A/N: Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, namely Eva, Sachita, 13opals, Sherbet, Aquitane, and Sarah. I can't believe I've reached 60 reviews thanks to you all! I always get super excited when my email alerts me to a new review, so I can't say "thank you" quite enough. Now, because I was suffering from a bit of writer's block, I penned this little bit here during Spanish class. This chapter consequentially has a bit of a Comedic Interlude, Round II. Hope you enjoy.

"Tom," Minerva said, sitting on the edge of his desk, "do you know what day it is today?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, ma minette," Riddle said absentmindedly as he glanced over exams. "Tell me."

Minerva frowned petulantly. "It's the fourteenth."

Riddle didn't look up from his work. "Fourteenth? What should I do about it?"

"Does Valentine's Day ring a bell?"

"Ah. Well, I can fix that," Riddle said smoothly, standing and kissing her.

"Okay, cut!"

Riddle pulled away, throwing his hands up in annoyance as Minerva gave a little sigh and sat on her hands. "What? What could possibly have gone wrong that time? That's the fourth time we had to do that scene!"

Minerva sighed again and drummed her fingers on the desk. "Aren't you being a bit unreasonable? I thought his acting was just fine."

The Girl hopped down from her director's chair and unrolled the script. "Um, it's very specific the way I wrote it." She tossed her dark hair behind her shoulders, turned to a page in the script, and straightened to her full height before beginning her critique. "First of all, he says 'no, but maybe I can fix that,' and when you kiss her, my Lord, you're supposed to do it-" she paused for effect- "most attentively and tenderly." She looked up at them. "So do it again, take... five, is it?"

"Now wait just a minute," Riddle demanded. "I thought I did a pretty convincing job."

"Eh, looked more perfunctory to me," the girl replied flippantly, hopping back into her director's seat, stuffing a handful of Cheetos into her mouth from a nearby bowl, and wiping her hands off on her jeans. "Action!" she barked, spewing crumbs.

"But you'll never be satisfied!" Riddle pointed out. "You'll have me do the scene over and over, just so you can see me kiss her!" He waved a hand in Minerva's direction.

"Careful, my Lord. Don't imply you'd rather do anything else," the girl said slyly, wagging a finger at him.

"Yeah, what was that supposed to mean?" Minerva snapped. "I'm not good enough?"

"What? No, that's besides the-" Riddle began, only to be interrupted.

"My Lord!" the girl exclaimed, looking scandalized. "You find her so unappealing that you hate repeating the scene til you get it right?"

"What are you saying, Tom?" Minerva demanded. "You'd rather do anything rather than kiss me? You're just pretending to, anyway. For a bloody play."

"Yes." Minerva hopped off the desk, arms crossed and severely offended. "Wait, I meant no!" he amended hastily.

"I knew it!" crowed the girl.

Riddle groaned. Clearly, there was too much estrogen in the room. "Can I finish?"

"No!" they both ordered.

Minerva tapped her foot impatiently. "You've already put your foot in your mouth quite enough for one day, don't you think?"

Riddle picked his script up off the desk and flung it away violently. "Well, I don't give a damn. I'm going to bloody well finish, and you're going to listen." He advanced on the girl who looked at him coolly, completely unperturbed.

"Fine," she replied, not budging an inch. "We're listening."

"Stop trying to turn the subject to irrelevant matters," Riddle fumed. "You're a depraved... a depraved shipper, that's what you are! And stop that smiling," he added as the girl began to beam, "that's nothing to be proud of. You only wrote that piece of trash," he continued, frantically waving an arm in the direction he threw the script, "so you could fulfill your twisted fantasy of directing a love scene between the two of us. Well, I won't have any more of it!" he concluded, turning his back on her.

"Sorry, but you're under contract."

Riddle whirled around. "What did you say?"

The girl held up an aluminum briefcase. "You're under contract. You don't get paid unless you play the role to my satisfaction. Now, I think about five more takes should do it," she said as she started back to her director's chair.

"Minerva!" Riddle burst out, turning to her with a purely demented look in his scarlet eyes, "are you going to sit quietly and take her orders? Let's quit."

