A/N: Hey guys. Sorry for my prolonged absence. But hey, I was busy, and...yeah. I'm going through a hellish two weeks right here, and writing had to take a backseat. Also, there were a couple of days when I woke up and just didn't want to. So as a result it's been nearly three weeks without an update from me. My apologies. Anyway, thank yous are in order for the wonderful Sachita (per usual!), SherbetKitty (glad you're back:), Aquitane, soupofthedaysara (for commenting on nearly everything!), Sarah Kassiopeia, Tayler Snape, Amortentia, and Tamarichan. You will never know how delighted I become when I see I have another review. :') ANYWAY enough rambling on my part. I'm sure you're curious to see what happens next...

"Afternoon, Hagrid."

Rubeus Hagrid straightened up. "Why, 'ello... ah, it's you, Tom." He swallowed audibly. "What're yeh doin' 'ere?"

"What can you tell me about a toucan?" Riddle said carefully. He studied the half-giant's face, observing the blood drain from it and his fists tighten on the hedge clippers he held.

"Er... I don't know what yer talkin' about..."

Riddle brushed past him, walking straight towards the Hagrid's cabin. "Mind if I invite myself in?"

"No! Wait! Yeh can't go in there!" Hagrid began to run after him.

"Immobulus," Riddle said, pointing his wand back at Hagrid and freezing him in place without looking back. "It's for your own good, Hagrid. How quickly you've forgotten third year." Hagrid's face fell, his expression stricken.

"Now Tom, yeh don't want to do that..."

His feeble protestations were to no avail. Riddle rapped on the door sharply, drawing his wand and blasting the door inwards when -as is often the case when the owner of the house is outside- nothing happened. As his eyes adjusted to the comparatively dim house after the sunny outdoors, he began to register that Hagrid's cabin was quite cluttered, as if with an overabundance of furniture. "How odd," he said aloud, but as he became used to the lighting it became apparent that it wasn't furniture that crowded Hagrid's home. The dusty, earthy scent of live animals permeated the air in Hagrid's cabin, and Riddle felt momentarily alarmed as he realized the sheer numbers of creatures Hagrid was housing. "But no bloody toucan in sight," he murmured. "How typical. How devious." As he stood there, taking in the sight of the magical animals staring back at him, Hagrid, the spell ended at last, hurried over.

"Now Tom, please don't go and tell Professor Dumbledore," he begged. "He said I could keep 'im."

"'Him' implies only one animal," Riddle said, long fingers playing with his wand. "There must be nearly fifty in here, and I'd warrant you have more. What are they doing here?"

"Aw, they're jus' little critters without a place to go," Hagrid said in earnest. "An' they're real gentle, look-" and he tried to scoop up the first vampire bunny, chuckling when it tried to viciously bite him. "See, 'e don't mean it."

Riddle weighed his options. If he turned Hagrid in again, something told him Dumbledore would deliberately overlook Hagrid's offense, and prompt further investigation into Tom's own affairs. If he did nothing, he risked exposing the school to a massive magical animal invasion. If he turned Hagrid in, he put himself at the mercy of Dumbledore. If he did nothing, Dumbledore would look bad for failing to manage a simple magical creature invasion simply due to the element of surprise. It was settled. He would do nothing; it was enough that he knew. And he could take steps to ensure that Lowther's minions could do no real damage to himself by keeping close tabs on them -and the toucan. "I won't say anything to Dumbledore," Riddle said, looking at Hagrid directly and trying to convey the truth of the statement with his eyes. "I don't know how much stock you'll put in my word, but it's all you have at this point."

Hagrid dropped the bunny, relieved, and clapped Riddle on the shoulder, making him stumble. "Oh, thank yeh, Tom. I mean it, too."

Riddle forced a smile. "Of course."

"Say, 'ow did yeh know about that toucan?" Hagrid asked curiously.

"Is he a regular here?" Riddle said eagerly.

