Ohmygod, you guys. I felt like such crap yesterday. I had a fever, and my head felt like it would explode, and my eyes hurt, and I just felt awful, and then I had to write this scene which gave me an even bigger headache and gah. It's been a rough week. So I hope you see what a labor of love this chapter is, even if it's a bit short. I present it to you, my dear readers! Happy weekend!

Minerva felt as though she was languishing in her room. After a week of locking herself in her office and bedroom, she had burned through the vast majority of her work. She had retreated to her room again with the pretense of grading her fourth years' newly turned in essays, but she didn't think another evening devoid of human contact would be bearable. She had begged Pomona to do her grading in her room, but her friend was nowhere in sight. As it neared eleven at night, she finally heard a knock at the door.

She pushed aside her paperwork and reached for her robe, calling "Just a minute!" as she did so. It was about time Pomona showed up, she thought, frowning. She had wanted some good conversation for a while now, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was not a viable option at the moment. It came as a surprise, then, when she opened the door and beheld Tom Riddle. "What are you doing here?" she snapped.

"Ignoring that," he said in a controlled voice, sitting on her bed and watching her.

"I think I told you I'm not speaking to you," Minerva said with finality. She returned to her desk to resume her work, but she was aware of Tom coming to stand behind her and lean over to see what she was doing.

"I heard you," he said quietly. He craned his neck. "Grading essays?"

Shut up.

"Oh, teaching them about Animagi?"

Go away.

"Hey, that one spelled 'animagus' wrong."

I can see that.

He poked her. "Aren't you going to correct that? I dock points for idiotic spelling errors like that."

Your opinions aren't important to me.

"Well, I suppose you should teach your class however you see fit. You've more than proven yourself as a teacher."

Cut the flattery.

He put a finger under her chin and turned her face towards him. "Have you gone deaf?"

"Will you STOP that?" she burst out, slapping his hand away. "And why isn't Pomona here?"

"Oh, so you could hear me," he said, smiling. "I was starting to worry."

"Tom, unless you have a certain something to say to me I don't want to hear it." She turned back to her papers.

She heard him heave a sigh. "This is difficult for me to say..." he began. "But I'm sorry."

"For?"

"For presuming to throw my weight around just because I'm a teacher. For refusing to see reason when you shoved it right under my nose. And for good measure, anything I've done and am liable to do to upset you, in the past and in the immediate future." Tom turned her face towards his again. "Well, ma minette? Will you accept my apology?"

She smiled. "Of course. Assuming you didn't kill Pomona."

Tom chuckled. "No, I just asked her not to go, and explained that I needed to make amends. I trust you won't ignore me any more now?"

"Certainly not, darling." Her smile turned mischievous. "Tom, hearing you of all people admit that you were wrong is so rare... it feels like quite the triumph for me to have coaxed an apology out of you."

Tom rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."

"I'd like to hear that again."

He arched a brow. "You have no idea?"

"No, I'd like to hear you apologize again."

"Don't push it, Minerva."

"No, really," she said, smirking. "I feel as though we've been feuding -not in a bad way, of course- and I've come out on top for once. I intend to milk it for all it's worth." She caressed his cheek. "Say you're sorry again, Tom."

"I told you not to push it."

"I told you-"

He cut her words off roughly, pulling her up from her chair by her wrists and kissing her heatedly. "For the last time," he growled, "do...not...push it."

Minerva was taken aback at his sudden behavior, torn between excitement and fear at his advance. It crossed her mind that regardless of how much she trusted him, and how much he respected her, with Tom, there were perhaps some areas that were not to be crossed. He didn't take kindly to her goading, something she should have foreseen, knowing his pride and his temperment. She had spoken without thinking, and sought to remedy it, kissing him back just as fiercely. She could feel his hands through the fabric of her nightdress when he slipped them inside her dressing gown, and was hyperaware of him twisting the fabric up, pulling the hem to the tops of her thighs. Ordinarily she would have rebuffed him; she would have pointed out that they were on campus and required to remain professional. But this night she was tired of being reserved, tired of being demure, and tired of cutting things off before they ever really began. So instead she pushed herself against him, arms hooked around his neck, her lips pressed to his ear. "Be more explicit, Tom," she whispered, nipping between words. "Don't...push...what?" His breathing was as ragged as her own.

