have changed the policy by now if I didn't have every confidence in you." He looked at her sharply. "You say nothing happened?"
"No. Nothing," she said firmly returning his gaze, looking away from his piercing blue eyes after a point. Inwardly, she wondered how much their tryst counted as 'something.'
"Then I'll leave it at that. And if you would keep an eye on how he interacts with the students in the dueling club, I'd be very much obliged to you." He stood, Lowther on his arm, and Minerva took it as her signal to depart. "If it won't interfere with your...relationship, of course." Was that a wink?
"Of course, Professor," she echoed. Smiling, she added, "and I won't mention it to Tom."
Dumbledore patted her hand. "Call me Albus, Minerva."
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The Yule Ball, Riddle decided, was going to be an insufferable affair. He had thought an upside of Dippet's untimely passing would be the ball's cancelation, but there was no such luck. Dumbledore had made a bullshit excuse about how he "couldn't deprive the students." Instead, things would be "toned down." Bullshit, that's what it was. Complete and utter bullshit. Riddle was to meet the latest addition to the herbology department and help decorate the Great Hall for the dance that evening. This meant he'd have little time to spend on Minerva, and less still to open the chamber again. It was during times like these that he desperately needed an evil lair, a plush Dark residence with tasteful furnishings, a comprehensive library, and a cozy nook for a pet snake. Perhaps he could renovate the Chamber, and retire there after he conquered the wizarding world.
Yes, he had excellent taste.
When he reached the greenhouses, he beheld a petite witch, her back to him, presumably tidying up after a class. He cleared his throat.
"Oh, hello. I'm Pomona Sprout. You must be Professor Riddle. Very nice to meet you." She proffered her hand, which Riddle pointedly ignored, caked in dirt and Merlin knew what else as it was. Shrugging, the witch wiped her palm along her robe, gesturing to Riddle and saying "Come along, Hagrid and the trees are this way."
Riddle wondered where he had heard the name 'Pomona Sprout' before. As if reading his thoughts, she said, "You don't recognize me, Tom?"
"I'm afraid not," he replied.
"I suppose I look different," she conceded. "You look just the same. Minerva's told me so much about you. Well, she had written extensively about you in the last letter, anyway."
Riddle was suddenly uncomfortable. Well, I may have majorly screwed this up. "How do you know Minerva?"
"We've been friends since first year," Sprout continued, unperturbed. "I was hoping to see her today."
Riddle's mind raced. He forced his voice to remain civil as he said, "Dumbledore seems to have quite the habit of hiring Hogwarts graduates."
"Who else could know the school better?" Sprout shrugged.
As they decorated with the other professors –clearly summoned under duress, judging by their dull expressions- Riddle was newly aware of the unforeseen work being a professor would entail. He had exams to grade, generally from painfully incompetent students. Many a time he considered abandoning his pureblood campaign in favor of an anti-stupidity movement. They could terrorize London with complicated riddles and problems, eliminating anyone with an IQ below 115. And anyone with intelligence sufficiently close to his own would be subjected to testing. He couldn't have uprisings, after all.
Hagrid, now standing at ten feet tall, brought in the evergreens, one at a time, and Riddle was elected –to his chagrin- to climb atop the ladder and decorate the tops of the 12-foot trees. He wasn't quite sure what approach to take, not being much of a children's artist, but he had managed pretty well, eliciting coos and giggles from observing students and teachers alike as he conjured strings of pearly-frozen cranberries, kitten ornaments, striped candles, and enchanted ice faeries. Briefly, he considered decorating them in a gothic style, just to avoid the rather patronizing stares and laughter at his "snuggle-worthy" creations, but put that idea to rest quickly. He wasn't used to the decorating aspect of the holidays. As he finished the last tree, he prodded the stuffed toucan that someone with abysmal taste had decided would be a perfect Christmas tree topper. It's a tropical bird. How does that relate to a winter holiday? Riddle's eyes suddenly widened.
A toucan. Again. Clearly it was no coincidence. Someone in the in the castle was watching his doings besides Dumbledore; being this obvious was not his style. But who? Clearly this was a force to be reckoned with; it was evident the mastermind was trying to psych him out, but what enemies did he have at Hogwarts, apart from the old man himself?
The bird -it wasn't stuffed, as it turned out- ruffled its feathers and leered. Its demonic green eyes made Riddle wonder what in the hell he had created. They stood, man and bird, watching each other carefully as the preparations around them ended and teacher left the hall. "This ends now, Lowther," Riddle growled. He reached for his wand.
Lowther smirked.
"What are you doing?" Slughorn looked at him curiously. "Are you feeling well?" Upon Slughorn's arrival, Lowther became still and acted as a stuffed bird once more.
Perhaps it was the fatigue, perhaps it was the stress, perhaps it was another chance lost, or perhaps Riddle was experiencing the male equivalent of PMS. Whatever it was, he lost it.