"No, 'e stopped by once," Hagrid said. "He's a bit strange, that one. Goes aroun' an' acts like 'e talks to the others... an' then 'e flies off, without waitin' for anythin'... 'cept grapes," he added thoughtfully. "An' sometimes, they all go off together, and I can hear 'em talkin'... about some kind o' magic zapper." He chuckled. "They think they're like wizards, it's so cute."

"I see," Riddle said, unperturbed. "Afternoon, Hagrid." Without another word he turned and walked back across the sunlit grounds to the castle, with much to ponder, ignoring Hagrid's calls of farewell and tentative reminders to not mention a bit of it to Dumbledore.

Minerva's Room

Minerva was not fond of pacing, not even when situations were most dire and a good bit of pacing worked wonders. She was not fond of pacing when the issue was something as trivial as far too much grading to do, an overabundance of shit to get done, and relatively minor complications in her love life. Was it her love life? She couldn't yet say. She was seriously beginning to question whether or not the whole double agent thing was more trouble than it was worth. Dumbledore had only seen her with Tom in either a strictly friendly sense -with the exception of the New Year's party- or in a professional sense. He was aware of the nature of their relationship more or less, but he didn't appear unduly bothered by it, perhaps because for the most part, Tom behaved himself around the man. And yet, being fully aware of this, he still expected her to spy on Tom. It was a bit insulting. Wasn't it obvious that things at the moment were complicated enough for her?

"But," she said aloud, "I'm hardly being fair." She still had to take into account her own investigations regarding Tom. Reporting to Dumbledore was one thing; she felt as though it would be unjustifiable by this point to continue with that operation. At the same time, the organization the Death Munchers was clearly not wholly innocent, and she was curious -and suspicious- as to why he had revealed so much so early. If she knew anything about Tom for certain, she knew that he wasn't stupid, and therefore did everything for a reason. A horrible suspicion rose to the forefront of her mind: what if she was another part of his plans? She didn't think him the sort to simply pursue her for a cheap sexual conquest, but she wouldn't put it past him to have an ulterior motive for getting into her good books. And as she well knew, she was already very much in danger of becoming even more fond of him.

She turned on her heel, beginning what felt like her thousandth lap around the woven rug in front of her bed, pushing away her muddled feelings towards Tom and instead thinking of the talking toucan. More than anything else, Lowther seemed like a prank somebody decided to play on the school. If that was the case, it was in very bad taste. The fact that Lowther was apparently serious, and "a feathered abomination that must be destroyed," as Tom put it, made the whole thing all the more ludicrous. And even if Lowther was a threat, it didn't explain Tom's bouts of psychotic rage whenever the toucan made an appearance. The two times she was privy to their interaction, Tom had exploded with anger, carrying on much like a five year old child who hadn't gotten his way. It was amazing for one so bright to be so subject to bouts of childish temper, indicative of low emotional maturity. Clearly, she was attracted to him for his looks and his intelligence. Either that, or she had terrible taste in men. She was afraid it was the latter; she found his arrogant, careless manner far more attractive than was reasonable. Hmmm, which did she find more justifiable, immaturity or douchebaggery?

Sighing, she glanced at her watch. One of Tom's classes would be beginning shortly, and internal conflict aside, she'd be damned if she passed up a chance to observe him teaching a group of fifth years. Snatching up a role of parchment and the quill he had given her for Christmas, she set off for the defense against the dark arts classroom.

DADA class

"I thought we could do something a bit different today," Riddle said slowly, once the students seated themselves. "Perhaps more of an open forum class discussion." He gave no indication that he saw Minerva in the back of the class. "Let's discuss magical ethics."

The fifth year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins shifted in their seats, exchanging looks with one another as they tried to gage what Riddle meant. "Sir," a curly haired girl said hesitantly, "what-"

"-are magical ethics?" Riddle said. "Good question." He looked around the room at the students. "Any takers?"

