A/N: Hey all! Sorry for the delay but there's this thing called school and it keeps getting in the way. Here's my latest and I apologize in advance for its shortness. :P Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Hope you enjoy the endscene. I honored the wishes of all you romance aficionados, no matter how much I shy away from writing it. Yeah... well. Happy reading!

Rubeus Hagrid was a man of simple tastes and simple desires. It didn't take much to make him happy, and, emotional man that he was, it didn't take much to make him upset either. But he was a gentle giant in even the most literal sense of the phrase. He was fond of animals from a young age, and always seemed to find himself drawn to magical creatures, usually of the most dangerous sort. The dangerous creatures he held so dear often were lacking in the cuteness department, so a reasonable question would be a musing on the outcome should Hagrid chance upon an exotic magical creature that was both dangerous and cute. Perhaps fate had dealt Hogwarts a cruel blow, for that was precisely what happened.

"Hello little fellow!" The bunny, representative for the Scottish branch of the order twitched its nose innocently and looked up at Hagrid. Lowther had informed it about Hagrid's penchant for magical, often dangerous exotic creatures. The rabbit felt that the fact that it was an arctic hare, it fit the exotic bill to a tee, and as for dangerous… well, the giant would see soon enough. But for now, cuteness was the main concern, and the bunny set about twitching its nose and nibbling on grass in the most adorable way it could imagine.

"Why don't I take you inside, and-" Hagrid scarcely got more words out for the simple reason that the bunny did not WANT to go inside, and needed an excuse to reveal its abilities. So it did the only thing a magical can do. It pulled back its lips from its creepily fanged bunny teeth, and narrowed its red eyes, rearing up onto its hind legs. Overlord Lowther had informed him of the Giant One's habits. If he behaved in a scary, threatening manner, the giant would take it as endearing behaviour, and accept him into his house. Slowly, they could accumulate forces right on the grounds of Hogwarts, and when they were ready for the invasion, no one would stop them. And thanks to Lowther's reconaissance, Dumbledore would never believe the giant capable of anything as terrible as hosting an army of rebellious magical animals! It was more likely the new professor would be blamed.

"Oh, it's a vampire little critter!" Hagrid positively beamed, and carefully scooped up the snapping rabbit. "Oops! Doesn' know what he's doin', jus' a baby, after all." And so the first of Lowther's troops infiltrated Hogwarts, with nothing more than a cute face and vampire teeth.

Headmaster's Office

Albus Dumbledore paced behind his desk, arms folded behind him. Lowther had grown distant with Fawkes. It seemed that the two had gotten into some sort of avian argument, and this didn't bode well for Dumbledore since Fawkes was the primary bridge between the toucan and himself. The bird didn't seem to trust him fully. His reports on Tom and Minerva had become increasingly vague. Dumbledore didn't like the idea of spying on Minerva's relationship with Tom, and he knew fully well he couldn't expect her to tell him the details of at what stage they were at, but even so he felt a sort of obligation to be watchful. Remarkable though Minerva may be, he wasn't comfortable with the idea that Tom was spending so much time in close proximity with his most prized lieutenant. And should the young wizard give him any suggestion to terminate the contract, well... it wouldn't be difficult. So far though, Minerva seemed to be emotionally detached from Tom. He doubted she could truly have strong feelings for him and simultaneously report to him on Tom's doings. He crunched his lemon drop in frustration. It didn't make any sense, and yet she seemed a bit too fond of Tom for him to think that she was using that as an angle to get information out of him. Rather, it seemed the reverse; Tom was much more forward than she.

"What do you think, Fawkes?" He turned and asked his phoenix quite seriously. He waited for several moments. Fawkes blinked slowly. "Ah yes. You don't talk." He resumed pacing. Perhaps if Tom would reveal a bit about the Death Eaters to Minerva, she could garner more information for him. He decided to voice the suggestion to her, although in a much more roundabout way. He wouldn't put it past Tom to try and make Minerva one of his followers. Dumbledore resolved to mention it to her at dinner. He ceased his pacing again and snapped to attention.

