A/N: Thank you to Sachita and Bambi for reviewing, and a long overdue thank you to everyone who favorited! Before we begin, Voldy here has a few words: *looks expectantly* Nothing? Okay... well, Minerva has a few words. *she is silent* Well, this is awkward... whatever. Again, apologies for the lack of Teh Funny. Onto the fic!

Minerva woke up with a hangover the next day. "Oh dear god," she muttered, holding a hand up to her throbbing temple. "That's the last time I have seven shots of firewhiskey." The light from the open windows seemed glaringly bright, and the chirping of birds outside seemed deafening. Pomona had been a saint though, going so far as to help her get ready for bed and even tidying up the room afterwards. It certainly hadn't been that clean when she had gone to sleep. She hoped she hadn't done anything ridiculously forward with Tom... she'd never hear the end of it from him if she had, after her 'not in public!' excuses. But then again, if she holed herself up in her room, she'd be amassing well-founded suspicion. If she needed to, though, she could always claim incapacitation from a brutal hangover... it wouldn't be too much trouble nor would it be particularly dishonest, but there was too much on her to-do list, so she steeled herself, gingerly crawled out of bed, and showered, wincing all the while at the over-obnoxious external stimuli. Well, it seemed overtly obnoxious to her.

Grading papers was the last thing she wanted to do on Christmas morning, but she was getting behind, so Minerva set off for the staff room after a quick visit to the Hospital Wing to do something about her headache. She settled into her favorite chair, and set about correcting mistakes. Perhaps she'd give a small curve. It was Christmas, after all.

As it was wont to do, her mind strayed to the previous night. Tom had been unusually attentive, and had conducted himself as the perfect gentleman, despite her giving him plenty of reason to do the opposite. It almost made her feel bad to be keeping an eye on him for Dumbledore, but then again, he wasn't exactly free of suspicious behavior. Besides, he had gleaned quite a bit of information about her over their time together, from her interests to a brief family background, and she still knew virtually nothing, except that he was incredibly smart, incredibly secretive, incredibly dramatic, and incredibly attractive. Oh, and he had anger management issues, she was quite sure of that, and a vendetta against Lowther the toucan. Why she couldn't imagine -Lowther was slightly creepy, yes, but not a big deal over all. Clearly, though, he and Dumbledore had a history that neither intended to share with her. It was really quite frustrating. Dumbledore wanted her to keep an eye on Tom, and Tom wanted her to work with Dumbledore in areas he could not, and neither of the men would tell her why they couldn't just do their dirty work themselves, or even why she was to do it for them. If it weren't for her own innate penchant for riddles, be they logical or interpersonal, she would have told them both to go to hell by now. Annoyances aside, though, Tom was quite fun to be around, and though she'd never admit it to him, she enjoyed the bantering, childish as it was. And even more than that, she enjoyed allowing him to think that she was completely taken in. It gave her more room to be a little manipulative herself. And since neither would tell her what exactly was going on, she'd have to find out on her own. Really, did he honestly think she had gotten into Magical Law through gullibility?

Still, her burgeoning relationship with Tom was still a source of preoccupation for other reasons. Minerva was not fond of the word 'lover.' It seemed to her too trite, too sentimental, and to take the word in the literal sense, too suggestive. Minerva McGonagall was not a suggestive woman; she prided herself on being rather up-front. When she was not in favor of something, she made it clear, and when she was, she made it still more obvious. And though for the most part Tom conducted himself as a gentleman, she could not help but feel wary. Tom wasn't exactly subtle in his intentions towards her, despite respecting her reluctance for the most part. More than anything else, Minerva saw herself as a teacher, and as one in the position of instructing young children, she could hardly set a poor example by undignified behavior, fun though it may be. And as a teacher, in a school with young children, she felt she had a responsibility to keep everything -from the insignificant to the eyebrow-raising- behind closed doors.

Despite being lost in thought as she was, Slughorn's entrance didn't take her completely by surprise, though it prompted her to jump a bit in her seat. She had rather wondered when someone would barge in, preferably to offer her wandering mind comedic relief or at least a reason to make a great show of grading papers.

