Thanks for the reviews guys! They were of exceptional quality, despite their decidedly abysmal quantity (not that I'm bitter). I'll just remind you before reading this chapter that I do have a direction with this story. I'm pretty careful with the dialogue and descriptions I use, so many things that may seem out of place probably are and have a part later on in the story. Characterization may seem a bit off in the next few chapters, especially for Tom, but I assure you he will return.

The Classroom

Tom swept Minerva into his arms and carried her out of the library, ignoring the stares he received from the other side of the room. He smiled impishly as he looked down at her serene, unconscious face. He had never seen her so peaceful. Feeling the slight twitch of revenge pulling in his mind, he took her to an empty classroom rather than the hospital wing. She was going to be mad when she woke up, and he didn't want to get shooed out and miss the fun. He drew up a quick cushioning charm and placed her gently on the floor. Now all he had to do was wait.

He had to admit. She had surprised him. He had been trying to provoke her, but he had underestimated her powers of retaliation. Imagine, Minerva McGonagall attacking another student - better yet, another prefect. He chuckled. She was going to be very mad when she woke up.

Tom settled himself into a chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. So much had gone on, he had nearly forgotten about the book. It was something, it really was. Never before had he held something that ached of so much power. He was glad Minerva had given it back, however reluctantly.

He glanced out the window at the sun that was swiftly disappearing over the horizon. It was later than he thought. The room became dark, except for a single beam of light from the doorway that fixed itself right upon Minerva.

He tipped his head to watch her as she began to stir. Her eyes opened and she rubbed her head in confusion at the sight of her surroundings. "Tom?" she asked quietly. He was in plain sight, but her eyes hadn't grown accustomed to the darkened room. He didn't answer. He could see her begin to shake as she struggled to her feet. A sharp draft snapped the door shut. "Tom!" she cried out in fear.

He was at her side in seconds. "I'm here Minerva. It's alright," he said almost lazily.

She let out a haggard breath and threw her arms around his neck. "I-I-you scared me! I thought I was all alone and I didn't know how I got here and -"

Tom clutched her tightly to his chest, smirking slightly. He hadn't even planned this stunt. She had done it to herself. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't really think about it." Minerva let out a muffled cry and buried her head in his robes. She was still shaking furiously. Tom began to feel a bit concerned. "Minerva? What is wrong?"

Minerva drew a breath quickly. Tom could feel tears seeping into his clothes. He hadn't expected this.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"By the look of it, you are certainly not fine. Please tell me what's wrong."

"It just - It reminded me of dreams I've had about this castle," she whispered.

Tom wiped a tear from her eye. "You're awake and I'm here," he assured her. "You have nothing to worry about."

Minerva fingered his sleeve agitatedly. "You don't understand. They seem so real."

Tom lit one of the torches on the wall with his wand and slowly sat Minerva down into a chair. "What happens?" he asked.

Minerva shuddered. "I'm usually somewhere I feel safe - the common room or the library - and then I run into this thing -" Her breath seized up. "I suppose he's a man. He chases me and chases me and then-"

"Then what?"

"That's it. Darkness. The end. I don't really know. I wake up on the floor in a cold sweat with tears pouring down my face."

Tom scratched his head. "How often do the dreams occur?"

"Most nights."

"They don't sound like normal dreams. Is there something that could be triggering them?"

Minerva placed her head in her hands. "I don't know. It seemed like I got them more after my father disappeared, but I really have no idea. I could just be nutters."

Tom frowned. "I didn't mean that. I was only teasing you."

"Maybe you were right. It wouldn't be the first time."

"You are most definitely correct about that, my dear," Tom smirked.

Minerva's eyes widened when she realized why she had fainted in the first place. "The library," she murmured. "Tom, I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me. You were teasing me and I just got so mad and I -"

Tom put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry about it Minerva. I'm sort of proud of you for actually casting a spell at me. Most people would have been too afraid that I would fight back."

Minerva decided not to make a comment about the fact that she had no fear about fighting back. She was too upset. "But what am I going to do? I'm a prefect, Tom. Those sixth years. They saw me and they'll tell everyone. I'll be sacked for sure."

Tom rolled his eyes. This was not the reasonable Minerva McGonagall he was used to dealing with. "First of all, you cannot get sacked from a non-paying position. Secondly, I told them we were just practicing spells out on each other for a class. Thirdly, who cares? No one's going to care one whit if you hexed me into the next universe. It's me. I'm sodding Tom Riddle, for Merlin's sake."

