Along Came Riddle

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, do you really think Tom/Minerva would be just fanon?
Dedication: To my betas Alastair/Shev (my British see fu) and Melissa/solemnlyswearx (my grammar goddess).

Along Came Riddle

Chapter One: "My hair is not liquorice!"

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a learning institute moulding many minds; a school which was the foundation of British Wizarding society, and all successors of its glory. Hogwarts was a place where students of all types, loyal and true; brave and noble; ambitious and clever; wise and intelligent, could find ease in its walls purely to learn the world of magic. A place of wonder, maturity, harmony and--

"For heaven's sake, Janet! If you suck on my hair one more time, I'm going to shove this bottle up your--"

"Miss McGonagall! Language!"

Clearly, Hogwarts was full of it.

Professor Slughorn raised his eyebrows, surprised that one of his prized students threatened her fellow peers with the prospect of having 'Draught of Peace' shoved up their anal cavity. For the past few weeks, Miss McGonagall had been slacking in his classes and shouting several curses in the name of all that was holy, for god knows what reason. He pondered this for a moment, wondering if Miss McGonagall was suffering from one of those...nervous breakdowns? Or maybe a case of severe menstruation?

He shuddered at the thought of having to bring that subject up.

Women.

"Miss McGonagall, I'd advise you to restrain yourself from any more foul language or threatening the students in my classroom. From now on you are to behave yourself, or you will lose house points and be sent to Madam Pomfrey for examination. Have I made myself clear?"

Minerva scowled slightly, but quickly formed it into a compromising stern expression. She was getting used to doing that.

"Yes, Sir," she retorted in a stale tone, fighting the urge to add, 'If Janet promises to keep her mouth away from me, I won't have to destroy her womanhood to sustain my sanity.'

Minerva was fuming. It was the third time this Potions session Janet Lovegood had distracted her, who happened to have a strange obsession with her hair--to put it lightly. Minerva didn't know when it had started, but for some reason that girl decided one day Minerva's perfectly arranged bun was both edible and deserved to be braided and loved as if it were a living thing. And Janet had been able to effectively distract and piss off Minerva ever since.

Of course, her grades slipping because of constant hair harassment had made an already ruffled Minerva McGonagall even more unstable. It didn't help that no one seemed to catch Janet Lovegood committing these odd, even daresay inhumane crimes against her privacy and personal space.

Or perhaps they were all sadists.

Minerva groaned into her cauldron, wishing she had a Pensieve right now. Then, and only then, could she be justified by catching Janet in the act.

"Do you think blimpie sweat is called for in the recipe for 'Draught of Peace'? They're quite peaceful creatures, you know. And their sweat can make you fly if you think of running in the moonlight."

Minerva gaped at her partner Janet with an expression that stated, 'What exactly are you on, child?'

"Blimpie--what?"

"Oh, that's all right. The blimpies will forgive you for your ignorance, Minerva. They are humble creatures."

Minerva continued staring at her fellow Gryffindor as if she had never seen her before, questioning if Janet was just a figment of her imagination and that she was really in St. Mungo's on permanent leave. The girl was weird, and no one seemed to do a damned thing about it. You had to wonder.

She then straightened her bun with her twitchy fingers and proceeded to get rid of the creases in her robes. Minerva was planning on seeing Bartemius Crouch after class, and the last thing she wanted was to look distressed and shabby. The man liked order.

Catching herself, with a 'get back to work' cough from Slughorn, Minerva went back to brewing 'Draught of Peace' with Janet, who had somehow finished the potion, much to Minerva's surprise and suspicion. She looked more closely into the potion being stirred by magic; the colour was clear and perfect...but the smell...

"Strange. Did you make sure to add the moonstones, Janet?" Minerva straightened her glasses to look at Janet more properly; for some reason this didn't seem right.

Janet shrugged, finishing her Charms essay while Minerva's stomach seemed to quiver. It sensed something she didn't. Janet sighed, "I told you about the blimpie sweat, didn't I?"

BOOM!

A blast of clear, sticky substance could be seen coating the masses of students, all repulsed by its stench and the fact that it didn't seem to come off as one would hope. Minerva looked down at her robes in disgust. They were now oozing with jelly-like gunk that smelled of toilet water. And everyone, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike (excluding Janet who was busy sucking on her quill) was looking at her. Each of those faces showed the deepest urge to strangle Minerva until kingdom come.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss McGonagall. Really, I expected better from you," Slughorn said with disappointment, charming off the goo on his walrus moustache. He was frowning at her, giving Minerva a feeling that she was not going to like what he would say after class.

Abraxas Malfoy strolled up to her cauldron, a huge sneer on his face as he drawled, "Ugh, you forgot to add the moonstones, didn't you?" He then strutted away quickly to his fellow Slytherins, nauseated by the stink of the cauldron.

Janet, I'm going to kill you.

After the class spent the rest of their period cleaning up the remains of the potion and the stench, Slughorn waved them out. Well, he waved out most of them.

"Miss McGonagall, may I have a word with you?" In teacher terms, this meant, 'Listen to me or die.' Minerva growled lowly to herself then trudged over to Slughorn's desk, hoping that she wasn't giving away her temper again.

"Yes, Sir? What do you wish to discuss?" She tried to sound calm, but her body would blow up soon if she didn't vent on something fast.

"First of all--sit down, Miss McGonagall; I'm afraid you won't be leaving very shortly. First of all, your performance has changed for the worse recently--what with your behaviour in class, and with your current marks--"

"Sir, I promise I'll make it up! I've just been...distracted lately. I'm really sorry--"

"I'm afraid 'sorry' won't cut it anymore, Miss McGonagall. I can't have you being a disturbance to my other students... And your marks have gone from 'O's and 'E's to well, not very flattering ones. I've been giving you a great deal of leniency as it is, however I cannot do this anymore. You are a wonderful student to have, Miss McGonagall. And your previous marks are what got you into my Advanced Potions in the first place, but if you don't improve soon, you won't be able to pass my class."

Minerva and Slughorn stared at each other for a moment; her anger and frustration coming to a halt, now replaced with worry and anxiety. She was going to fail the class. She was a straight 'O' student, and she was going to fail the class--she couldn't fail--she'd never be able to live it down. Ever.

"Sir...is there anything I can do?" Her eyes were sincere at these words, and Slughorn knew it.

"There is...one thing you can do to get your marks to at least a passing grade, since we're only ten weeks into the year. Though, you have to work very hard, and there will be no more fooling around in my classroom, understood?" Slughorn gazed at her in deep thought, and Minerva wondered why it looked like his face struggled not to grin.

"I will work hard, Sir. And I won't cause any more trouble in your class! You have my word," she promised, curious what he had in mind.

"I have a certain student who would be willing to tutor you. He's very talented, very talented indeed. He has surpassed N.E.W.T. level Potion requirements already, which is quite remarkable for his age. I'm sure you two would get along; he's a very charming, young man. And he is in fact, heading to this classroom this very minute, to help me correct some Potions essays--sixth-year essays."

Minerva's eyes widened in anticipation, wishing with the faintest notion it was who she thought it was.

"Are you speaking of Bartemius Crouch, Sir? The Ravenclaw Head Boy?"

The door creaked open, revealing a tall silhouette softened by evening's light. And as the figure walked towards them, it was, of course, not Bartemius Crouch who stared back at her. Instead of peering into grey eyes that were graced with a sense of dignity but also a sense of pride, she saw dark eyes that were calculating and demanded respect from those around them. Blue and bronze robes were replaced with green and silver, which were wrinkle-free and seemingly perfect.

"Miss McGonagall, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to Tom Riddle."