"Are you very busy, Minerva?"

She pretended to look up at him in a distracted flurry of motion. "Not terribly." She kept her tone sarcastic. "Why?"

"I just wanted to let you know, I'm giving a party this New Year's Eve for the teachers and some old friends, and I would love for you and Tom to attend." Slughorn made no effort to keep neutrality in his voice, and suggestion from his eyes. "Convince him to go."

"Why do you assume I speak for Tom?" she asked. "Just ask him yourself."

"Ah, but my dear, you'll have more influence with him."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Very funny, Professor. And I don't think I can anyway... there's that minor issue of me being way behind on grading," and she gestured to the papers strewn across the tabletop.

Slughorn frowned. "I'll see if I can change your mind yet." He changed the subject, abruptly. "Do you have any idea why Tom's developed that bizarre hatred for toucans?"

Minerva shrugged. "No clue. I think he actually made Lowther -that's its name- himself, and now Lowther insists on spying on everyone. It's rather tiresome."

"I'll see if I can track Tom down. Perhaps if we get rid of that toucan obsession, he'll pay you more attention, eh?" He winked. "But I don't think that'll ever be a major problem." Chuckling, Slughorn left the room. "Don't forget, Minerva, I expect you to be at my New Year's party!"

Minerva returned to her grading, feeling oddly refreshed. "Piss-off," she muttered, but there was no hostility in her tone, only amusement.

Library
Deep in the restricted section of the library, Riddle was slowly going insane. Well, figuratively, of course. To think that he, Lord Voldemort, could ever actually become clinically insane was a laughable notion. But it was starting to seem a plausible outcome as his frustration grew, becoming nearly insurmountable. There was no longer a single bloody book on horcruxes in Hogwarts. Nothing. Not a bloody thing. His first impression was that it had been Dumbledore's doing, but that seemed unlikely; he was quite certain the man had no idea about his horcruxes. The next suspect would naturally be Slughorn, but that couldn't be. Slughorn practically fawned over him, to the point of being annoying. And to think that the man would actually have the foresight to prevent him obtaining further knowledge of horcruxes was ridiculous. It was a testament to Slughorn's overfed complacentness that he had asked him about horcruxes nearly ten years ago, in the most abysmally unsubtle manner imaginable, and Slughorn didn't grow suspicious til the very end, when Riddle had thrown subtlety out the window (along with a good portion of his time). Then who could have taken the books? Perhaps they were being laundered? No, that was for money.. Perhaps...

"Lowther," he said, eyes narrowing as he did so. His triumphant expression quickly turned to one of disgust. "I am going insane."

Riddle did not think himself a conspiracy theorist. Certainly he would devise long-drawn out schemes against other people, but no one had the wit or the patience to be an effective foil for him. Well, there was that small issue of Minerva.. she must be watched. There was great potential for her to become a great asset, provided those ridiculous morals didn't get in the way. Most gifted people had propensities for that, though why he couldn't imagine.

And while he was on the subject of Minerva….

He had a problem. She was officially the center of it. And Riddle was not happy about it at all. How dare she get drunk at the Yule Ball, and make herself pitiable? Any other day he would have taken full advantage of it and used it to further his own ambitions, and what did he do when faced with her appalling display of weakness? He felt concern, genuine concern, for someone other than himself. It wasn't that she prompted gallant behavior -that could always be justified as part of the plan- it was that she prompted softer emotions that bred weakness. It simply wouldn't do. Riddle didn't have time for that shit, and he certainly wasn't going to let himself turn sentimental now, not when he had so much to accomplish. Worse still, he couldn't bring himself to make her pay for her audacity because it really wasn't audacity at all. Wait,that made it even worse. Now, he was only going to punish people because they deserved it? That was something Dumbledore himself would promote. What had happened to him? What had happened to every action being aimed towards his long term goal? Riddle kicked the bottom of the bookshelf, swearing as he did so. Wonderful. Now he was throwing a temper tantrum in a manner akin to that of a small child, albeit silently, and it was all her fault. No, he couldn't blame her unfairly, she didn't know what she'd- damn it, he was doing it again!

