Chapter Four

One annoyance Minerva had not counted on when she had decided to remain at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays was Tom Riddle.

In her happiness at the prospect of two weeks of private study with Professor Dumbledore, she had forgotten that Tom would also remain at Hogwarts over the holiday, and was only reminded of that fact when he had appeared for breakfast in the Great Hall the first Saturday. Given the small number of students who remained at school over Christmas, Headmaster Dippet had invited them all to gather at the High Table for meals rather than at the large, empty House tables. This was not an entirely welcome invitation for some of the "holiday remainders", as the group would take to calling themselves; the prospect of eating one's meals right under the eyes of one's professors would cause a few of them to lose their appetites to nerves. For Minerva, however, it was a welcome chance to listen in on, and even participate in, the adults' conversation. She eventually found that the professors' casual chatter was not much more enthralling than her schoolmates', but the opportunity to sit near Professor Dumbledore...just to be in his presence...was a lovely consolation.

When Tom spied Minerva's back...she was sitting across from Professor Dumbledore...he recognised her immediately and strode up to her. "Minerva! I didn't expect to see you here! Do you mind?" he asked as he prepared to take the empty seat to her left.

"Oh, certainly, Tom," she replied, just barely concealing her irritation as he took his seat.

"Change of plans?" he enquired.

"Yes. I decided to stay on to take on some extra lessons," she said, not wanting to be too specific, although she wasn't sure just why. Professor Dumbledore had never stipulated that their lessons should be kept secret.

"Well, I hope your extra lessons will leave a bit of time for us to spend in Hogsmeade," Tom said. "It can be really lovely at Christmastime, and I'd enjoy showing it to you."

Oh, he was annoying! As if she needed to be escorted around the village like a tourist. She had, after all, been visiting Hogsmeade for two years before he ever saw the place.

"Mmm," she said in answer, taking a bite of her toast and marmalade. She continued, for the remainder of the meal, to give one-word answers to Tom's questions and comments.

"So I was thinking of joining the wizard chess club," Tom was saying. "I never learned to play the Muggle version in the orphanage, of course, but since learning the wizard's version after coming to Hogwarts, I've found I really enjoy it. If I do say so, I've gotten pretty good, but now it's hard to find anyone who's . . . well . . . quite up to my level." He had the good sense to appear embarrassed by his own boast. When no comment was forthcoming from Minerva, he continued with a syrupy smile, "What do you think? Should I join? Of course, it wouldn't hurt if you'd consent to give me some tips, or practice with me . . ."

"Why don't you ask Olive Hornby? She's in the club, and as she's a Slytherin, you could practice in the evenings right in your own common room. Besides, I'm sure she has much more free time than I do," said Minerva without quite looking at him.

Professor Dumbledore, who had been quietly observing the exchange in between words with Silvanus Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures professor, had to bite back a smile. Minerva could really be quite wicked at times. Olive Hornby was a singularly unattractive and waspish girl, and rather dull besides. Moreover, since the previous year, she had gained a reputation for oddness, as she claimed she was being tormented by the ghost of the girl who had died during the Chamber of Secrets trouble...trouble that Tom Riddle had put an end to, of course. The oblique suggestion that popular, handsome Tom Riddle pair up with the likes of Olive Hornby was certainly calculated to annoy him.

Dumbledore noticed a shadow pass briefly over Riddle's face, but the boy quickly recovered his charming air. "I'm sure you'd make a far better teacher, Minerva," Tom said, his voice lowered, hinting ever so slightly at something not quite proper.

"Well, Tom!" Professor Dumbledore interjected brightly. "What's the gossip in the Slytherin common room these days?"

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know, Professor," said Tom, his voice clearly implying that Dumbledore's question was insulting.

"That's a shame. I, for one, have always enjoyed a bit of gossip; it can be most illuminating. For example, only last week, I heard that young Miss Borgin was planning to slip a Love Potion into your morning pumpkin juice," said Professor Dumbledore.

"That would be highly inadvisable," Tom said coldly.

"Yes, I imagine it can be quite tiresome to have to fight off unwanted advances all the time," said Dumbledore, looking directly at him.

The sodding old codger! Was he warning Tom away from Minerva? What business was it of his if Tom wanted to court her?

"Well, I must be off. Mr Riddle," said Professor Dumbledore, standing and nodding at Tom. "Miss McGonagall, always a pleasure."