"Um, I don't really want to...I'm okay with doing the scene over if you want to know the truth," she said, shrugging and sitting on the other side of the desk, swinging her legs.

"Why the hell would you want to do the scene over?" Riddle exclaimed. The whole thing was quite maddening and had turned into a nightmare. "She's crazy! She's a Muggle! Why would you... oblige her?"

Minerva shrugged again. "You're a good kisser."

Riddle hadn't really been listening as he barrelled on. "That's a completely idiotic rea- wait, what did you say?"

She rolled her eyes. "I said you're a good kisser." Riddle was for once too surprised to retort. "Like, a really good kisser."

Riddle frowned. "I... thank you...I don't know how to respond to that."

"I mean, I see nothing wrong with doing the scene over about.. what was it, like ten more times?"

"Only five, actually," interjected the girl, "but I like ten much better." She smiled winningly. "Shall I call the camera crew?"

"See what you've done?" Riddle hissed. "That settles it. Don't pay me, see if I give a damn. I quit," he told the girl, and grabbed his coat and wand to leave.

"You can't quit!" Minerva snapped. "I want to get paid!"

"He can't anyway," the girl said happily. "He has to complete the job to my satisfaction before he can quit-"

"I don't have to complete anything to anyone's satisfaction!" Riddle exploded, "especially a substandard teenage wannabe playwrite, with an unhealthy obsession with me!"

"Tom, be reasonable," Minerva began, but Riddle had worked himself into a full-on tirade and would not stop now.

"You have to follow the terms of the contract," the girl said, folding her arms and assuming an irritatingly superior expression.

Riddle leaned down so his face was only a few inches away from the girl's. She didn't flinch, to his disappointment. "You're forgetting one very important factor, you imbecile," he whispered in a voice of deadly calm. "You're dealing with Lord-f*cking-Voldemort. Avada Kedavra!" A blast of electric green light filled the room, and the girl dropped to the floor, lifeless. "Ah, that felt good," he said with satisfaction as Minerva sputtered in indignation. Riddle whirled on her next. "And as for you!" he began, livid again as he started towards her. "Who the hell do you think you are, not supporting me when I was trying to get us out of a damn contract neither of us wanted to be in in the first place? How did you repay me for my generosity in including you?" He was so absorbed in his rant he didn't notice her slip down from the desk and walk towards him. "I think I've dealt with you and your bad acting-"

"Bad acting?" she exclaimed, offended.

"-yes, I said bad acting- long enough! Avada-"

His words were cut short when she pulled his face down and kissed him, this time with none of the pretense required by the script and simple modest decency. He felt his fingers slacken and heard his wand clatter to the floor as he dropped it. Minerva pulled away and smiled sweetly. "You were saying?"

"Kedavra," he finished weakly. "Um. Why don't we...ah...go over that scene...maybe five times...maybe ten... however many it takes us to...ah...get it right."

"That's what I thought you said," she smirked, and hopped up onto the desk. "Shall we begin?"

Riddle complied, and noticed out of the corner of his eye the girl's hands slowly pulling her body back up into the director's seat, a wan but triumphant smile on her features. "Damn," he heard her mutter. "I need to stop pissing him off to the point that he feels he has to kill me. I can't keep shaking these killing curses off forever..."

Even as he went on with the scene, a single thought entered his mind and refused to leave: why can't I kill her?

"Because," the girl said snidely, as if she had heard his thoughts, clapping him on the shoulder, "I'm the one who decides what happens. I'm the author. And you can only do what I tell you." She left, calling over her shoulder, "That's a wrap, guys! You two were fantastic!" She said the last word in a singsong trill, twirling out of the room with her arms outspread and colliding with the wall. "I'm okay!" she called weakly.

Riddle's face darkened. "The sooner I devise a way to kill her, the sooner this nightmare ends." And then, he thought of the perfect solution.

Riddle bolted upright, his hand flying to his wand on the nightstand. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, he tried frantically to recollect the method he'd use to kill the irritating Muggle girl. "Damn it," he muttered, fists clenched. "Why can't I recall..."

