A/N: During the Final Battle, Minerva faces off against her old flame, the most dangerous man in the world. Tom/Minerva. I do not own Harry Potter.

Submission for:

The Battlefield Wars: Battle #6 - Minerva McGonagall. Tom Riddle. Prompt - One of the characters meets the other character after a very long time when they once had a personal relationship.

Hogwarts Houses Challenges: Drabble Club - She always thought the best of him, even when he didn't deserve it.

Hogwarts Houses Challenges: The Quidditch Pitch - She was completely mesmerized.

Her breath catches in her throat as she slides to a halt on the red-painted stones. The battle dissolves around her, the shouted curses becoming muffled and the bright flashes of coloured lights blurring into nothing.

Minerva's fingernails dig into the soft flesh of her right palm as she grips her wand tightly. The ends of her graying hair tickle her face, her usual bun having become undone some moments ago. However, she feels none of these things as the chill settles into her bones. This chill is not caused by the night air, but the figure standing across from her.

She can't call him a person, for he has changed greatly from the last time she saw him many years ago. He is far from the boy who she met on her first day of Hogwarts, far from the teenager she had shared lessons with, far from the man she had fallen in love with.

He is a monster, his serpentine features reminding her of the horrid beasts she used to read about in her youth. His red eyes glimmer in the night as his mouth stretches over pointed, yellowing teeth.

"Good evening, my dear Minerva," he says, his voice soft and measured, but she can hear every word as it travels across the empty space between them. She always could.

Minerva had thought she had been the first person on the train, having begged her mother to take her as the sun had risen, but apparently, the boy sitting next to the window had gotten there before her. He wore Muggle clothes, the elbows patched with mismatched fabric, and his ankles showing awkwardly from the bottom of his pant-legs.

"Hello, do you mind if I sit here?" she asked, not waiting for answer as she stepped into the compartment.

He turned, his eyes looking out beneath his dark fringe before he looked away, mumbling under his breath.

Minerva tutted, catching the words easily in the small confines of the room. "Now, that's no way to make friends." She was never one to back down, and she wouldn't let this mean boy ruin her first day. She extended her hand towards the boy and said, "I'm Minerva."

He didn't even turn back around as he blew onto the glass, his breath condensing on cool glass before he wrote three letters. "Tom," he said softly, the only thing he said to her for the entire train ride.

"You don't get to call me that anymore," she says, her mouth flattening into a hard line as she raises her wand before her. She should have never spoken to him that day on the train. She should have just left well enough alone and found another space to sit.

A choking noise escapes his throat, and she realizes belatedly that he is laughing. He raises his own wand to match hers, before he cocks his head to the side. "Is that not your name, my dear?" he asks, his words polite, yet she can hear the mocking tone lying just beneath. "Unless you've decided to renounce that as well," he adds.

"Only those that I care about can call me by my name," she says, ignoring the last thing he said. She will not allow him to rile her up, especially at a time like this.

"I was once one of the people you cared about," he says, sneering at her as he stands a bit taller. "One could even say, 'friends'."

"We were more than friends," she whispers, thinking back on the moment she realized things were changing between them.

She was at another one of those stuffy parties that Professor Slughorn loved to hold for his golden students. Her excellent grades in Transfiguration and her proficiency on a broom had gotten her a place in his elusive Slug Club, as he called it, but right now, she wished she was anywhere but here. Her robes were uncomfortable, and she couldn't help but feel out of place when she stood next to the other girls.

"Having fun?" the boy asked on her right, the sarcasm practically dripping off the last word into the flute of champagne in her hand. He was Slughorn's prize possession, the smartest student of their year and also the prime contender for Headboy in a just a few years.

Who would have known that first meeting in the train would have led to the two of them being close friends. He was never one to mince words on things which bothered him, and his way of speaking had gotten them both in and out of trouble on more than one occasion. Tom challenged her in ways no one else did, picking her brain on all subjects and driving her to excel in those she fell short on.

"I wish I could leave," she said, her eyes straying to the girls standing a few feet away, their hands barely concealing their gossiping mouths as they appraised her appearance.