"Fawkes!" The phoenix snapped to attention. "Stop sulking around this instant! Go find Lowther and make up right now." Fawkes crowed reproachfully. "I don't care whose fault it was. Be the bigger person..." Dumbledore frowned. It didn't sound quite right. "Or be the bigger bird, as the case may be. Actually, you already are the bigger bird, so... Never mind. But go make up with your friend right now." Fawkes puffed up his feathers, huffed, and turned around. Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. "Go, Fawkes. Be nice. He's very far from home, you know. Ask him about that Order of his. I heard him trying to tell you about it."

Fawkes ruffled his feathers, annoyed. If only there was some way to communicate to Dumbledore that the problem with Lowther was that his Order was trying to overthrow him, and that he was in general bad tempered and rude like the majority of toucans. But noooo. Dumbledore fancied himself one of those stereotypical fathers who had to protect his little girl from that nasty man. Except Dumbledore wasn't Minerva's father, and as far as Fawkes knew, Tom didn't seem too bad. How could he be, when his wand had one of his own tail feathers? The wand chooses the wizard, and how could a wand with a core of his own making choose a loser?

Fawkes, being a bird, was unfamiliar with the concept that bad people weren't exclusively "losers." Or perhaps he just wasn't concerned with it, and was thinking about his next meal or his impending rebirth. But he flew off to appease Dumbledore, who smiled contentedly at him, lightening his mood. "Marvelous birds, phoenixes," he said to himself. Sagely he ate another lemon drop, reaching for two more almost instantly, stopping his hand once he glanced down sadly at his newly acquired potbelly. "Oh dear me," he sighed. "I really must learn to stop with one candy per train of thought."

Minerva's Chambers

He knocked on the door frame loudly as he walked into her room. "Minerva? Are you in here?" The acrid scent of nail polish seemed to hit him full in the face as he neared the center. He saw the back of her head even as the rest of her body was concealed by the bed, bent in concentration as she went about her task.

She turned, a smile quickly brightening her face when she saw him. "Hello, darling. Sit down." She bent her head back to what she was doing. Riddle went over to investigate.

"Ah." He was bent at the waist, fingers interlaced behind him as he examined her. "Painting your nails, I see. That would explain the obnoxious scent of acetone."

"You don't like them?" She held up a hand. "I went with red and green. I'm still in the holiday spirit."

"Perhaps I should have brought mistletoe, then." Minerva must have been building up a resistance to his advances, as she merely laughed and returned to her painting.

"You're a mess, Tom."

"Here, let me," he said, sitting cross-legged beside her and taking her hand.

"Um, that hand is already finished." Minerva rolled her eyes. "You're as bad as my brothers, they don't know the least bit about women things..."

Riddle drew out his wand. "You're doing it the Muggle way." Under his direction, a sprig of holly bloomed across her thumbnail. "There you go, ma minette."

Minerva gave him her other hand. "Go ahead and do this one too, then."

"No, no," Riddle said, brushing her hand away. "I don't know about these 'women things,' you said so yourself."

Minerva adjusted herself. "Alright, then what better time to learn? Here, you do the toes, I've just started. And my feet are clean, promise." She was wearing one of her house robes, a light cotton tartan garment over what appeared to be a night dress. Unabashed, she folded one knee to her chest, and rested the other foot on his lap. "Go ahead, I'm waiting."

Riddle picked up the nail polish. "Amazing how your sense of modesty has diminished in just a month." He eyed the hem of the robe, significantly higher than it was meant to be. "And to think, you were complaining about not wearing stockings at Slughorn's party."

She turned a bit pink. "Is there a problem?"

"Did you hear me complaining?" He readjusted her leg, long fingers lingering. He set about painting the nails with magic, though- he didn't like the idea of using the brushes- and changed the pink color to a deep red. Black flowers bloomed across her toes under his direction.

"Tom, that's quite the creative design you've done there," Minerva said, examining his handiwork. "I didn't know you were such an artist."