"Tom?" Minerva opened her eyes. "Is something the matter?"

"I-" He stopped, and realization washed over him, mixed with relief. "Ah. It must have been a dream."

"I see." She glanced at the clock. "Well, it's early enough. We have time. What happened?"

"Nothing of import or interest," he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

"Really?" Minerva placed a cool hand on his cheek. "You're all clammy."

"I'm perfectly fine." He gestured vaguely. "Your room is stifling."

"Why don't you humor me and tell me what happened in the dream?" She closed her eyes again, leaning against him. "You owe me that for waking me up. It's 3 am."

"Fine." Riddle leaned against the headboard. "I'll condense the horror to a few sentences. We were acting out a play for a depraved teenage girl who was obsessed with us. It was a poorly written romance sketch for-" He stopped. "Wait, what day is it today?"

"The twelfth, why?"

"No reason." Riddle looked away with a grimace, letting out his held breath in a sharp hiss. Okay, he had two days. "Anyway, she refused to let me out of my contract, and you sided with her. And then when I tried to kill her, she wouldn't die." Riddle exhaled loudly. "And that's about it. Minerva, if you had seen the girl, you would understand how maddening it was, to fire off killing curses and have none of them-"

"Wait, wait, wait. Why did you try to kill her?" Minerva was suddenly alert at this latest.

"It was a dream, ma minette."

"I don't like it anyway." Minerva settled down against him again. "That's not exactly what you should be thinking about. Dreams reflect what your mind is fixated on.."

"Makes sense," Riddle said softly, trying for a different angle. "That's why you were in the dream."

Minerva smiled and blushed. "Nice subject change. I like it very much. Now go back to sleep."

"I think I'll be going, actually," Riddle replied, and pressing a quick kiss to her temple, he slipped out of her bed and back into his own room. "Now," he murmured, once alone, "let's see if we can dredge up any instances of the killing curse backfiring." As he passed a mirror en route to the restricted section of the library, he caught a glimpse of his face. The eyes were bloodshot, and his skin was ashen. He sighed. "Not very impressive...not very Dark Lord either... not yet."

Dueling Club meeting

"One of the things it's imperative that you learn about dueling," Riddle said slowly, seeming to make eye contact with every student in the room, "is that when one is placed in a perilous situation, with nothing more than one's knowledge, intuition, and wand, orthodox practices are not always sufficient." He paused, letting the implications of what he was saying sink in. "When you're in the position that you are dueling for more than practice, or an extracurricular, you can't afford stringent limitations on your offense. When your survival comes down to you besting your opponent, refusal to push the boundaries of magic results in nothing more than your own demise. When you are dueling a dark wizard, nearly any mode of attack becomes acceptable." The students were silent. "Minerva," Riddle asked, turning to where she stood on the opposite end of the platform, "would you say all is fair in war?"

"They're only practicing, Tom," she reminded him. "And the quote is 'all's fair in love and war.'"

"I know the quote," he said, eyes glinting dangerously. "Suffice it to say," he continued, addressing the students again, "we are simulating a duel in the real world. Do not hold back." He took Minerva's hand and helped her off the platform. "You may begin," Riddle declared, and the students separated into pairs based primarily on years. "Minerva," Riddle added, "you take care of the younger- Minerva, are you listening to me?"

"Sorry, darling," Minerva grimaced. "I have a terrible headache and the noise isn't doing any good. Oh, and good job."

Riddle looked at her quizzically. "With what?"

"You haven't called me 'ma minette' or 'ma mie' or any such terms of endearments in la langue de l'amour... which, by the way, seems to be your specialty." She pursed her lips. "Most professional. I'm rather impressed, and I'm starting to miss it just a bit."

Riddle slipped behind her, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Are you? I thought you wanted everything behind closed doors."

Minerva reached up behind him to touch his face. "Obviously I'm all right with it now."

His hands rested on her waist, and she turned to face him, lips slightly parted, their noses brushing as she did. She tilted her head back, unsure of what she was waiting for. He dipped his head down and she closed her eyes, expectant. "Miss Edgecomb is watching," he whispered against her cheek to her surprise. "Just letting you know."

