The Problem

Minerva quickly discovered that forcing Tom into a confidence was going to be no small task. After losing some face from the allegations that spread rapidly throughout the school concerning a relationship between the two of them, Tom had been avoiding her completely. He instead spread forth his malice on other temporary targets, the greatest of which was a third year named Rubeus Hagrid. Hagrid, after enduring a few days of Tom's wrath, refused to emerge from Gryffindor tower until Dumbledore himself coaxed him out to go to class.

Minerva watched as the overly large thirteen-year-old sobbed into Dumbledore's shiny, silver robes about the terrible things Tom had said him. Dumbledore quickly remedied the situation with some Honeyduke's chocolate and Hagrid agreed to attend Herbology, provided that he have an escort. Minerva was pleased to finally have the common room cleared out, but she decided that something needed to be done. She needed to find Tom.

The most obvious place to look was the library. He seemed to almost live there. The hard part was going to be cornering him. He had a way of slipping by unnoticed when he sensed something particularly unpleasant coming; and, Minerva mused, the conversation she aimed to have had the potential for being considerably unpleasant.

Tom sat on the floor in the library carelessly stacking books into a pile as he yanked them off the shelves. Madame Pince had come over countless times to scold him, only to be met with a snappy reply and implied threat. Unable to argue with the Headmaster's golden boy, she quickly gave up.

"My, my, my. I see you've finally realized where you belong, Riddle," Minerva mused as she stood over him.

"You're blocking my light with your overly large head, McGonagall," Tom snarled back. "Move."

"Not unless you say the magic word."

"Poreuo," he replied lazily. Minerva was lifted a few inches off the ground and placed out of Tom's line of light. She gritted her teeth, but couldn't help but be pleased that he hadn't hexed her instead. She tapped her toe against the floor, but remained silent. He would ask what she wanted soon enough.

Levitating a seat, she sat down gracefully and grabbed a book from the shelf to peruse while she waited for his interest to peak. Hidden Spaces: The Art of Concealment fell open into her hands. She glanced down at the mound of books surrounding Tom and shook her head. It didn't make sense. What was he so intent on concealing? She noticed a small, green notebook a foot away from his leg. He scribbled something down in it, before feeling her eyes on him.

"Don't you have something better to do?" he seethed. "We all know that you love me, but I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment to be bothered by prissy, lovesick know-it-alls. Did Dumbledore finally dump you in the dirt?"

Minerva smiled at him sweetly. "Take your time, I'm in no hurry."

Tom eyed her suspiciously. It was unlike her to pass up an opportunity to snap at him.

"Go away."

"I want to talk to you first."

"That is exceedingly apparent. I don't want to talk to you."

"Obviously you don't. So I'll wait."

Tom slammed down a book. "You'll be waiting for a long time. I see no need in the near future to ever speak to you, except the occasional reminder that I loathe you even though you fancy me."

"Get over yourself, Riddle. Nobody fancies you. You're an absolute beast."

"Why thank you." Tom grinned deviously. "You're not saying much to deny that you adore me, Minnie. I urge you to try better next time."

He began piling books into his bag. Minerva again entered his source of light and blocked his path. He resisted the urge to shove her out of the way, remembering all too well the feeling of her hand meeting with his nose. She was insufferable and he hated her for everything she was about, but he felt that the time when he could truly hurt her had not yet arrived.

"I'm not leaving until you talk to me," she said stubbornly

He sighed heavily, shifting the weight of his bag onto his back. "What is it?"

Minerva hesitated for a moment, but remembered her deal with Dumbledore. "Will you help me with my…" she paused looking down, nearly unable to spit the words from her mouth, "Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment. I'm having a terrible time finding the books I need for the project and I've seen how good you are at research so I thought maybe…" She looked up, almost terrified by what she saw.

Tom was grinning as broadly and as evilly as she had ever seen him. She let out of a breath of air quickly, preparing herself for the storm that was to come. He was not, in any way, going to let her live this down.

