To my lovely readers: I have SUCH a bad headache right now. Sorry if this chapter is lacking in Teh Funnehs. When I'm feeling better my sense of humor improves, and I don't have to struggle to hold my muse. Hope you like it regardless! And thanks for reviewing the last chapter. :D

Staving off questions from Dumbledore had been difficult enough, Minerva had decided, thinking back to the time spent reassuring the man that all was well. He had told her that there was no longer any need for her to observe Tom's classes, that she needn't trouble herself with his doings in the slightest. She had protested, pointing out that perhaps the reason he hadn't tried anything questionable was because of her constant scrutiny, and his intent to keep her invested in him. But all her best efforts resulted in nothing more than a very shaky semblance of security on Dumbledore's part, and she left feeling dissatisfied and confused overall.

On Sunday Tom had taken her to see Poppy, who confirmed that all was well with the concussion -mercifully, it had been mild- and gave her a dash of Skelegro to hurry the broken arm along. "You'll be fit to teach and feeling like yourself by tomorrow, Minerva," Poppy had said brightly. She had even praised Tom's quick thinking and first aid, pulling Minerva aside after treatment and telling her, "There's a man who doesn't lose his head in a crisis."

Minerva had blushed, stealing a glance at Tom, composed as ever, waiting for them to wrap up. "He's... he's special," she said at last. "Different," she added, frowning.

"You know, he always did seem to be interested in you during those prefect meetings," Poppy teased her.

"Oh, so you were stalking me all through school?" she said, smiling. "Want to explain yourself there?"

"You know, I never thought he'd be the sort to take an interest in you," Poppy said after a pause. "I always envisioned you with a younger equivalent of Professor Dumbledore..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Poppy," Minerva scoffed. "But it's been lovely seeing you. I'll try and visit more often in the summer-"

"Don't hesitate to bring your new beau," she replied, a twinkle in her eye. "Don't get into any more duels, either!"

"I won't try to," Minerva said honestly, and she kept the promise for the time being, as they had spent the Sunday at Tom's place. In fact, they passed the day in such a lazy manner that she was only too happy to be back to work the next day. Perhaps she'd even take Tom's advice and relax during first hour, rather than observe his class.

o0o0o0o0o

Riddle felt as though he could finally relax back in the haven of his office, and resume his routine. The weekend had set him completely on edge rather than serve as a outlet of relaxation. First, he had to attend to an injured Minerva and not get mad at her for bringing it all upon herself. Second, he had to make sure her mind didn't stray into her almost catching him in the Chamber. And lastly, he had to do everything in his power to make sure she didn't go to Dumbledore or the Ministry about the happenings of Friday night. All of the above resulted in far too much time lounging in bed, holding her while she alternately ranted about the type of monsters who would terrorize civilians and grew forlorn thinking about the victims. Too much time had been spent murmuring soft reassurances to her, caressing her hair, and feeding her various nauseating, stereotypical 'romantic' foods for brunch to heighten the mood. The amount of work this required on his part for damage control was enough to make any lesser man go insane.

In other words, if he saw even one more chocolate dipped strawberry, he'd vomit.

But what was his reward? She probably wouldn't go to Dumbledore about both instances. He didn't even get any f*cking certainty after all that effort. He was seriously starting to question what his odds of success would be if he just wiped her memory and planted false ones in its stead. Because, so help him, if they were higher than the odds of her not saying anything, he'd bloody well do it, and enjoy it too. If it weren't for that risk factor, he'd wipe her memory that instant. A strong mind like hers wouldn't be easy to manipulate.

However, once he'd calmed down and she had been soothed, each settled in with a book apiece, he was glad he hadn't acted rashly. If anything, this only elevated his standing with her by far. Perhaps it wouldn't be long before he could give the Basilisk an answer in the affirmative to that 'physical intimacy' question. He knew that once that was done, he wouldn't have to worry about her snooping anymore.

o0o

The dark arts class of seventh years filed in, and Minerva was absent, to his delight. Excellent; he'd capitalize on this to the best of his ability.