"Determining whether or not the use of certain spells or enchantments are morally justifiable," a dark haired Slytherin boy said, hand in the air. "There's magic that's not socially acceptable and then there's just magic."

"Correct," Riddle said. "What exactly constitutes socially acceptable magic, though?"

A mousy looking girl raised her hand. "Isn't dark magic amoral? That's we learn defense against the dark arts, not the dark arts themselves, right?"

"Potentially," Riddle agreed, "but not necessarily. You see, I think that part of the reason dark magic is perceived as evil is because the word 'dark' carries such a negative connotation. Look at popular culture, which equates 'dark' with 'bad.'"

"But darkness is-" the girl began.

"Darkness," Riddle said, "is what lies in the soil, below the earth, before a plant grows in the spring. It is the long nights of winter, when we are drawn into our homes to embrace our families and count our good fortune." Minerva noticed a bit of ironic drawl slip into his voice. "Once we accept the idea that dark is isn't all bad, isn't it easier to examine the concept of light and dark magic?"

"Yeah," a boy pointed out, "you could replace 'light' and 'dark' with 'negative' and 'positive.'"

"That's a start," Riddle said, "but there's still a problem. Would you agree that intent matters as much as action? In other words, if someone performs magic that others might see as 'negative,' but does it for what they believe is a justified reason, then is it really negative magic?" The students looked thoughtful. Riddle was pleased; he hadn't expected it to be so easy.

"But then," a girl said, frowning, "you're saying everything is grey area. There's not right and wrong, only the perception of it."

"No," Riddle corrected. "To do magic is to say that you want to bring about change through the manipulation of energy that defies laws of physics. Any magic capable of causing change is also magic that can harm, simply by its very nature. I could use the Imperious curse, for example, to stop someone from harming someone I care about-" he met Minerva's eyes across the room- "or I could use it for amoral reasons. It's not the spell that is negative, but what I choose to do with it." The class appeared more receptive to the idea now. "Tell me. Could you use one of the unforgivable curses, if you had to?"

The general response was hesitancy, but a few students felt that they could, if loved ones were in danger or if the other person deserved it for what they had done. "After all," one of the girls said, "it isn't orthodox to lock lawbreakers up with dementors, but we do that in Azkaban."

"A good point," Riddle said as the bell rang. "For your homework, I want you to read chapter thirty-five and be ready for a quiz tomorrow. You are dismissed." He observed Minerva stand and wait for the students to leave before maneuvering her way to the front of the room around all the desks and chairs.

"Hello you," she said lightly, offering a cheek for him to kiss once the students had left.

"Hello yourself," he returned, turning her face and kissing her lips instead. "Monitoring my class again, are you?"

"Obviously," she said, deciding honesty would be far more effective in this situation. "You don't mind, do you?"

"So long as you don't mind being bored by lectures I suspect you were qualified to give in your sixth year," Riddle said. "Since you're here, would you mind terribly if I asked you to help me with these essays?"

"And if I say 'yes, I would very much mind'?" she asked, her tone teasing.

"No originality, I see."

"Oh, stop." She picked up one of the papers and skimmed it quickly. "You can't handle having your own snark used against you. As if I would mind. Honestly." She pulled out the quill and started circling the incorrect material.

"Want to start some of our reading?" Riddle asked, coming to stand behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Mmmm, not particularly," she murmured, leaning against him. "I'd rather we discuss why you're encouraging fifth years to use dark magic."

Riddle found her sleepy tone and the pointed significance of her words to be a devilishly clever and surprising juxtaposition. "I wouldn't say 'dark magic.' You missed the point of the lecture, but all right. You go first."

"Fine." Without bothering to turn around, she began to tick off all the problems she had found in his lecture. "First of all, they're at a very impressionable age. Fifteen-year-olds are more likely to use an illegal spell just to experiment or because they get worked up about something silly their classmates did. Don't you remember what it was like to be their age? Scientifically, they're ruled by emotions when in turbulent situations and don't rely exclusively on logic like adults."