Tom's heart almost stopped from the amount of glee pouring out from it. Minerva McGonagall - the most perfect Prefect, Transfiguration apprentice extraordinaire, woman of stone - this Minerva McGonagall was asking him, of all people, for help. Oh how far the mighty do fall, he thought to himself. It was if the goddess Minerva herself had offered herself up as the Roman Empire crumbled around her. Minerva looked at him pleadingly.

"Why should I help you?" he questioned.

"Because I'm willing to admit that you're better than me at something."

"Not a good enough answer, Minnie." He emphasized the nickname, and saw her flinch at the sound of it. She was making it just too easy.

Minerva placed her hand on her hips and looked at him sternly through her glasses. Her eyes glistened. "What do you want me to say then, Riddle? I know you're going to make me dance around until I say what you want, so you may as well just tell me straight out."

Tom hesitated as his eyes locked with hers, but broke the connection and tapped his wand on her leg, pointedly. "I want you to get on your knees and admit that you're in love with me."

He could sense her will breaking as she backed away in disgust.

"Say it McGonagall," he taunted. "It's the only way I'll help you."

"I…I…" she stammered, obviously having not expecting that particular response.

Tom stood and moved closer to her, towering over her despite her tall form. "What's this Minerva? Losing some of that iron will you've always had? Afraid that I might break you?" He ran his hand down her cheek leaving a pink mark as she stood paralyzed, her face inches from his. He could feel her shallow breath hit his face as she fought to maintain control of her heartbeat. "Kneel and I'll help you," he hissed into her ear. "Kneel and I'll do whatever you ask."

Minerva shook herself from her paralysis and stepped back in determination. "There is nothing in the world that would induce me to do either one of those things as long as I live," she spat, regaining her composure. "I'd sooner snap my own wand in two and live as a squib the rest of my life. Forget I even asked, Riddle."

She turned on her heel and walked away with her head held high. Tom chuckled to himself. If only there was a way for that situation to happen again that led to him helping her with her project. Perhaps…he thought wistfully, but removed the thoughts from his mind. For the time being, he was going to have to settle for humiliating Rubeus Hagrid and forgetting about Minerva McGonagall. He only hoped that she would present him with another chance to help. He was sure it was his golden opportunity and he was very loathe to pass it up.

Minerva walked calmly from the library, an expression of stolid indifference lining her face. It wasn't until she was around the corner and out of sight that she broke down. Her breath seized up and as she hyperventilated she began to feel nauseous. She dashed into an empty classroom and collapsed on the stone floor. How could she have been so stupid? Of course he was going to make it difficult, even impossible, for her to get close! Dumbledore was a fool if he thought she could handle all of this. Tom was a dark wizard. She knew it. Dumbledore knew it. She just had to convince the rest of the world.

Remembering the events that had transpired minutes before, Minerva lost her reserve and retched onto the floor. He had been so close to her. She had never been that close to a boy in her life. When it should have been comforting, it had made her feel so cold and empty inside. That was not normal.

Minerva stood shakily and hobbled to the window, not bothering to clean up the mess she had made. At least quidditch season was starting soon. Practices would resume within the next week. She couldn't wait for the release that came with flying. For one who prided herself on practicality and reservation, she showed neither on a broomstick. The thought comforted her slightly.

"Scourgify," she sighed. The floor returned to its cleanly condition.

Myrtle, a rather annoying fifth year, ran past the door, catching a glimpse of a pallid Minerva. Oblivious to the prefect's shaken condition, Myrtle took the opportunity to burst in and weave a story concerning a few Hufflepuffs whom she had caught snogging in the astronomy tower. Minerva stared at her for a few moments hoping that she would take a hint and go away, but she continued to stand in the doorway.

"I'll look into it, Myrtle, but there's not much I can do. I didn't catch them. You did."

Myrtle frowned and crossed her arms with a loud, "humph!" before leaving the room. Minerva slid to the floor wondering if there was anything that could possibly make the day more complicated. Tom Riddle's figure in the doorway, replacing Myrtle's just moments later confirmed that her day could, and would continue on its downward slope into severe complication.