"Fuck this," Riddle said aloud. "To hell with this." He needed a break badly, and he wasn't getting one here. And to think, he wouldn't have reached this metaphorical train station if his metaphorical train of thought hadn't been started by the not-metaphorical lack of horcrux books. And he still didn't know whose fault that was, which meant he had gotten nowhere.

Perhaps he could just go to Knockturn Alley, and meet up with some old acquaintances of his. It would mean he was in for a long day, and he'd get behind on grading, but he could likely catch up in an evening, provided he had no disturbances –something that was starting to look more and more unlikely. Nevertheless, it would provide him some respite and would be a better chance of getting necessary reading material that he was so deprived of. And as for grading, he could always rudely ignore Slughorn's insipid party and grade papers all night if he got too behind. It wasn't the best solution, but he doubted he could formulate a better one.

And so, with a significantly lighter heart, and a much clearer head, Riddle collected his things and his frazzled sanity and set out for Knockturn Alley.

Order of Sentient Magical Beings of Europe, undisclosed location
Lowther sat on the podium, as standing behind it was not an option. "Right. So what is our first order of business?"

A rabbit hopped forward. "Reports of the crumple-horned snorkack uprising hasn't reached anyone of consequence in the wizarding world. Our spies tell us that a few Muggles witnessed the events, but they were quickly… disposed of."

"Was any memory modification necessary?" Lowther asked.

"No, sir."

"Good. Anyone else have something to report?"

A young owl stepped forward. "Mr. Lowther, sir, I have a question."

Lowther sighed. Things like this always detracted from valuable time. "Yes? Be quick about it."

"Why are we working to promote magical creatures' rights, but you're our leader, and you just live in Hogwarts, not helping with uprisings at all?" The owl frowned, thinking. "You're always first in line to promote the importance of magical creatures and how we don't get the respect and rights we deserve, but you're never actively helping! And you still haven't given a report on what's happening in Hogwarts, and what it has to do with our cause." The owl looked around, and saw the other magical creatures nodding. "What's going on, Mr. Lowther?"

Lowther's toes curled more tightly around the podium wood. His demonic green eyes flared in indignation as he seethed, listening to the owl's disrespectful drivel. "Take him away."

"But sir!" the owl cried, beating its wings in vain as two nifflers seized him and dragged him away. "Sir! Please, I'm sorry!" Lowther watched dispassionately.

"Does anyone else want to question my methods?" Lowther said in a voice of deadly calm. Not a single animal batted an eye. "No? Good. Let's resume. Otis, any news from our sister organization in the US….?"

Some bar in Knockturn Alley
"...and that's why I went to Hogwarts," Riddle finished, taking a sip of absinthe as his followers looked on admiringly. "So, what do you think?"

"I can get you the books right away, my Lord," Cygnus Black said, only to be cut off quickly.

"I told you not to refer to me by that name in public," Riddle snapped. "Knockturn Alley or no, we aren't in a safe location to bandy even minor information about. Now, you were saying...?"

"I can see to it the books are sent to your rooms in Hogwarts," Cygnus continued. "Your mail won't be intercepted, will it?"

Riddle laughed. "I should think Dumbledore knows better than to intercept my mail. I won't hesitate to make a legal case out of it, and he knows I'm not ignorant of magical law." He paused, draining the glass before he continued. "Yes, go ahead and send them tonight, but have them delivered directly to my room. I'll only attract attention if they're delivered with the rest of the morning post." He looked around the room. "But Cygnus, enough about me. How's the baby?"

"Little Bella is doing quite well," Cygnus said, smiling as he thought of his daughter. "You must come and visit whenever you aren't too busy."

"Certainly," Riddle said smoothly. "Baddock, talk to Malfoy for me. He's hesitant to let Abraxas join... you know. He's concerned that he's too young."

"I thought the dueling club would solve for that, Tom," Baddock said, confused.

"Yes, but that plan has to be long term," Riddle said impatiently. "I'm not officially in charge of that."