"You are impossible," Minerva breathed, turning again and leaning her head back against his shoulder. "I'll go monitor the younger kids, then. I think I've given Miss Edgecomb quite enough of a show."

"Excellent idea," Riddle said softly, pulling away. "Headache gone, I suspect."

"Oh no, it's still there," she replied, grimacing again. "But you do wonders for it."

Riddle's face softened. "Do you want me to handle it myself today if you aren't feeling well?"

"I'll be fine," she insisted. "Thanks though."

"Very well," Riddle said, looking on for a moment with mild concern as she instructed the fifth years in counterjinxes. "Edgecomb," he barked, "I thought I was very clear. Nonverbal only at this stage."

"Sorry, Professor," she pouted. "Alice isn't either, tell her."

"Miss Bulstrode, you are not exempt from the rules." Riddle stood behind Eustacia Edgecomb. "Let's see how closely you were listening during lectures," he said in a quiet, dangerous tone.

The two seventh years dueled in an inexpert fashion, the spells more than once straying to dark magic with Riddle's encouragement. It ended, to Riddle's chagrin, in quite an anticlimactic fashion, with Eustacia Edgecomb casting a rather tame bat bogey hex, and Alice Bulstrode retaliating with a shield charm followed by a simple disarming spell. Even so, he concluded, perhaps it was time he amassed the most gifted and daring of the students. Voldemort's Youth Party could officially begin. He had certainly curried enough favor after all. He wasn't aware that Minerva's eyes had strayed towards him more than once during the lesson, widening as she saw him encourage the older students with various unorthodox spells.

Minerva's Chambers

The evening found Minerva holed up in her room, leaning back in bed with a slew of papers around her. She had never before felt quite so miserable in her life, and was bitterly regretting the steak and kidney pie she had indulged in for dinner that evening. Assisting with the dueling lesson that day had also been a mistake, she reflected. In hindsight, perhaps it would have been smarter to leave it to Tom for the day and just supervise, rather than assist with the actual teaching. She could do with a visit to Poppy... but then she'd have to leave the delicious warmth of her bed... She groaned and collapsed back onto her pillow. To make matters worse it was February, so the second she slid out of bed the chill would crash over her like a wave. And to think, she wouldn't have even gotten sick if it weren't for the stupid snowball fight Tom had insisted she have with him the other night. Or perhaps it was her decision to go for a nice flight that morning without being properly attired for it.. no, it was much easier to blame Tom.

She blew her nose. "Damn it," she said crossly. "That doesn't look very good at all." The spent tissue landed amongst her papers. "And now I've degenerated into a common slob," she said dully. "Fantastic."

There was a knock at the door. "I'm humoring you today by observing the formalities," Riddle called. "May I enter?"

"It's open," Minerva replied flatly, not in the mood for his fun. "Evening, darling. As you can see I'm-" he cut her off as he kissed her hello. "-sick," she finished, pushing him away. "I'm sick, you idiot, can't you tell?"

Riddle frowned. "What do you have? Have you seen Pomfrey?" He eyed the used tissues and handkerchiefs around her. "Oh hell. You aren't contagious, are you?"

"I don't think it's anything serious, probably just a generic cold virus. I've probably given it to you now, since you can't seem to keep your hands off me." She couldn't help but smile as she said it, even though her voice was slightly nasal. "What's the matter, the fearless leader of the Death Munchers if afraid of the common cold?"

Riddle laughed. "Shut up. You sound like a cartoon character. Besides, I can't even touch you- my hands are full."

Minerva glanced at the books he held. "So I see. And they are?"

"Transfiguration Monthly for you," he replied, tossing the magazine onto her bed, "the Prophet for me," he added, pulling the paper off the top of the stack, "and some light reading for the both of us this weekend." He tipped the books onto the foot of her bed. Minerva inched towards them, giving up after five minutes of pointless wriggling, and simply summoned one to her hands.

"Tom, this book is about the dark arts."

"Ah, so it is. Fancy that." Riddle carefully cleared a spot on the bed and sat next to her. "It's quite an intriguing read; I came across that one in my third year. You should enjoy it."