"Professor, where's your shadow?"

He stopped dead, wand arm raised to write something on the blackboard. "What?"

Eustacia Edgecomb nudged her friend and smiled innocently. "Where's Professor McGonagall? She's usually here."

"Five points from Ravenclaw for talking out of turn, Miss Edgecomb," he said uninterestedly. "And it's none of my concern nor my business where Professor McGonagall is, nor is it any of yours. I would imagine she's in her office, where she's supposed to be. Take your seats." The girls complied, and he settled back to the lovely routine of lecturing, punctuating it here or there with a clever affront to the intelligence of certain choice students. He was none too surprised to see that few had done the assigned reading on Inferi, something what few answers he had glimpsed from the following pop quiz evidenced. Perhaps today would call for a different tactic. "Let's discuss the practicality of the subject outlined in last night's reading," he said suddenly, after the class had sunk into torpor and his questions were left unanswered. "In open forum format," he added. Languidly, he looked around the room. "Anyone who hasn't talked and contributed to the discussion will lose points for their house." That got the attention of the majority, and the first few rows of students looked a bit more alive,* but still the room was silent. "Anyone want to make an opening remark? Or were the lot of you too busy not paying attention when I assigned the reading?" Still they were silent. "Very well. Malfoy!"

Abraxas Malfoy's head snapped up. Apparently he had heard from his father about the incident over the weekend, because he answered with no small amount of trepidation. "Sir?"

"How do you suppose Inferi could be beneficial to a magical society?"

Abraxas frowned. "I suppose in matters of... defense, sir."

"Elaborate."

"Well, for a high-profile area that would require a lot of security. Rather than risk the lives of those living, why not utilize the bodies of the deceased? They'd be more effective too, without the instinct for self preservation the living have."

"How would you get the bodies, though?" Eric Hurst asked, before Riddle could praise the answer. "To amass enough bodies for a...for a, you know, an army, you'd need a hundred at least."

Riddle leaned against the desk, silent as he waited for one of his private disciples to answer.

"You could always use donated bodies," Eustacia Edgecomb supplied, "you know, like cadavers Healers learn anatomy on?"

"Or," Abraxas said carefully, "you could use bodies of the fallen. Like casualties of an Auror raid, for instance." He smiled. "That way, their lives really won't have been in vain."

Riddle was more than aware of the fact that in his class, the students were torn between fear, an intense dislike of his strict methods, and admiration of his irreverence -and potentially his looks. He knew that by now, any outright approval shown would send the class, precarious position they were in, scrambling to spit out answers that would win them a tight-lipped smile from the teacher. At this point, they would be dying for his approval.

Clearly, he was in the wrong line of work. He ought to have been a child psychologist. Briefly he imagined himself seated behind a mahogany desk, while insecure teenagers told him all of their deep-seated emotional issues while reclining on a heinous plaid couch. Yes, teenagers' minds were always the most fun to mess with... Suddenly it occurred to him that a child psychologist would also have to see children. An image of a squalling five-year-old drooling and blowing phlegm on the already hideous couch was so off-putting that he returned to the present at once. With a one-sided smile on the corner of his mouth, he nodded. "Precisely," he said at last, voice extremely quiet. "A good duelist doesn't just respect his allies. He respects his opponents as well. And what could be a better show of respect than eternal service to a better cause?" He paused to let it sink in. "What could be more ennobling than serving the right side in death?" The students -sheeple that they were- were nodding. Idiots.

"Wait a minute," Hurst said suddenly. "Not all duels are to the death, and besides, isn't it more respectful to give the body a burial you would for a friend?" He frowned. "And you'd be forcing the person into doing something he'd have hated if he were alive and had any say over his body."

Riddle let his features harden, and waited for that inevitable moment when the boy's face would fall under scrutiny. It didn't happen, to his displeasure, and as the students stood upon hearing the bell, Riddle raised his voice to be heard over the din, saying, "Stay after a bit, Hurst."