"SLUGHORN! He was mocking me and you ruined my chance to kill it! He- he- it's not just a stuffed toucan! It's a demonic spy! Alive, I tell you! Watch it, watch it! It'll move-" and he forced Slughorn to look, unaware of how clinically insane he appeared.
"...it's not moving, Tom."
"Yes," Riddle said darkly. "Devilishly clever, that one. I'll show him." He drew his wand, aiming to hit Lowther with a ball of fire. Slughorn grabbed his arm, ruining his aim, causing heat from the blast to sear his mustache, making it sadly diminished and further emphasizing the gelatinous nature of his face.
Slughorn's misery had a tonic effect on Riddle. He had forgotten how much the suffering of others brightened his days. "Terribly sorry, Professor," he said, though he looked anything but. He rolled his shoulders, feeling significantly happier. "I really needed that out of my system."
Slughorn forgave him, assuming it was nerves and overwork. "Get some rest, Tom. Or find Minerva." He winked. "I'm sure she'll help you...ah...relax."
"Hardly," snapped Riddle. He fixed the mustache. "And don't mention this to anyone."
"Dear boy, everyone has mental breakdowns. Yours has been long overdue," he chortled, despite his near miss during this particular 'mental breakdown.'
"Thank you."
"I'll leave now."
"You should."
"Come to my New Years party next week? You can bring-"
"Goodbye, Professor."
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Riddle leaned against the stone walls of the Great Hall, eyes closed. For the first time since his coming to Hogwarts, he felt physically and mentally exhausted. He had literally been on his feet all day, and despite his sleeping in, it did little to compensate for his staying up so late the night before. And to think, he had thought it a most excellent Saturday that morning.
Footsteps were audible and swiftly approaching, but Riddle didn't open his eyes, bracing his feet against the floor and trying to snatch a brief moment of rest even as his mind refused to. He would have to do something about Lowther, and quickly. He felt the old sense of alarm, that things were slipping out from his control, just as things had in his first meeting with Dumbledore, at age eleven. He'd have to come up with a solution and quickly. It wouldn't do to have a spy following him, not when he had decided to reopen the chamber -for recreational purposes, of course!
"Professor?"
Riddle groaned and opened his eyes. "What?" It was Fudge, a most irritating third year.
"There's a toucan in your office."
Riddle groaned again, dragging a hand over his face slowly. "And what am I to do about it?"
"I was just letting you know, sir," the boy said, uncomfortable. "It looked like it meant business."
Riddle left immediately, knowing full well Lowther would be gone by the time he reached his office, and naturally, he was right. Resigning himself to the fact that rest would not be his that day, he left for the grounds, settling for an old haunt of his, a secluded knoll now covered in unblemished snow, and waited.
Minerva was not long in arriving at the designated meeting spot, laughing as she plowed through, face pink and scarf blowing in the cutting wind. "You'll never guess what I saw."
"Mr. Lowther."
"Correct!" she exclaimed, leaping into the snow drift and effectively coating him in the powdery frost. "And the second he saw me, he seemed to smile, and then flew away." She laughed again. "What an odd bird."
Riddle made a wry face. "Let him catch hypothermia." He conjured a throw for them to sit on. "I hope you prefer this over Hogsmeade, because we very well can't leave the grounds with the Yule Ball only a few hours away." Minerva smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand.
"Oh God, I have to chaperone," she said, annoyed. "Please tell me you'll be chaperoning too?"
"Maybe." He had already been condemned to that unhappy fate, but she needn't know that, not when there was flirting material to be extracted first. "If I can be persuaded."
Minerva scoffed. "I feel like you're no longer interested in me for my conversation." She drew her cloak around herself. "I should have known, from this morning's display."
"Ah, but you enjoyed it," Riddle said, smiling deviously. "And if I weren't, I wouldn't encourage these little arguments, would I?"
"Of course you would, you know what they always lead to," Minerva retorted. "And it's usually you who initiates anything."
He drew out a slim box. "You really don't deserve this, considering you just implied that I-"
"Oh, you can't have gotten me a present!" she interrupted, looking sheepish and chagrined. "I certainly didn't think to get you one.."
Riddle took her hand, placing the box in it. "Yes, I'm a saint. You could open it now; I doubt you'll get a chance later tonight. It's also a brief moment for you to get your foot out of your mouth." He ran a hand along her skirt up from her snow-caked boot.
She kissed him lightly -after seizing his wrist. "I think I'll wait. You know, I'm not sure I want the faculty knowing, about all this-" she waved her free hand to illustrate- "with the exception of Pomona and Albus, of course."
Riddle frowned. "Slughorn likely has already told everyone. And you're on first name terms with Dumbledore, I see." He found the 'jealous lover' stereotype a most fun role to play, since he wasn't really the jealous type in these areas, considering he'd never been serious. Naturally, she bought into it.