"Your luck," he said, voice low as he wrenched her head back, looking her in the eyes. "Yes, I apologized to you. Don't give me reason to do so again," he added, and before she could decide if it was a warning or just wordplay he had crushed his lips to hers, kissing her open-mouthed in a way he never had before. She felt his spare hand travel down her back, his touch firm and unyielding. Suddenly he stopped, holding her shoulders and pulling back.

"Yes?" she asked, bemused.

"You wore tartan on purpose to vex me."

Minerva laughed, not caring if she was ruining the moment, slipping it down her shoulders. "Ah. You want me to take it off."

"That would be preferable, yes."

Hardly able to believe what she was doing, she reached for her wand and flicked it, undoing his buttons. "I think that's your job, Tom." A look passed between them; in a moment she was backed against the wall and Tom was kissing her again, his shirt on the floor with her robe. Never before had it felt as though she and Tom could reach a mutual consensus on how far to take things. A factor that always pushed her to call things off would be thoughts of potential regret that crossed her mind more than once. She wasn't entirely free of those suppositions tonight, even with his name on her lips and even when she gasped that he continue. But a sort of abandon had overtaken her, and she found it easy to push the doubts aside and enjoy him, finding a rythm to their movements and bodies. With her apparent willingness to continue, continue he did, hissing assurances to her of his affection and attraction. It didn't bother her when his attentions bordered on violence, when his kisses became more fierce than tender, when his long fingers ceased their caresses and instead bruised her pale skin. She knew her own fingernails had left their marks when she clung to him, dragging her nails down his back, and that her kisses would ensure that his collar stayed buttoned for at least the week until the bruises healed. Still, she wasted no time in pointing out to him when he went a bit too far for her satisfaction. "Careful, Tom, with my face... I don't want marks that are visible on a regular basis."

"You'll get your second apology of the night, Minerva," he murmured in reply, his smile wicked. "From now on I'll be sure to only mark what no one else will see."

o0o [Since I'd bring shame to the word smut just think of the smuttiest smut you can imagine between Tom and Minerva. Done? Okay, now keep reading.]

It was fortunate that it was a Friday the following morning, and therefore no classes first thing, Minerva found herself thinking as she stretched, stopping when she felt Tom's arms around her waist. "Morning," she said, rolling over to face him, combing her hand through his hair and pushing it off his face. "I think I like seeing you like this, Tom. When you're all buttoned up you're less... not desirable, but less..."

"Less what?" he said, hand slithering up her thigh. "Don't put your foot in your mouth, now. I'd hate to have to punish you after such a night."

"You liar," she said as she curled against his chest. "You'd damn well enjoy it and we both know it."

Wordlessly he cupped her face in his hand, kissing her until she forcibly pushed him away. "I wonder," he said in all seriousness, "if it's possible to suffocate someone with a kiss."

"What goes on in that devious mind of yours, Tom?" she asked, walking her fingers down his chest. "Don't try and find out with me."

"Ah, so you'd rather I find out with someone else." He smirked when her expression turned petulant, pulling her body flush against his. "Don't /worry/, ma minette. You're the only one."

"Is that what you tell all the girls, Mr. Riddle?" she teased, snuggling close. "You certainly have a way of guilding your words and making a woman think you mean every bit of it."

"You think I'm not always sincere?" He held her gaze a moment and laughed. "You know me too well. I'll have to do away with you now, to protect my secret."

"Hardly a secret," she replied. She glanced at the clock. "Argh, we slept in."

"Obviously," Tom said. "Good thing I don't have a class right now..."

"Get up, you lazy ass," she insisted, slapping his shoulder. "Maybe you've forgotten but I still have a class to teach."

"You can be late for once in your life, Minerva." He wrapped his arms around her waist more tightly, his cheek pressed to hers. Minera felt her eyes fall half shut and she smiled when he pulled her still closer, only to burst into giggles without warning.

"What is wrong with you?" Tom muttered. "Can't we just..."

"No, no, it's nothing," she said, bringing one of his hands to her lips. "It's just your cheek. I'm not used to it... time for you to shave."

He raised his eyebrows. "And this is funny how?"

"It just tickles," she explained, squealing when he rubbed his cheek against her experimentaly.