Eric Hurst returned to his seat, third from the door in the second row, and they commenced a staring match that lasted a short while after the others left. The door swung shut, and Riddle locked it with a click, never once breaking eye contact. At last the boy averted his eyes, and Riddle was rewarded with the feelings of dominance and superiority he was now so accustomed to, causing the corners of his mouth to curl upwards. The whole situation was most reminiscent of the cave with Amy and Dennis. A pity he couldn't make the boy an Inferius here and now.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Professor," Hurst said, not looking up from the desk.

"Don't be," Riddle said easily. "What I have in mind is unrelated to your performance in class today." It wouldn't do for the boy to know it was in fact a direct consequence of his nonconformist tendencies.

"Sir?" he asked, frowning.

"Your last practical exam was actually outstanding, and of late your essays have been near flawless- or at least a sight better than those of your peers." He paused, twirling his wand through his fingers. "Some of my more advanced students have sought out extra instruction." He raised a brow. "In fact... I'm surprised that you haven't yet."

The boy looked embarrassed. "I'm really honored, Professor, but... I'm not sure if I want to."

"May I ask why?"

"Well," Hurst hesitated, "I really don't have a genuine interest in defense against the dark arts, or the study of the dark arts themselves, sir. I'm fine with just... doing the work, like it's any old class. I guess I'm trying to say I don't have any real 'passion for the subject,' like some of the other guys, like Abraxas and Eustacia."

"I see," Riddle said, suspicious as to just how candid Hurst was being. "What is your subject of particular interest?"

"Transfiguration," he said automatically. "It just strikes me as the most... complicated of the subjects, Professor."

"You want something more challenging." Riddle said softly, more statement than question.

"Um... yeah." Hurst looked taken aback. "Yeah, I guess-"

"All the more reason you should come to the extra classes," Riddle interjected smoothly. "We're exploring far more advanced subjects, subjects I'd be very surprised to see on your upcoming NEWTS."

"I'll come if you think it's valuable, sir," Hurst said at last.

"Good. I expect to see you after seven, in the Astronomy tower next week. If anyone asks, you are taking preparatory classes for the upcoming exams."

"Sure, Professor." Hurst looked all too relieved when Riddle unlocked the door with a flick of his wand, causing him to wonder about the boy's discomfort. Surely he couldn't have anticipated that he was to be used as a guinea pig for Abraxas and the others to practice unforgivable curses on? He happened to glance at his desk.

"God damn it," he growled, and he picked up the Madame Malkin's catalogue, incinerating it in his bare hands without even reaching for his wand.

o0o0o

"Professor? Can I ask you something?"

Minerva glanced up from the papers she was putting together and took off her reading glasses. "Certainly, Hurst. Pomona, you go ahead, I'll meet you later," she added, waving Pomona along from where she waited in the doorway.

Pomona shrugged, shutting the door behind her, calling, "I'll be in the staff room, Min."

Minerva returned to her work. "What is it, Hurst? Do you need a recommendation letter for your application to the Ministry?"

"No, Professor," the boy said. "Actually I was kind of hoping you'd do me a favor."

"Get to the point, Hurst, I'm on a schedule here."

He fidgeted. "Professor Riddle suggested that I take extra classes with some of the other guys."

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you need them, you have to go, regardless of whether you want to or not." She paused. "Though I don't recall you needing remedial classes. How have your grades been this semester?"

"They're fine, and they aren't remedial classes. He wants to work with the theoretical side of the magic, and do some stuff outside of the curriculum for the NEWT classes." He shrugged. "I just... don't like the idea, is all. I'm not a big fan of the class -I mean, the subject- so going further than necessary into... that stuff... just isn't something I want to do."

"I see," she said. "Did you tell Professor Riddle what you're telling me?"

Hurst grimaced. "He's not my advisor, and besides I can't talk to him like that."

"What did you tell him, then?"