"I'm not finished yet," Riddle said, taking her ankle in his hand and stretching her leg across his lap.

"What do you mean? My nails are painted." Minerva pushed herself forward, balancing her weight on her hands.

"Yes, and I've decided I enjoyed doing it," Riddle replied, picking up his wand again.

"So you're painting them again?" she asked. "You really need to be more clear, Tom. You aren't making any sense."

"Who said anything about your nails, Minerva?" Riddle held the wand a few millimeters above her skin, winding it in lazy patterns as a snake drawing undulated along her slim ankle and calf. She shivered as the air around her skin was displaced just enough to be teasing, but not enough for her to feel anything significant.

"What else do you know?" she marveled when he finished, running a hand along her leg, amazed. It didn't feel as though anything had been done, but as her fingertips grazed the drawing it seemed to slither in place. She looked at him, a new respect in her eyes.

"What do you mean by that?" he murmured, drawing her onto his lap. "You know by now I engage in experimental magic."

Minerva looked past him. "Darling, let me shut the door."

"What's the matter, ma minette? Expecting a visitor?" Riddle tightened his hold, partially because he felt like it, partially because the acetone fumes had made him high, and partially because he enjoyed being difficult.

"No, of course not, I just don't want anyone to see..."

"You are so easily unsettled, even now," Riddle breathed, working his way down her jawline to her neck. "Relax, no one will see us."

"Tom, let me shut the door," Minerva insisted, hand scrabbling along the floor for her wand.

"I said relax," Riddle said, a hard edge creeping into his voice. "Arch your neck just a bit, you're making this difficult for me."

Minerva seized his face in her hands, pulling his head back. "Listen to me, you persistent bastard. If you want a little tryst right now, fine. If you want to behave unprofessionally, fine. If you want me to be immodest-" she smiled, tilting her head down and bringing her face close to his, their noses brushing, "that's perfectly fine." Riddle raised his eyebrows in amusement, angling his head sideways intending to close the gap between them. She stopped him with a finger on his lip. "But if you intend to do any more of the above with that door open I promise you-"

Riddle flicked her finger away impatiently, crushing his mouth to hers and effectively swallowing her words and the remainder of her air. He smiled, even as he deepened the kiss while her hands tightened in his hair, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away. Her breathing was heavy and ragged, and she didn't protest when he turned his attentions to her neck and collarbone. When he slipped her housecoat off her narrow shoulders, however, she suddenly pushed him away. "No more, Tom. The door is still open."

Riddle could only stare in bewilderment as she turned, located her wand, and locked the door, a most irritating little smug smile on her newly bruised lips. He had been so certain that she was completely distracted. That was the second time he'd underestimated her. Arrogance was proving to be quite the annoyance; but wasn't it completely deserved? "It isn't any more, minette," he tried again, kissing her firmly and working his hands into her hair. "Where were we...?"

Minerva bit his lip gently, causing him to pull back in surprise. "I said no more. You had a chance and you blew it." She slid off his lap. "I wanted that door closed."

Again Riddle was dumbfounded. "It's closed now."

"Yeah, no thanks to you." She busied herself with the nail polish, collecting it and putting away in a little wicker basket.

"Touchy touchy," Riddle said snidely, pride wounded.

"No, that's you, Tom. Couldn't keep your hands out of my housecoat, I see." Minerva disappeared into the bathroom, from which the sounds of cabinet doors opening and shutting emanated.

"You're the one that all but gave me permission to 'behave unprofessionaly'! Technically, by leaving the door open, I was complying with what you said!" Riddle felt that she was being most unfair.

"Yes, on the condition that you close the goddamn door! You didn't listen!" She stepped out of the bathroom, eyes blazing. Her peeved expression rapidly dissipated. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Riddle crossed over to her, catching her waist. "How do you like my drawing?" She pivoted her leg to examine it, and he caught her knee, steadying her with his hand as he lifted it up. "Tell me."

Minerva's eyes flicked down to her leg, imprisoned by his hand, her eyes fluttering shut. "Stop that," she murmured. Riddle mentally congratulated himself. He had the upper hand again.