"Why?" She blew her nose again. "Why so much reading on dark magic?"

"I'm the defense against the dark arts teacher, ma minette, remember? You really are sick."

"Defense is different from the art itself, Tom."

Riddle sighed. "What happened to you giving what I'm doing a fair chance?"

Minerva leaned against him. "Fine."

"Good." He flipped to the first page. "Shall we begin?"

Minerva snapped the book shut. "In case you haven't noticed, I feel like complete crap. Why don't you be a nice little gentleman and fix me some tea?" She saw his expression grow annoyed. "Please, darling?" she entreated, pouting. "I'm not feeling well."

"Manipulative little shrew, aren't you." Something, call it a sixth sense, or as Tom would say, intuition, told her he was being completely serious. "I'm assuming you want lemon with that."

"You assume correctly."

"You won't mind, of course, if I bring enough for two people."

"Not at all."

Left alone again with her papers, the new books and magazine, and her own sense of unhealthy misery, Minerva tried to evaluate the recent efforts of her third years with finches to bluebirds. She had always found that type of Transfiguration to be easier, since such a complicated degree of atom rearrangement wasn't necessary. Of course, that alone made results anything short of excellence to be failure. She couldn't seem to focus, though, and more than once found her eyes straying and lingering on Magicke Moste Evil, Tom's little present to her for 'light reading.' She highly suspected that his unusual choice of reading matter was linked to the Death Munchers, and was interested to hear his strictures on them before she read any of the text. Actually, if she thought back on it, she had often seen him in the restricted section during their time together at school... it made a lot more sense now. And she would have to monitor his classes during her free periods as soon as she was feeling well... she could always make the pretense of wanting more time with him, and he needed to be watched. She was quite certain evisceration was not on the syllabus, not even for NEWT level seventh years.

"Earl Grey, Minerva?"

"Oh, I'm not much of a fan," she said, a bit disappointed. "But thanks anyway, you're sweet for-"

"I lied. It's Darjeeling for you."

"Aren't you attentive?" She took the cup from him with a smile. "Most just call it 'Scottish Breakfast,' though."

"I'm aware. For a little while there I considered getting Irish Breakfast for you, but I didn't want to start an international incident." He raised a brow. "Didn't start reading yet?"

"I'm exhausted. I'll be lucky if I can teach my classes tomorrow," she muttered, sipping her tea. "So how do all these books tie into the Death Munchers?" She knew she had hit on something important when he started almost imperceptibly, and tried to gloss it over by stroking her hair.

"They don't.. not exactly." He gestured to the one next to her. "Not that one, for instance. The history texts will give you more of an idea."

"Ah. And any particular reason you begin every dueling lesson with encouragement to push the boundaries just a little?" She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Weren't you the poster child for staying within the lines during the school days?"

"Noticed that, did you?" he murmured. "You're keeping quite the close eye on me, Minerva. What will you do if I grow tired of your company...and constant scrutiny?"

"Answer the question, Tom." She looked up at him through her lashes. "And that sounded almost like a threat."

"I don't want the students to be hampered by any inclination towards hesitancy while dueling, something that comes from stringent restrictions on which spells can and can't be used." Riddle twirled one of her locks around his finger. "And just because I appeared to follow the rule does not mean I lived by them like you suggest. No self-respecting schoolboy ever does."

"Tell me more about that dream you had," she said, changing the subject. "Remind me why you felt the need to kill the girl?"

Riddle's face darkened as he scowled. "Oh, Minerva, if you had seen her you would understand. She was demonic. It wasn't like killing a person, it was like killing a fly. A pesky, irritating, maddening little fly that buzzes around your ears and refuses you even ten minutes of respite."

"So killing people is okay if they aren't really people. That's what you seem to believe."

Riddle thought carefully before he answered. "Would it have been acceptable for the Muggle Allied powers to kill Hitler if they had the chance?"

"Of course." She looked at him curiously. "How do you know about-"

"I'm well-read," he said hurriedly. "And if it were successfully proved that a race of people was inhuman in its behavior, would it be wrong to extinguish them?"