"Not in charge?" Cygnus asked incredulously. "Who else would want a dueling club started?"

"No one," Riddle explained. "I had Minerva sign on, since Dumbledore would never allow me to. He has some irrational fear that I'll...oh, I don't know...start an army, or something." He smiled, sardonically. "Ridiculous, isn't it?"

Cygnus frowned, thinking. "Minerva McGonagall? What does she have to do with anything? Is she at Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," Riddle said, tone carefully neutral. "She's the transfiguration professor now."

"And why is she in charge of the dueling club?" Dolohov had spoken.

"I just explained that," Riddle said with irritation. "I'm not in a habit of repeating myself, and I don't intend to start now just for you."

"All right, then how will the dueling club serve to build an army with her as the sponsor?" Baddock asked. "Wasn't she Head Girl our sixth year? And a tremendous teacher's pet?"

Riddle smirked, running a long finger around the lip of the glass. "I don't think that will be a problem anymore. She's very...easy to persuade."

Cygnus and Baddock exchanged looks. "What do you mean by that, Tom?" Cygnus asked. "Or are we not allowed to-"

"Suffice it to say she's very open to suggestion." Riddle said, a small smile still present on his face. "That's all you need to know. And believe me, more than anything else she's going to further the cause. And if she's a hindrance.. well, there are ways around hindrances."

"I never would have imagined you and McGonagall," Dolohov said slowly. "How's Slughorn taking it? I think he was angling for you two to get together during the Slug Club days, something about Hogwarts' 'best and brightest' or something like that..."

Riddle's face soured. "Slughorn," he said slowly, "is as insufferable and meddlesome as always. But he may prove useful later, so it helps having him on my side." He stood up. "Gentlemen, I'll see you hopefully next week. I have some matters to attend to at the school, and right now they take precedence even over this." He turned to go.

"I wonder if Minerva counts as a pressing matter," Baddock said slyly once he was convinced Riddle was out of earshot.

"Immobulus." Baddock froze.

Riddle wheeled around and stalked back to the table. "I am not going to suffer flippancy from you, Baddock. Contain yourself."

"Y-yes, my Lord."

"Let this serve as a reminder." Riddle wrenched back Baddock's left sleeve, baring the Dark Mark on his left forearm. He pressed his wand to it, and Baddock's fist tightened and his jaw clenched as a searing pain slowly wormed its way along the lines of the snake and skull. "Lord Voldemort is not to be trifled with," Riddle said softly. "See it you do not forget." He straightened. "Good evening." The table was silent until the door shut behind him.

"Wonder why that got him so angry," Cygnus mused. "All right there, Malcolm?" Baddock nodded slowly, gripping his arm just above the Dark Mark.

"Because." Everyone looked at Dolohov. "Clearly, McGonagall is the pressing matter. He wouldn't have done that if it wasn't the case."

But since it was Dolohov who had said it, everyone blew it off and nothing more was said on the subject.

Riddle's Chambers
Riddle returned to Hogwarts by evening, pleased to see that Cygnus Black had come through for him; the package, unobtrusive in its brown paper wrapping, sat on the window ledge outside his room. It was only a matter of minutes before he had unwrapped the books, and sprawled across his bed, the books strewn around his normally immaculate bedroom. He was well along in his reading before he realized he hadn't had dinner nor lunch. He briefly considered going to the kitchens and getting something to eat, but decided against it, determining it to be a waste of time on an unimportant task. But as he read on, Riddle began to grow irritated. When would he come across something he didn't already know?

A knock at the door diverted his attention from the books. "Can I come in?" the voice called. It was Minerva.

"Damn it," Riddle swore under his breath. "I don't know if you can," he called back, hastily stuffing the books and ripped paper under the bed and inside desk drawers, "but you have my permission to try." He seized a sheaf of exams, sprawled across the bed again, and started grading, forcing his breathing to slow back down to normalcy.

The door swung open. "Very funny. You'd make an excellent elementary school teacher." Minerva peered over his shoulder. "You're starting only now? You had all day."