Tom remained silent, taking in the sight of her. Her face was red; she had obviously been crying. He supposed he had expected it. That had been his goal - hadn't it? Tom shifted slightly. He hated it when people he respected cried. It was such a sign of weakness, an absence of power and control. Wait, had he just decided that he respected her? If he did, then why did he make her cry?

Minerva stood perfectly still as if she hoped to blend in with the stone behind her. A piece of her hair had fallen out of its impeccable bun and fell loosely about her shoulders. Tom stared at it. It was so out of place. Here was a strong, remarkably intelligent witch whom he had reduced to nothing. He took a step forward and Minerva shrank back to the wall. She ran her hands nervously against the hard stone.

Does she think I'm going to curse her or something? Tom asked himself. He inched closer. He could see the fear in her eyes as he approached. He placed his wand in his pocket and an expression of relief flooded her face.

What are you doing, Tom? His head screamed. He stopped about a foot from her and reached out his hand. Minerva flinched, waiting for him to slap her, but it never came. He simply grabbed the strand of hair that had fallen from place and tucked it behind a clip in the back of her head. Their eyes met as Minerva realized what he had done.

Those eyes. Tom peered through her glasses at her glistening, wondrous dark eyes. He loved that fact that they seemed to pull light from all directions. They were a black hole in his mind - bottomless, fathomless, deep.

He reached out his hand again and brushed it against her cheek, more gently than he had in the library. Her skin was so smooth - so pure.

Minerva raised her own hand to place it on his and stared back at him in confusion. He could feel her mind racing. It must have decided to control its feelings, because her look of confusion quickly turned to repulsion. She slid beneath his grasp and ran from the room.

Tom slammed through the hallway on the fourth floor, causing a group of first years to scatter in fear. While few people had actually suffered from Tom's bad temper, many had witnessed it or heard rumors of it. Tom smirked slightly. There was a thrill that accompanied controlling the fear of others. He felt a sense of exhilaration - that is, until his thoughts strayed back to Minerva.

Why had he done that? Why couldn't he just have walked by when he heard her speaking to that idiotic Myrtle? It didn't make sense. He felt as if there was some kind of overwhelming force drawing him to her. He didn't like it. It did not make him feel in control. And he liked control.

Titus Avery and Romulus Lestrange came around the corner, almost running into their friend. They told him the story of an unfortunate second year they had levitated in the dungeons because he happened to find himself in the wrong hallway at the wrong time. Tom pursed his lips. He was in no mood for their stupid, bullying escapades. More important things were at hand.

"Earth to Voldemort," Lestrange laughed as he ran his fingers through the air in front of Tom's face. Tom pushed it away violently and stalked ahead. He saw a dark-haired head approaching the top of the stairs only to see Minerva emerge on her way up to Gryffindor tower. Her eyes opened widely in surprise and she quickly turned and walked back down. Tom resisted the urge to follow her. Lestrange and Avery were oblivious.

"Let's go down to the lake and see if we can get the squid to come out," Avery suggested. He laughed cruelly. "Maybe we can get those mermen to scream at us again. That was so funny!" He smiled dumbly to himself. Avery looked at Tom for guidance.

Tom shrugged. Perhaps it would do him some good to torture another type of being. Minerva was becoming to much of an enigma. He was almost afraid of what would happen if they had another conversation - almost.

"Why couldn't he have just stayed away?" Minerva cried as she sprawled herself down on her bed. Tears poured forth openly, careless of anyone who could be in hearing distance. The dormitory was empty, save Minerva's cat. The black cat leaped up onto the bed and sat down near Minerva's face. She turned to look at it. "How could someone I hate so much have that much of an affect on me?"

The cat tipped his head slightly and began playing with the tassels on the bed curtains. Minerva rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.

"How can I face him ever again?"

Her thoughts flew back to the second encounter with Tom. He seemed so different - preoccupied perhaps. She had almost been able to sense a bit of remorse on his part.

What was happening to her? Of course he wasn't remorseful for making her cry! This was Tom Riddle. Arrogant, egotistical Tom Riddle. He was pure evil and that was never going to change. A tear streamed down her cheek and she pulled the cat in close.

If she truly believed that, what was causing her to have so many doubts in her mind?