"I said I'd go," he said slowly, "and I was hoping you'd make him not hold me to that."

Minerva stood. "I don't see why not," she said, "but next time, don't hesitate to tell Tom- that is, Professor Riddle- what you told me. He'll be more understanding than you'd expect."

The boy looked surprised. "Alright, Professor." They walked to the door together. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said, and set off for Tom's office, hoping it wouldn't take too long. Pomona would be wondering where she was. She made a mental note to tell Tom to try being a bit less unapproachable to the students. Minerva sighed once she reached his door, and knocked as she entered. "Can I come in? I'm already in so say yes."

Tom glanced up and groaned, running a hand through hair already standing on end. "Just what I need, another distraction. Well, at least this one is worth my while."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, good evening to you too."

He groaned again. "You may as well sit down, I won't be leaving here for a while. What's going on?"

"Hurst came to my office after dinner, and-" she stopped, eyes widening as she took in the mess; papers were strewn around the room, books were on the ground, posters and diagrams on the wall had been knocked askew. And above all this, the stench of scorched feathers permeated the room. "What happened here?" she demanded, crossing to the wind and forcing it open.

"An unexpected guest dropped by," he said, not bothering to look up. "I escorted him to the exit with a bit of force."

"An unexpected...?" Minerva frowned. "Oh Merlin, Tom, you aren't talking about Lowther again."

"No, I'm talking about the other toucan that has it out for me. What do you think, Minerva?"

"I think if you're going to be rude, I don't have time for you," she returned. "I came to talk to you about one of our students, Tom. Eric Hurst. He seems very uncomfortable with the idea of extra lessons with you."

"That's not my fault," he snapped. "Lowther's trying to make me out to be a creepy gay child molester. He left a Madame Malkin's catalogue o my desk."

Minerva tried and failed to conceal a snicker. "But you do read them."

"Only in appearances! I used to transfigure my more private research papers to look like that."

MInerva couldn't believe it. "That's impossible. I would've been able to tell."

Tom stood and stretched, lazily planting a kiss on her cheek. "There's still a bit that you don't know about me, ma minette. So, we've cleared up this issue with Hurst?"

"Not so fast," McGonagall said, leaning across his desk and pushing him back into his chair. "Hurst didn't exactly say that extra classes with you made him uncomfortable. He said he was uncomfortable learning more about the dark arts and deviating too much from the set curriculum."

Tom shrugged. "If people hadn't deviated from accepted norms, we wouldn't have this degree of magical advancement. We'd still be limited to basic spells. We wouldn't have the very principles of magic at our disposal, the fact that in its purest state, it's just the manipulation of energy and matter. And with that we can do so much more than basic spells."

Minerva sat. "What do you mean, only 'basic spells'?"

Tom pushed aside his papers and leaned toward her. "I mean, Minerva, that before, it was only possible to cast spells by speaking the incantation and channeling one's magic through an instrument. Following this theory, though, one can cast spells simply by willing the subject to do as the wizard desires, and manipulating energy to get it done...without a instrument. It was by following this theory wordless magic came about. Why not take things to the next level?"

"Tom, that's just a theory. You're talking about wandless magic in a highly specific state." She frowned. "In concept it works, but no one has the ability to do it. We don't teach wandless magic in Hogwarts for those reasons; it's far too advanced and most of it is theoretical."

"No one has the ability? How odd; I do."

Minerva laughed, trying to sober up once Tom's expression darkened at her mirth. "You are so full of yourself. You expect me to believe you can perform highly specialized magic without a wand?"

"Far better than anyone else, yes."

"But it's physically impossible," she said. "Every researcher who tried has failed in the end."

"That's because I doubt anyone is born with the ability," he said. "I'd be shocked if they had succeeded."

"Oh, but you have the ability."

"Yes, but it's acquired," Tom said. "Unfortunately I can't claim natural talent for that discipline; it's been a bit of work."