"And your hair doesn't?" He worked his hands into it, pulling her head back.

"Does it?" she asked honestly. "I wouldn't know."

"Oh, it does," he said, "and it gets everywhere too." He twisted his hands further into her hair, unruly from the night's activities, to illustrate.

She put her arms around his shoulders pulling him down partially on top of her. "So what shall I do about this terrible dilemma?" she quipped. "Want me to cut it?" She let go of him with one arm, holding her hair at a point just past her collarbone. "I could cut to about this length."

"I like your hair the way it is," he insisted. "You know that."

She pulled his face down for another kiss. "Now I really need to get up."

Tom groaned, burying his face in her hair. "You still have thirty minutes."

"I know. If I start now I'll probably just barely make it." She idly traced the lines of definition on his back muscles, her fingernails barely grazing his skin. "You'd better move, though... this is deliciously comfortable and the longer I stay like this the less I'll want to get up."

"Why do you need so long to get ready?" Tom mumbled, one arm still across her.

"Um, maybe I don't want to show up in front of my students looking as though I literally rolled out of bed," Minerva pointed out. "Some things are meant to stay private, you know." She wriggled out from underneath him, slipping on her robe quickly before dashing into the bathroom, not thinking to question the ridiculousness of the stereotypical sudden desire for modesty in such situations.

"I'm the one that has a walk of shame ahead of me," he retorted, rolling onto his back. "Next time we're doing this in my room."

She poked her head out of the bathroom door. "What makes you think there'll be a next time?" she teased. "Don't force me to ignore you again!"

Tom grimaced, and she thought for a second she saw his eyes flash red. "I wouldn't dream of it."

o0o

The 'walk of shame' had been brief, and almost without incident. Riddle was dismayed when he saw Slughorn headed towards him, though. He considered an alibi of some sort, but decided against it, feeling that to appear defensive would be exactly the sort of thing Slughorn would want to see. Either way he would lose; he knew he looked disheveled, and the comparatively late hour would be more than enough circumstantial evidence to convict Riddle of his crime: a roll in the hay. He frowned. What did it matter what Slughorn thought? The man was a nonentity-

"Good morning, Tom!" Slughorn said, picking up his pace once he noticed him. "I missed you at breakfast today... matter of fact I missed Minerva as well." He paused, and Riddle worked to keep his face impassive, as it was only a matter of time before two and two were put together. As if on cue, Slughorn's face was split by a huge grin. "Have a good night's rest?"

"Perfectly, thank you," Riddle said, one eyebrow raised. "And yourself?"

"Certainly, certainly," Slughorn chortled, "more than some people's, at least. Have you and Minerva -ah, sorted out your differences? I noticed you two were avoiding one another."

"Noticed, or trying to see things where nothing existed?" Riddle said snidely. "Things are fine between us."

"I can see that," Slughorn said mischievously, taking in Riddle's appearance. "I take it she's up and teaching her first class of the day?"

"Why would she be doing anything else?"

"Well, dear boy..." Slughorn's ever expressive eyebrows performed another short routine that made Riddle want to curse them off his face. "I imagine she'd be a bit.. worn out after... certain events."

Riddle could only stare. "What are you insinuating?"

Slughorn winked. "Forget I said anything."

"That's going to be extremely hard to do now."

"Don't trouble yourself about it, dear boy," Slughorn said, "but I do recommend that you hurry along and make yourself decent! It's quite all right if I happen accross you like this, but imagine if someone else would- not everyone refrains from gossip like me."

The blatant delusion and hypocrisy of the statement stunned even Riddle into silence, and with a bit of difficulty, he managed a cold "I'll see you later, Professor," to Slughorn and escaped into his room. After a much needed shower -devoid of citrus-scented soaps- and a change of clothes, he considered taking advantage of his small window of free time to attend to the basilisk, likely hungry from a week without food.

And yes, to give it an answer to the physical intimacy question.