"You're being stupid." Minerva was too tired to argue, but she did not like what she was hearing. "So you get to decide who is human and who isn't. Is that it? If I decided you were inhuman, Tom, then I could kill you and not feel bad, because as far as I'm aware, you just aren't a person. Is that it?"

Riddle kissed her again, savoring the new taste of lemon and black tea on her lips. "You would never kill me, ma mie."

She opened her eyes, her question and his avoidance of answering forgotten. "You've probably made yourself sick now."

Riddle coughed. "And if I have, it's your fault."

She snorted. "You're the idiot that insists on kissing a decrepit, sick woman."

Riddle ignored her, instead saying, "Should I assume I won't be sleeping in your room again?"

"You should go to your own room, and try and purge yourself of whatever germs of mine you've... ingested." She frowned. "That sounds really gross."

"I don't think it'll make a difference now." He propped himself up on an elbow. "Besides, we've pretty much made this a habit."

Minerva closed her eyes. "Perhaps we should move past this stage, then." She realized what she was saying just as the words left her mouth. To her relief Riddle chuckled, and even though she blushed she found she preferred this type of response to the more crude, ungentlemanly one.

"You really are sick, Minerva. You wouldn't be talking like this otherwise." He left her, closing the door behind him as he did. She could swear that she heard him speaking with someone outside, but fatigue won eventually and she drifted off to sleep.

Riddle had slipped out of Minerva's room as stealthily as was possible, ready for a night of discussion with his loyal Basilisk. Unfortunately, as he passed Slughorn's door, it opened wide enough for a fat arm to dart out and grab him by the shoulder, yanking him in. Instinctively he slammed his elbow into the side of his assailant's head, and used the moments it bought him to draw his wand. "Oh, it's you, Professor."

Slughorn doubled over, clutching the side of his quickly bruising, fleshy face. "Yes, dear boy, it's only me." Slughorn touched his nose gingerly. "Am I bleeding?"

Riddle winced, taking in the faint line of blood that trickled from the corner of Slughorn's mouth. "Perhaps a bit. Here, allow me." Under his breath, he murmured "episkey" and Slughorn's face was restored. "Now, care to tell me why you dragged me in here?"

Slughorn didn't answer at once, instead finding a mirror and examining his face. When he was sufficiently convinced that he was no more puffy than he was to begin with, he beamed at Riddle, saying, "Tom, you have really made great strides since Hogwarts, and I do not say that lightly."

"Thank you, Professor," Riddle said, annoyed. "Why'd you drag me in here?"

Slughorn looked past Riddle to the door, which stood ajar. Hastily he closed it. "Tom, you and Minerva are together, right?"

Riddle would have rather not answered, but with great reluctance he replied in the affirmative, that yes, he and Minerva were very much together. Slughorn expressed an inordinate amount of glee at this newest revelation.

"Then may I make a suggestion for the upcoming Valentine's Day?" Slughorn asked eagerly, a sly smile on his face and his eyebrows performing acrobatics again.

"Absolutely no-" Riddle fell silent as Slughorn wordlessly produced a piece of parchment, with several lines of closely spaced text. "Ah. Professor, you're a genius."

"Thank you, my boy. I do try."

Riddle was intrigued by Slughorn's idea, but being Lord Voldemort, he had devious plans to twist things even more strongly in his favor. But this spot of help from his favorite professor just helped things along. Who was he to pass up an opportunity like this? "Never did I think I would find myself waiting eagerly... for Valentine's Day," Riddle murmured, fingers tightening on the parchment and a diabolical grin spreading over his handsome features. Slughorn's smile faded a bit.

"Tom, you aren't going to-"

"No need to worry, Professor. No need to worry at all."

A/N: Oho, but there's SO much need to worry... Cliffy :) Hope you enjoyed this, y'all. I've had very little time to write so this was dreamed up and written during the Grammy Awards. That might be why there are mistakes; I'm putting this up fresh and unedited. Don't forget to review! It will assuage my guilt for leaving you for two weeks. Thanks again everyone! Your lovely feedback makes me want to keep on writing even when I'm in a time crunch. 3