"You're being patronizing," he said through a clenched jaw, peering over her shoulder to see what she was examining. "And they aren't using the spells, just discussing them, so that's an irrelevant point. Are you taking notes on my classes?" he asked, incredulous. "Really, Minerva? This is pathetic, even for you."

Those last words in the phrase touched a nerve. She seized his wrists and pulled his hands away from her body. "What do you mean, 'even for you'?"

Riddle blinked. Shit. "Nothing for you to get so offended about, ma minette. I just meant-"

"So you find me 'pathetic.'" She shook her head. "First slutty, now pathetic. Do you enjoy putting your foot in your mouth?"

"Obviously not, and I don't enjoy upsetting you either," Riddle said, perplexed by her temper. "What's wrong?" He noticed the corner of her mouth tremble. "What's wrong?" he persisted, forcing himself to be gentle this time, pulling her close to him. "You're acting bipolar. Is it that time of month?" he tried again, feeling quite out of his element making little quips to comfort her.

"I'm just tired." She rested her cheek against his shoulder.

"Of?"

"I don't know, I'm overworked. I'm tired of grading substandard essays, I'm tired of remedial classes, I'm tired of issuing detention, I'm tired of seeing Gryffindor lose to Slytherin time and time again-"

"I can't side with you on the last one," Riddle pointed out, hoping to elicit a smile from her. It worked.

"Fair enough. I'm tired of being suspicious of you, and I'm tired of us beating around the bush of the exact nature of our relationship. Let's face it. You are nowhere near telling me anything about the Death Munchers, yet you for some reason let me know about them. You know Dumbledore wants me to keep an eye on you, and we persist with the ridiculous game that I'm not. We know that I'm suspicious of what you're teaching the students -and granted, that may be because of Dumbledore. I don't know. But," Minerva said, taking his shoulders in her hands and meeting his gaze, "that does not mean that I do not enjoy your company, nor that I am not extremely fond of you."

"Quite finished?" Riddle said, smiling.

"Yes." Minerva heaved a sigh. "And if you make light of this, I will crucio you." She cracked a smile.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Riddle ran his hands through her hair. "You really are overworked, Minerva."

"No," she said, "I'll be fine."

"Why don't we go to the Room of Requirement and get some grading done?" Riddle suggested. "We could argue whether or not I was out of line for teaching fifth years about practical uses of dark magic." So-called dark magic, he added mentally.

"Oh, I'll be delighted to," Minerva said, eyes narrowing. "But I'm going to the staff room first; I feel as though I've been neglecting Pomona."

"Go ahead." Riddle had a sudden thought. "How would you like to go to London?"

"We are not going to visit Cygnus again," Minerva said with finality. "Not on a school night."

"I thought you liked it. And besides, I meant just the two of us." Riddle paused. "For the long weekend."

"Ah."

"What do you say?"

"I say," Minerva whispered, bringing her lips close to his ear, "it's a bit soon for that." Seeing his obvious disappointment, she added, "but I'll go along with it, on one condition."

"Which is?"

"Ever heard of Karajan?"

"Of course." He cocked an eyebrow. "But if you want to see him live in concert at such short notice you'll have to set your morals aside and get in the illegal wizard way with me."

"I'm not a prude, Tom."

"Ah, but you never even toe the line."

"That's what you think. Do you remember when Dippet gave everyone the lecture about underage drinking, when the scotch went missing?"

Riddle stared. "That was...you?"

"I admit to nothing."

"You would have been fourteen!"

She smiled. "Precisely. And you think I have that much of an issue with rule-breaking? It's fine -and fun- so long as it's within reason."

"I never said you did, ma minette." He smirked. "I rather like the bad influence I have on you."

"Don't flatter yourself," Minerva retorted. "You can't influence me."

"I take that as a challenge."