Headed towards the grounds, his mind turned to last night's activities more than once. Minerva had enraged him. The fact that she had won out, and had all but forced him to apologize to get himself back into her good books was galling enough, but her smug little smile and infuriating look of superiority was enough to drive anyone mad. To think that she had the audacity to demand a second apology, just to relish hearing him lower himself to that degree! He had meant to disguise brutality with passion when he had kissed her the first time that night, though he hadn't planned on going as far as they had. It wasn't often that he took a lover, namely because of the multiple responsibilities -the majority self imposed- that he had to shoulder. Minerva's sudden willingness surprised him, though. In the months since the beginning of their relationship she had allowed him very little room to progress past a certain point, yet last night she had all but insisted that he continue.

More than that, Minerva's actions in the bedroom had surprised him to an extent as well. He had already known that she was fiercely independent, even bossy, but he had expected her to be more demure in matters of intimacy. He had expected her to shrink from his more violent favors -not that he cared, because she deserved every bit of it for her flippancy. Instead she had returned them, perhaps with less intensity but returned them all the same. And her authority was strangely present even then; he realized that despite relinquishing control to him a number of times, she still had no hesitation in pointing out what she wanted. Riddle didn't want to admit it, but he had lost himself a little when he held her against the wall, half-dressed. The primal, physical side of the act had its appeal, but he didn't like the distraction it caused in his well-ordered mind. Minerva herself could be intoxicating, though at times she clouded his thoughts far more than he deemed necessary. He wasn't averse to giving in to the baser urges... but he'd have to exercise more control over himself. One thing was certain, though: she'd have a hard time reporting to Dumbledore now. A cruel smile lent his appearance a diabolical air as he imagined what Dumbledore would do if he learned what his prized lieutenant had done. What was that saying? 'In bed with the devil.' Yes, Minerva would give the devil his due many more times in the future, and should the old man discover it, there would be little he could do to stop it.

He neared the staircase that would take him to the double doors leading to the grounds when he stopped short. "My god..." he said, shocked into silence as he stared.

"Hey Tom," Minerva called, walking toward him as she left her first class, "all the staff's getting drinks after lunch, want to join- oh my God!" She ran the last few steps to him, and he put his arm around her, his face darkening as they continued to stare. Oh, this was bad.

Eric Hurst was lying at the bottom of the staircase, bruised and bloody, his body twisted unnaturally. Riddle could tell by the appearance of the wounds and by the feel of the air that the injuries were of magical infliction, and they bore a familiarity that simultaneously worried him and angered him.

"Tom, we have to-" Minerva burst out, her green eyes huge. "Hurry-"

"I know," he said quietly, and he hurried down the stairs, holding her to his chest. The next few minutes passed in a blur. The school healer was summoned, Dumbledore was notified, and Riddle was significantly late to his first class. The class was unusually quiet; apparently news traveled quickly with teenagers, and they asked him in timid, quiet voices what exactly had transpired. Minerva had accompanied Dumbledore to the hospital wing, and she had returned to him after his class ended, putting her face against his cheek wordlessly. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine," she said, voice steady and eyes dry. "Hurst will be awake soon, we can go and see him. Tom," she added, angling his head so he was looking her in the eyes, "you didn't have anything...?"

"Minerva, those wounds weren't fresh," he said slowly, hiding his disgust at her question. "It would've happened early in the morning, or late last night. How could I-"

"You're right, of course you're right. I'm sorry," she said, kissing his cheek. "Who would...why would anyone..."

"I don't know," Riddle said, stroking her back.

"Did Albus say anything to you?"

"He wants to see me in his office whenever I have time."

Minerva bit her lip. "Do you want me to come with you? I'll vouch for you."

"There's no need, Minerva." He frowned thoughtfully when Fawkes flew past his window. "I think I have a pretty good idea of what to do..."

A/N: Heyyyyyyyy there! Do I hear a "yes" to more shipper!Slughorn in the very near future?

GAH. THIS WAS SO EFFING HARD TO WRITE. LIKE WTF. WHY DID I INFLICT THIS ON MYSELF? Okay, rant aside see if you can guess where this is going! Also, I think it's interesting to examine how good old Voldy feels about Minerva. For some reason I can see him confused about his feelings and unwilling to admit that he is. You can see that he's a bit defensive in a few choice areas... idk. They are fun to play with. There will be more scenes of this nature to follow, but again don't expect anything more than this. Like I said, I lack the ability to write more than this... and I want to keep it T-rated. Ahem. I made it awkward. Also, that bit with Hurst will be cleared up. So.. yeah. Um... review?