"Don't be ridiculous, he's like a father to me."
"Dumbledore, I hope, and not Slughorn."
"That was a given, Tom."
There was silence for a while as they observed the last of the students staying for the holidays enter the castle over much-needed hot tea. "What did Dumbledore say about the dueling club?" Riddle asked.
"Oh, he passed it, but I'm afraid there's a catch." Riddle's head snapped up.
"A catch? What do you mean?"
"He insisted on me being the sole teacher sponsor." She shrugged, ruefully. "He doesn't want you in charge. Sorry, Tom, I'm afraid your little prejudice isn't entirely contrived after all."
Riddle quieted his urge to hex the man into oblivion, and shave off the ridiculous beard while he was at it to add insult to injury. Hell, he'd confiscate the lemon drops while he was at it. Instead, he laughed harshly. "Typical. He's in for a rude awakening."
Minerva sat next to him. "How so?"
He turned to face her. "Because, I happen to know how to persuade the witch in charge."
"You know, maybe he had a reason for making you my subordinate." She smiled impishly.
"Doesn't matter," he said smoothly, taking her shoulders firmly in his hands. "You're so pliant, it'll be no trouble convincing you to make me the sponsor."
"Not in public, Tom. What if someone sees us?"
"I insist on being an equal, Minerva," Riddle said, ignoring her, instead moving a hand to cup her cheek. "And three people already know." He tilted her face up. "And we're hardly in public."
"I won't agree to it unless you stop." Minerva grabbed his wrist, but naturally his hand didn't move from her face, and his other traveled down to her back.
"I won't stop unless you agree." Riddle pulled her in closer. "If you want a battle -or duel- of wills, ma mie, I'm afraid you'll lose." His breath tickled, as he whispered, "Lose with some dignity."
"Now I have no choice but to discourage you, or you'll be insufferable." She attempted to move backward, and failed.
"Please, Minerva," Riddle said, opting for a softened tone. "Dumbledore doesn't need to know. It can be official between us." It was actually a brilliant move; she would be held accountable for anything questionable, and he was sure Minerva could be convinced that there was nothing wrong about his teaching at all.
"Are you referring to us, or the dueling club?" Minerva asked. Riddle started, jerking back involuntarily. Commitment already? He wasn't quite sure he wanted that this early..
"What do you want me to be referring to?" he asked evasively.
"Hmmm. The dueling club." She smiled, as though she knew of his aversion to the the former, and intended to capitalize on it.
Riddle breathed a barely-audible sigh of relief, visible as it turned to smoke once it left his mouth. "Then it's the dueling club."
"We can be equals. And that's just because it wouldn't be fair to Albus for me to allow anything more. He trusts me." Minerva raised a brow. "Fair enough?"
"Perfectly," he replied, and kissed her. "And I told you you were easily persuaded, minette."
"I told you not in public." She narrowed her eyes. "And I prefer 'mie.'"
"I don't really give a damn."
"Watch the language. There's a lady present, I remind you." Minerva looked amused, despite her tone.
"A lady? Introduce us."
Minerva allowed a small smile. "Why do I even bother?"
"I should ask the same thing," Riddle replied, picking up the box again and placing it in the folds of her skirt. "Now get off me and open it; I want to see your face when you do."
Rolling her eyes, she did so, revealing a new quill, topped with a dyed eagle plume, and engraved with her name. "Oh, Tom," she breathed, "it's lovely." She picked it up carefully, and smiled. "And so practical, too." Her eyes softened. "Thank you. I really wish I had gotten you something."
"I think it writes in green." Riddle plucked it from her fingers, and secured it in her bun. "And I'm awaiting payment as we speak."
"Yes, and you'd be impossible to shop for, and I'm obligated to try now." She frowned at him, albeit warmly. "Makes my job harder."
"Allow me to suggest a gift," Riddle murmured, and kissed her again. "Am I clear?"
Minerva responded, and paused for breath. "You are ridiculous," she said finally.
Riddle checked his watch. "Should we head back to the castle? You have to get ready for the evening if you're going to chaperon."
"Have you been persuaded to join me?" Minerva stood.
"Not sufficiently." Riddle looked at her expectantly.
Minerva sighed. "Oh, fine." To Lowther from his vantage point on the turret, they seemed to be a Christmas cliche from a book: a kissing couple in the snow.
Lowther hadn't gone unnoticed though. He and Riddle had exchanged looks before Lowther cawed loudly and flew to the turret that housed the owls. What could the man do besides glower, with the lady so near? As Lowther alighted in the warm straw bedding of the owlery, he schemed. Humans were so easy to play off of one another.
Hope y'all liked it. There will be much more of Lowther, and I promise to clear up what's going on with him eventually.