"You sound a bit reluctant, ma mie."

Minerva leaned into him as he pulled her closer. "Certainly no- Tom!" She hooked her knee off his hand. "What is this?" She grabbed his wrist and thrust it in front of his face.

Damn it, Riddle thought, cursing himself. "What is what? Sure you aren't imagining things?"

"This," she insisted, tracing the faint outline of his dark mark, nothing more than a raised white line much like a scar. He considered himself lucky that no one had decided to summon him at the moment; it would have burned and turned quite visible.

"Ah yes, that," he said, mind racing. "It's nothing."

"Is that carved into your skin?" She looked scandalized.

He shrugged, deciding incomplete honesty would be his best card in this case. "Branded, actually."

"God, who did this to you?"

Not exactly what I had in mind, Riddle thought, confused. "Er, it isn't important, Minerva. You needn't look so worried."

Minerva hooked her arms around his neck. "You are so unfair. I felt very silly and vulnerable sharing my feelings with you, and now I'm getting protectively angry because I found a hideous scar on your arm, and you still won't tell me anything."

Riddle cocked an eyebrow. "We're hardly in a romantic location."

"We're in my room! My bedroom, I should say! That in itself makes it appropriate for timid little confessions." Minerva couldn't help but feel a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth even as she tried to look upset. "You're horrible at all this… sentimental shit," she finished lamely.

"We're in the doorway to your bathroom, Minerva."

"Oh. Yes." Minerva dragged him to the bed, kicking the bathroom door shut en route. "Okay, better?"

"Nope, the moment's still ruined. Your fault, this time, I might add."

"Well then." She frowned. "Screw you."

"Is that an offer?"

Minerva rolled her eyes. "How immature."

"You didn't answer," he smirked. "So silence means consent. Yes, it was an offer, I've decided."

"I'm not a slut, even though my new year's dress may have indicated otherwise, Tom."

Riddle groaned. "Stop holding that over my head. And thank you for that, now I have that lovely image of you in that dress again." He fingered her hair. "And going back to your offer..."

"Shut up."

"What happened to you being 'perfectly fine' with being immodest?" He smirked; riling her up was too easy, and he did so love to see her eyes smolder.

Minerva sighed impatiently. "As a matter of principle, I'm going to have to draw the line again, or I'll hate myself. Why don't we go have dinner with the rest of the staff?"

Riddle let go of her at last. "Fine." He wound a loose curl that had fallen from her bun around his finger. "Only for you, ma minette."

"You're such a gentleman, darling," she said, not fully appeased. "By the way, Miss Edgecomb was rather inappropriate today. I thought I'd let you know."

"What did she say?" Riddle asked uninterestedly.

"Oh nothing," Minerva said airily. "She just happens to have quite an inappropriate infatuation with the 'gorgeous new defense professor' to quote her. Watch yourself," she said playfully. "She's underage."

Riddle frowned, genuinely disgusted. "That's repulsive, Minerva, she's a student. Besides," he added, leveling his gaze, "I'm only interested in the beautiful new transfiguration professor infatuated with me."

"So self-centered," Minerva said disparagingly. "Nothing about your feelings towards the lady?"

"Feelings? Why, she took control of those long ago," Riddle replied smoothly.

"That'll do," she said blithely, and they went to the Great Hall together, Riddle scheming how to ease her into his other doings. He'd start tomorrow after class; he had a lovely calculated move that would appear completely unintentional the way he'd carry it out. Yes, it was good to be the smartest man in the room, but it was better still to be the smartest man in the entire nation, and he was quite certain that man was him.

OMG I FIGURED OUT HOW TO DO PAGE BREAKS YOU GUYS

A/N: Sorry I'm ending it here, guys. I just don't want to get long winded, so things will be better in the next chapter. Minerva's convo with Dumby will be revealed, promise! Oh, and I leave it up to you guys: yes or no to a Death Eater Meeting Date for my happy couple? You decide! And don't forget to review, darlings. :)