"But how would you?" she snapped, frustrated. "That would mean you altered your body chemistry-"

"Obviously, Minerva. For such a bright witch, you're awful at taking hints."

"-permanently," she finished. "But... but Tom, that would mean you used... questionable rituals for that-"

"I don't like you calling them questionable, but again, obviously," he replied, unperturbed. He reached for a paper, looking at her curiously when she grabbed his wrist and stopped him. "Yes?"

"You used dark magic to what?"

"I never said 'dark'."

"Don't avoid the question, Tom."

"Improve my already impressive skill to still more impressive levels," he said sweetly, freeing his wrist and bringing her hand to his lips. "We've been through this already, ma minette."

"Tom, that's illegal!"

"What are you, my wife?" he scoffed. "And besides, don't pretend that you've never pushed the boundaries, Minerva. Don't pretend that you've never entertained thoughts of just experimenting with 'forbidden' magic."

"No, I haven't," Minerva said firmly. "Knowing theory is one thing, and putting it into practice is quite another."

"I'll convince you of its use in good time," he said, releasing her hand and picking up the paper. "Right now I have to catch up on grading. Tell me, what do you know about Inferi, compared to ghosts?"

She wasn't satisfied, but could tell he was through with the subject and wouldn't say any more. "Um... animated corpse compared to an imprint of the deceased's soul... is there really any more to say?"

Wordlessly Tom showed her the quiz he was grading. "'Ghosts are transparent,'" she read slowly. "Wow."

Tom nodded, tossing the paper aside with a short, derisive laugh. "And the rest aren't much better."

Minerva sighed, and sat down next to him, drawing up a chair. "Well, at least it didn't say 'Inferi are transparent' or some such twaddle. You should see some of the rubbish I get from my fourth years. I'm convinced that a few certain students have learned absolutely /nothing/ all year." She paused, glancing at the bulletin. "How's dueling club going?"

"Terribly, now that I've lost the founder."

"Be quiet, you're better at that sort of thing than I am," she returned. "And now you've got what you wanted; I got a dueling club started for you, and now you're running it. And Albus doesn't have anything to say about it."

"True, but you hardly visit during duel days anymore," he pointed out. "I've missed you."

"You missed me?" she teased. "Tom Riddle, don't lead me to believe that you're capable of softer emotions!"

"I've grown quite fond of you, Minerva," he said candidly. "No need for you to make light of it."

She paused and looked at him, wondering. She herself had been quite straightforward with how she felt about him, but this was the first time he'd even indicated his feelings for her. She studied his face to gage his sincerity, and concluded that he was being honest. "Well, Tom... I'm quite touched, then."

He smiled at her, and she leaned forward, kissing him lightly. "Stay until I finish this?" he asked, running a hand through her hair.

"I'd really love to, but I've got grading of my own to finish, and I think I'd better take care of it in the staff room with Pomona. I already said I would. Besides, if I stay here, neither of us will get any work done."

"Good night, then."

"Good nigh- wait," she said, remembering suddenly, "we didn't sort out that bit about Hurst."

"I thought we did," Tom said, arching a brow.

"Really? And what is it?"

His voice hardened. "He'll be coming to the lesson as he agreed to."

"You can't make a student come in for extra classes if he's passing." she said, raising her voice.

"He agreed to it himself."

"You intimidated him!"

"I'm his teacher, and therefore I can make him attend," he said calmly, ignoring her last.

"You can't abuse your role as a teacher like that!" she said incredulously.

"It's in his best interest, Minerva," he said evenly.

"I'm getting out of here," she said in disgust. "I thought you wanted to educate, not pull cheap power plays like this!"

Tom stood and glared at her. "A cheap power play? Really? Tell me, since you named it thusly, what you intend to do about it? Appeal to a higher power?"

"Oh, I can't do anything," she said. "He asked me to make you reconsider. You refused, and pulled this crap. So I can only ignore you until you come to your senses and apologize, and excuse Hurst from his agreement." And with that she stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind her.