"You covered for me?" Minerva asked. "Again?"

"Yes again," Tom answered in an annoyed tone. "And if I have to do it again, I am going to be very displeased, Miss McGonagall. What has gotten into you? Out at all hours of the night and using magic outside the classroom? And you call yourself a prefect." Minerva looked as though she was going to cry again, until she noted the teasing tone in Tom's voice. She smiled slightly through her tears and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. You're right. It will never happen again."

Tom grinned at her waywardly. "Well…if it happens to lead to you putting your head on my shoulder, I'm going to have to insist that it does happen again."

Minerva bit her lip. They sat in silence for a few moments as Tom ran his hand soothingly down her arm. "Why did you say that no one would care if I hexed you?" Minerva finally asked.

"I think you of all people would understand that," Tom scoffed.

"It's not true, you know. There are plenty of people who'd care."

"Name three."

"Fine, if you're going to be difficult. Avery and Lestrange, of course."

"They have no choice."

"They do too. Dumbledore, Dippet, Slughorn."

"Also have no choice. They're teachers."

"I'd care."

"Of course you would. You'd be the one throwing the hexes."

Minerva folded her arms and leaned towards him stubbornly. "Why are you being so difficult, Riddle?"

Tom mimicked her and folded his arms as well. "Because you make it so easy, McGonagall." They frowned at each other for a few moments. Tom sent her a small grin. He quickly took her face in his hands and, before she could protest, slammed his lips against hers. Sparks shot through to his fingertips as she allowed herself to be pulled in closer. Tom inhaled sharply.

He slithered his hand down to the small of her back. She gasped slightly at the contact and pulled away. Tom touched his forehead against hers. "I also think that your eyes look beautiful when you're angry," he added. He kissed her lightly on the lips and strode from the room.

Minerva took a few deep breaths to analyze the situation. Tom Riddle had kissed her - really kissed her. And then he had left, again. No. He was not going to get away with that this time. She pulled herself up out of the chair and rushed after him. He was just reaching the end of the hallway when she appeared.

"Tom Riddle, don't you dare walk away from me," she said stubbornly. He stopped and turned.

"Whatever do you need, Miss McGonagall?" he asked slyly.

"I want you to explain," she huffed as she stomped towards him, "what in Merlin's name that was!"

"That?" he asked innocently. "You're going to have to explain whatever it is you are attempting to describe more eloquently than 'that.' I'm afraid I don't know what 'that' you're talking about."

Minerva shoved her hands into her pockets. He was not going to make this easy, was he?

"You know perfectly well what 'that' I'm speaking of."

"Oh do I? How about you enlighten me?"

"Tom! Don't be a such a beast! You know exactly what I'm referring to."

Tom grinned. "Well, if you can't tell me in words, I'm afraid you'll just have to show me."

Minerva stomped angrily on the floor. "The kiss, you fiend. That little thing you kindly bestowed upon me, without my consent I might add, in the empty classroom two minutes ago."

"Oh, well you've answered your own question. It was a kiss." Tom grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "You really are a smart little witch, aren't you?"

"Tom -" she warned.

"What, Miss McGonagall?"

Her face relaxed. "I suppose I'm more asking why, than what."

Tom continued to hold her hand. "I think it would be easier to explain why not. The list of whys is much to long. Let's see. You're intelligent, witty, charming, a formidable opponent, a bloody good quidditch player, driven, and oh so deliciously beautiful I can hardly take my eyes off you." Minerva was stunned. She had been looking more for - well, not that for sure.

"Do you wish me to continue? The list goes on. I wouldn't want you lose sleep as I ramble."

"No," Minerva said dizzily. "I think that covers it." She walked past in in a daze up towards the Gryffindor commons.

"May I escort you home, milady?" Tom asked happily.

Minerva nodded, unable to speak. The past few days had been a bit too much for her to handle. Minerva fit her fingers into the crook of his arm as it was offered to her. They walked slowly up to Gryffindor tower, not meeting anyone in the halls. Minerva mused vaguely that everyone was at dinner. They approached the portrait of the fat lady and Minerva muttered, "Anser Capistro." The door swung open.

"Good night, Minerva," he said. She slowly released his arm from her grasp.

"Tom, I…"

"I'll see you in the morning. Get some rest. Make sure you wake all your roommates up if you have another bad dream."

"Tom."

"For me?" he pleaded.

Minerva sighed at his inability to sustain as serious conversation with her. "Goodnight Tom."

She entered the portrait and it closed tightly behind her.