"Challenge accepted." Minerva reached up and kissed him. "I'll see you after dinner."

"I'll see you in hell."

Minerva turned back to him from the door. "Interesting farewell," she said, "though a bit cliche."

"Just like our relationship," Riddle said with finality. "Bye, Minerva."

Minerva's eye fell across a scrap of paper, which she hastily scooped up. "Bye, darling."

Astronomy tower, 7 o'clock

Minerva frowned once she was out of the classroom. "Interesting." Who was he meeting at the astronomy tower? Seven was dinner time..

She found herself offering Dumbledore breathless apologies when she entered the Great Hall fifteen minutes late. She had waited at the astronomy tower since ten minutes to seven, and no one turned up at all. Perhaps the note was old, or for a later date. It may have been entirely innocent as well, but the fact that it was Riddle she was dealing with made suspicion natural. It wasn't important, though, she decided, seating herself between Riddle and Pomona. "Sorry I'm late," she whispered to him. "Did I miss anything important?"

"Besides me? No."

Slughorn snorted into his pudding. Riddle smiled at Minerva sweetly. "Pumpkin juice?"

"Is it spiked with love potion?" she answered evenly, smiling as she proferred her goblet.

"The day I have to resort to love potions to make you attend to me is the day I hand out sweets in class," Riddle said, pouring out the juice. "Which will be never."

"So you weren't in the staff room before dinner," Minerva said, voice low. "Pomona and I had to go through our grading all alone."

"Ah, I'm sure you kept one another sufficiently entertained."

"Yes, it was lovely to have some 'girl time,' if you will, but I still would have enjoyed a good argument with my wonderful amant, and where was he when I needed him?" She glanced at him as she cut a bite of chicken, looking for all the world as though she were only making small talk.

"I was with a couple of students in extra help," Riddle explained. "Terribly sorry, ma minette. You understand that my job comes before anything else during the school day." He glanced at the Slytherin table, where sixth years Baxter and Reiling were seated. "If you want to argue with me, though, I'm all ears."

"Wonderful," Minerva said, appeased. "One of the arguments you made was that using dark magic is all about intention. You can use it if you're using it for good -or, as you put it, your perception of good."

"Correct," Riddle said, looking sadly at his goblet of pumpkin juice. "Would it be out of line to replace this with la fee verte?"

"Very, considering it's illegal in most parts of Europe, and you're in the presence of minors," Minerva said impatiently. "Back to my point. Aren't there plenty of other alternatives? If someone was torturing you, for example, I could stop your attacker with a simple stunning spell, rather than an Imperius curse."

"Good point, ma minette," Riddle said, a bit amused. "But if someone were attacking me, for malicious purposes, he likely would be using dark magic, wouldn't he? And if he were proficient in the dark arts, a simple stunning spell or any such 'light' enchantments would have little effect, wouldn't they? To combat something as versatile and potent as the dark arts, one needs to be proficient in the art itself."

Minerva paused, flummoxed. "Damn you."

Riddle smirked teasingly. "No answer, darling?" He returned to his dinner while Minerva racked her brains for a witty response.

"Got one," she said at last. "You said it's all about intention. But 'the road to Hell is paved with good intentions,' is it not? You would have killed that poor girl from your dream if she had been real simply because you couldn't stand her."

"Oh, let's not bring that irritating little bitch up," Riddle said, face darkening at the mere mention of the girl he would forever think of as The Author.

"But do you see my point?" Minerva persisted. "Your intentions would have been misplaced, and you would have used dark magic -you did use dark magic, in the dream- with the intention of just getting peace and quiet. But you can't justify murder, Tom."

Riddle shrugged. "We already discussed when murder can be justifiable. If you kill someone or something inhuman, it isn't murder."

"Anything that has a human body is human, Tom!" Minerva snapped, raising her voice angrily. "What's the matter with you?" She didn't notice Pomona and Dumbledore look in her direction with open curiosity.