Minerva finished her pumpkin juice, dabbed at her lips with a napkin, then folded it neatly on the table. She stood, saying, "I've got to be going too. Have a pleasant day, Tom." She walked away before he could ask her if he would see her at lunch.

Tom's eyes narrowed to an almost reptilian degree as he watched her walk out of the Great Hall. Why did this girl, out of all of them, seem to be the only one uninterested in him? Had he not been charming and complimentary? Did he not make an effort to be interested in the things that interested her? Or was it, perhaps, that she thought herself too good for him? She came from a well-regarded pure-blood family, while he was an orphan of no identifiable parentage...at least as far as anyone else knew. Certainly he had proven by now that his lineage, or lack thereof, was no impediment to magical prowess. Hadn't he? Perhaps he would need to arrange a greater display of his power to show her what he was worth.

As Tom Riddle left the Great Hall, his thoughts were on what sort of feats might be required to ensnare a girl like Minerva McGonagall.

/***/

Minerva didn't turn up for lunch in the Great Hall. She had decided to use her prerogative as Head Girl to request a sandwich in the Gryffindor common room so she again could go through the texts Professor Dumbledore had assigned her in preparation for the next day's tutorial. She had felt a slight pang when she realised she might be missing an opportunity to dine with her professor again, but it was counterbalanced by the thought of not having to listen to Tom Riddle's smarmy drivel.

She had been a bit nervous when she arrived for her first tutorial that Saturday, but Professor Dumbledore had put her at ease by arranging for them to sit in comfortable chairs across a tea table, just like colleagues, instead of across the large, intimidating desk that dominated the room.

She thought it had gone rather well, despite her bout of swottiness. Professor Dumbledore had seemed pleased with her and allowed their session to run overtime. Despite the nearly three hours she had just spent in his company, she found she was looking forward to seeing him at dinner. In fact, "looking forward" was something of an understatement. "Couldn't wait" would be a more accurate description of her feelings on the subject. Even the prospect of Tom Riddle's presence wasn't dampening her enthusiasm.

It had been odd at breakfast, though. She had felt more than usually irritated by Tom's false courtliness, and she had had the sense that Professor Dumbledore was watching them more closely than he had let on. His remark about unwanted attention had certainly been pointed enough. She wasn't sure how she felt about his witnessing Tom's attentions to her. On the one hand, she didn't want him to think she would ever consider taking up with the likes of Tom Riddle, but on the other? She had to admit that having Professor Dumbledore see that the handsomest, most popular boy at Hogwarts was interested in her was . . . titillating. She didn't expect her professor to be jealous...how could he be?...but part of her liked the idea that he would see that another man found her enticing as a female. She could admit that much to herself, couldn't she? It wasn't as though she wanted Professor Dumbledore to find her so...of course not...but she would like him to find her . . . interesting . . . as a person as well as a student.

She tried to keep herself from being disappointed when, at dinner, Professor Dumbledore seated himself several spaces down from her. Tom sat next to her again, but he seemed more subdued than he had at breakfast. In any event, she had a hard time concentrating on whatever he was prattling on about. Her attention kept floating to the end of the large table, where Professor Dumbledore was talking animatedly with Professor Merrythought. When she said something that made him laugh uproariously, and he put his hand on hers, Minerva suddenly lost her appetite.

"Minerva?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked if your extra lessons had started yet," said Tom.

"Oh, yes. Yesterday afternoon," she answered.

"What's the topic?" he enquired.

"Um, Transfiguration."

"I seriously doubt you need any extra help in that subject," Tom said, smiling, but there was something else behind his grin that made Minerva shiver internally.

"It's an advanced project," she said.

"Oh. You're helping Professor Dumbledore with his research?"

"Not exactly. He's helping me with something. I don't really want to go into it, though, Tom," she said, trying to sound more off-hand than she felt.

"I see. Top secret, eh?" said Tom, joking, but not.

"No, just complicated," she replied. "Will you excuse me, Tom? I had a late tea this afternoon and find I'm already full," she said, pushing her chair back and rising.

Once again, Riddle found himself watching her leave the Great Hall. So her project with Dumbledore was "too complicated" for him to understand? Now that was clearly a challenge. And Tom Riddle never shied away from a challenge.

As he accepted a second helping of trifle from Professor Merrythought, Albus watched Tom watch Minerva.