"Minerva!" she heard him call, but nostrils flaring, she walked briskly to her room, reaching it in record time, and, papers in hand, met Pomona to grade. Very few Os and Es were to be found the next day in class.

o0o

Riddle was pissed. After Lowther's appearance Minerva had barged in, with requests from the idiot Hurst. As if Minerva could get him to reconsider his decision! Although, judging by her heated threat to ignore him, and her following through thus far, he was starting to wonder if he would in fact have to apologize. In an attempt to be 'cute' he had written her a note inviting her to join him in the staff room, folded it to make an origami cat, and sent it on its way to her room. When he retired for the night, after receiving no response, he found an origami toucan on his bed, viciously tearing into his cat.

"Who the hell does she think she is?" he had growled. How dare she mock his toucan problem? As if the world sensed the unjust card he had been dealt, Lowther chose that moment to pay another visit, looking ridiculous with his half-charred feathers.

"Evening, Professor Riddle."

"I'm not going to even dignify that with a proper response."

Mr. Lowther seemed to smirk with his beak as he perched on the open window sill. "Things not going so well with you, then?"

"Get out of my room. Or are you really that eager to be engulfed in fiendfyre again?" The bird winced and adjusted its feathers over the huge, bald burnt spots on its body.

"Just pointing out something I noticed," the toucan said slyly, much of its bravado gone. "Unless I'm mistaken."

Riddle twirled his wand through his fingers. One flick.. it would be easy..

"You and McGonagall had a lover's quarrel, didn't you?"

Riddle laughed. "Amusing. I did hear once from a fairly reliable source that victims of fiendfyre experience vivid hallucinations."

"So you did?" the bird persisted. "I heard you trying to justify the use of the dark arts to her too... with little success."

"And?" Riddle said, his composure perfect. "I didn't know it was possible to think so lucidly while burning alive."

"A confession would be nice about now, Professor Riddle," Lowther said. "I heard it all."

"And what can you do about it? Go to Dumbledore, and betray yourself to be a crass magical toucan plotting to overthrow him?" Riddle sneered.

"Close," it said. "I'll go to Fawkes. Fawkes loves me."

Riddle's face contorted to a murderous scowl and his eyes flashed scarlet. The jet of green light erupted from his wand, but the toucan let go of the windowsill at the last moment, causing the curse to fly out over the Hogwarts grounds. Riddle thought he saw an owl drop off in the distance.

"I am an idiot," he concluded, forcing himself to calm down. "Henceforth, I shall no longer banter with the enemy when there is work to be done. This flair for drama must be confined to the stage, and the stage alone. It shall become my undoing, if I'm not careful.." He had no way of knowing the accuracy of the statement.

"There are to be no plays performed at Hogwarts, Tom, not since the disaster of The Fountain of Fair Fortune!" Dumbledore called from somewhere in the hall. "Dippet's last wishes outlined those rules quite clearly, and I have no choice but to honor them."

How much did he hear? Riddle wondered, as he called back, "As omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."

"No," the old man said, voice quite close to the doorway, "Just passing through the area. Have a good night, Tom."

"I intend to."

Riddle seethed. This had gone on long enough. Nearly a week after the argument, Minerva still hadn't returned to her senses. Perhaps he had no choice but to try a different approach.

A/N: Ohohoho. Real quick- I realized I didn't explain my absence in the previous chapter. So.. I had AP exams, I graduated high school, I had cousins over during vacation, I had college enrollment, and then I started working. Basically, I've been soooo busy.

Now, for this chapter. Two things. 1.) How many of you noticed that "Hurst" is one letter away from "Hurt"? 2.) I sense a makeout- oops, meant to say make up -chapter ahead of us! ;) Share your thoughts! How many of you are glad to see that Lowther is back? How many of you caught that Riddle referred to the class as "dark arts" and left off the bit about "defense"? Heheheheh. Those who noticed get cookies. If you didn't notice, review for me and get a cookie anyway!