"Be a bit more discreet, ma minette," Riddle said quietly. "People are staring."

Minerva blushed. "Sorry," she said, voice low again, "but I just feel like you don't see what I'm saying, and that worries me."

"It worries you that we have a communication gap?" Riddle asked, wrapping his left arm around her waist, out of sight of the students. "We can fix that."

"No, I'm not so picky," she sighed. "It worries me that I've made no headway on your views on 'inhuman' beings."

"Maybe when we talk later tonight I can explain why my views are so firmly ingrained," Riddle said slowly. "And maybe we can enjoy some more of your beautiful piano expertise as well."

"I'd like that," Minerva said softly. "And I would love to stay with you in London for the weekend."

"Excellent," Riddle said. "I'll try and procure tickets to Karajan the proper way to appease you. Did you know Bernstein is actually a wizard? Why do you suppose he lives as a muggle?"

"I don't know," Minerva said. "Perhaps he finds it interesting. And magic makes being a musician easier as I would know."

As dinner ended, Minerva allowed Riddle to steer her towards the Room of Requirement, now a cozy den for an evening of reading. "So tell me why you feel some people are inhuman, and deserve to be exterminated."

"Because," Riddle said, his face darkening, "They were the sort I grew up around." He found it surprisingly easy to tell her of the time in the orphanage, of the hell he'd received from the older inmates before he developed control over his abilities, and the inherent hatred of witches and wizards all muggles harbored. "Here's a nice example," he said with an ugly sneer, pulling his shirt collar aside to reveal the beginnings of a knotted scar. "Not very human to bully someone who can talk to snakes, is it?"

"My god," Minerva whispered. "I don't blame you. But Tom, they aren't all like that. My father was a muggle, my mother is pureblood-"

"You're more like me than I thought, then," Riddle mused. "That was the case for me."

"Yes, but my father was wonderful," Minerva pointed out. "I wish you could have met him. Not all muggles are inhuman and terrified of someone different-"

"Most are though," Riddle snapped. "Look at history. Look at medieval England, look at the Puritans in America. Magical people were always persecuted. As the stronger race of people, one would think this wouldn't be an issue."

"Fine, fine," Minerva soothed, surprising Riddle by pulling his head against her chest and stroking his hair. "It's fine," she repeated, and when he caught a glimpse of her face he was surprised to see her eyes were moist. "I can't imagine growing up in that sort of environment," she said at last. "I don't blame you."

Riddle felt insulted. He felt like sitting bolt upright, and saying something along the lines of I'm not an overemotional child, goddammit! But here was a sizable victory. Had he known Minerva was so susceptible to a good sob story, he would have implied this tactic ages ago. So he allowed her to hold him, and allowed her to feel protective and emotional on his behalf. The woman was bloody bipolar, he was sure of it now. She flip-flopped between ice queen and Don Juan's Aminta whenever it suited her. He rather preferred the latter, and was quite certain if he could pull off a Don Juan type conquest, minus the dramatic escape, of course, he'd have estranged her completely from Dumbledore and be that much closer to converting her to his cause. "I'm fine," he said at last. "Thank you."

She kissed him in reply, sweetly. "Let's go to bed."

"That's not a proposition, is it?"

"I, like you, want to stay professional," she said, but a mischievous glint entered her eye. "Not yet."

Riddle's eyebrows shot up. "I see."

"Come along, Tom. I believe you and I have some reading to do."

A/N: Cutting it off here, guys. Sorry about the three week absence... there're these things called life and school and they just keep getting in the way. Hope you enjoyed, leave your thoughts in the reviews! And for anyone unfamiliar with Karajan, he's a pianist/composer/conductor famous in the sixties, and he played with Bernstein at one point, I believe. Anyway, he was in concert at London in the fifties at one point, so yeah. Totally plausible. Hope you liked it, there will be more humor and fluff in the next chapter, promise. Review for me, please! :)