Riddle turned his head to look up at her. "I just can't prioritize as well as you, minette."

She sat, interlacing her fingers and resting her chin on top of them on his shoulder. "That's a damn lie. You just have different priorities than I do." She waited for him to reply, but there was only the sound of his quill scratching across the parchment. "Tom. Are you listening?"

"Certainly," he replied. "I am capable of doing two things at once, thank you."

"Hmm." Idly, she ran her hand along his arm in an absent minded caress, feeling his muscles tense up momentarily under her light touch. "I read once that multitasking results in you doing both activities with less concentration, and the end result is poor in both." She smiled, out of his line of sight, as his eyes flicked towards his arm, jaw clenched, and he forced himself to relax.

"Did you, now." Riddle tried to ignore the sensation of her hand gliding over his arm, straying more than once. It was most distracting. He considered voicing it to McGonagall so she'd stop, but thought better of it, realizing he'd only prove her point of multitasking being ineffective. Forcing himself to focus on the papers before him, he asked casually, "So I take it I should stop talking to you and solely focus on grading." He looked up at her. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Or," she replied, coming to rest on her elbows alongside him, "you could grade papers tomorrow morning, and give me your undivided attention now."

Riddle chuckled. "Oh, irony. Ordinarily I would be the one telling you that."

"Yes, and since we're encountering some role reversal here, this is the part where you half-heartedly agree." She waited, expectant.

"Not full role reversal, I'm afraid," Riddle said, eyes determinedly not leaving the papers. "Forgive me for saying so, ma minette, but you lack my powers of persuasion.

With a surprising display of cat-like agility, Minerva pushed his papers aside, sweeping them off the bed, and placed her cool palm along his cheek, forcibly turning his face towards her. "You're probably right. I suppose blunt obnoxiousness will have to be my modus operandi instead."

Riddle looked at the scattered papers, peeved. "You have my whole and undivided attention, my lady, though it was...forcibly taken from me."

Minerva frowned. "What a cold response. I think I prefer you livid, Tom."

"You'd rather I be dangerously angry with you?" He smiled, eyes glinting. "It can be arranged."

"Anything is better than aloofness," Minerva replied. Her hand resumed its attentions, this time along his hollow cheek. "Perhaps I should have said 'impassioned,' not 'livid.'" She couldn't contain a smirk when a very palpable shiver passed through him as her fingernails gently scraped along his jaw line.

Riddle shrugged her hand away. "Now who's being forward," he murmured, imprisoning her hands by taking a slim wrist in each of his own.

Minerva felt her breath catch in her chest. He was very close now, suspending his weight on his forearms as he looked down at her. She wondered if she had actually angered him. "No need to crush my wrists, darling. I'm losing feeling in my fingers."

Wordlessly, he dipped his head down and kissed her, hands leaving her wrists as his long fingers entwined themselves into her hair. Minerva could feel his breathing quicken, and raised her head up a bit higher to meet him more fully, hooking her arms around his shoulders. She was breathing quickly as well, she knew, but her breath seemed to belong to someone else, even as her lips formed his name. He wasn't unaffected either, she could tell, something she was pleased to note. All too often, Riddle was very collected, seeming to calculate everything he did even in their time alone together, making this a welcome change. She aware of the hike in his temperature and heartbeat as her own hands pulled them closer together, and in a corner of her mind, she felt surprised by her behavior.

Riddle broke away, his breathing still a bit ragged. "Satisfied?"

Minerva smiled. "Potentially. You taste like raspberries, by the way. Did you know?"

Riddle ignored the comment and rolled off her, on his back as her fingers traversed his face again. His hand found her hair. "I see why you want things private now."

"Really?" Minerva asked. "That's great. Why?"

"Because." His eyes fell shut. "I'm imagining Slughorn's reaction. And that alone is reason enough for me to keep this behind closed doors."

A/N: Threw this bit in for a friend who challenged me to write a bit more romance. Hope you're happy with it, this is most out of character for me. Until next time... Oh, and be so kind as to review. It does wonders for an author's self esteem. ;)