His eyes followed hers, and his mouth fell. He hated those girls almost as much she did. Most had tried more than once to get his attention, using all types of cheap, feminine tricks to appeal to his primal desires. But they never knew Tom like she did - he held no affection for anyone, ever, further than how he could use them.

But maybe, she didn't know Tom as well as she thought either, for she almost dropped her glass when he said, "Dance with me."

"What?" she said, sopping up the rivulets of champagne that flowed down her hand. "You don't know how to dance."

"On the contrary," he said, taking the flute and placing it on a nearby table before he pulled her into the middle of the room. "I know how to dance. I just don't like to."

"So why are you dancing?" she asked, slightly resisting his pull but unable to stop him.

"Because I also love to see others upset," he whispered, leaning into her ear as a new song started.

She almost gasped as his arm wrapped around her waist and he placed her hand on his shoulder. Her skin tingled where his fingers touched her bare arm as they moved to the music. She was completely mesmerized as he looked down at her, those dark eyes sparkling in the dim light of Slughorn's quarters.She had never stood so close to him, knowing just how much Tom valued his personal space, but the warmth which radiated from his chest was addictive.

"Look," he murmurred, rousing her from the dreamy state she had fallen into.

She lifted her head from his chest to see the other girls staring at her, many emotions flickering on their faces: shock, disappointment, but most evidently, jealousy.

"They're jealous of me?" she asked in surprise.

"Of course they are," he said, twirling her at the right moment before pulling her close again. "Your intelligence, athleticism and beauty has captured the heart of the elusive Tom Riddle."

Normally, she would have swatted him for such an arrogant comment, but not tonight. Tonight, she was a princess and the envy of all the girls at the ball. Tonight, she had been called intelligent, athletic and beautiful. Tonight, she had fallen head over heels for her best friend.

Without warning, they begin their dance, this one slightly different from the one they shared so many years ago. They stand further apart, their hands holding the cold, hard wood of their wands instead of each other. The sparks are not dancing on her skin like they were that night, but flying between them at alarming speeds.

They are evenly matched as he sends the various coloured balls of energy her way. Some she recognizes, helping her to determine whether it is better to block the spell or to avoid it completely. Some she has never seen before, some she knows are of his own creation, but she fights them with just as much dexterity. She knows him, she knows how his mind works, and he hasn't changed. She can still read him, just like before, and for some reason that makes her smile.

On the other hand, he is far from amused. Perspiration is visible on his pale skin, even from this distance. His chest heaves with exhaustion, for he no longer has the vitality lent from youth. His teeth are bared like a serpent trying to corner his prey, and his anger radiates off him in shockwaves, his desire to see her finally fall palpable.

"Just give in!" he shouts, twisting his body as he extends his right arm in one fluid motion, the sickly green light narrowly missing her and exploding a column a few feet behind her.

"No!" she shouts back, her own spells hitting the space he was standing just seconds before. "Not again!" She had made that mistake once before and look where it got her.

Ever since the night they shared together, dancing hand in hand as her affection grew stronger with every passing minute, she had started to see him in a different light, to see him ways other didn't.

They began to get closer, their discussions straying from purely educational and political topics, and venturing into more personal territories. They began to share their fears of the past, their worries of the present and their hopes for the future.

She cared enough about him that she thought to introduce him to her parents, though she knew the risk she would be taking by doing this, seeing as how their views on muggles and blood purity was so different. While she enjoyed the company of the muggles in her family, Tom however was disgusted by their presence. He'd grown up around enough of them to see what they were like, and had already seen enough of them to last a lifetime.

But if she hoped to turn this relationship into something further, she knew it had to be done.

"You want me to what?" he said, barely able to keep the disdain out of his voice.

"You could visit me over the holidays," she repeated, kneading her hands in her lap as she sat across from him. "We could take a walk around the village, and you could try my mum's..."

"Why would I want to spend my holidays with more Muggles than I have to?" he asked, interrupting her. "They're all filthy."

"No, they aren't," she said with a deep frown. "My father is a hard-working man who cares for his family, and all the neighbours are caring people."

"All muggles are scum and the world would be better without them," he said. "And I plan to do something about it, by any means necessary."

There was such finality and conviction in his tone that she couldn't resist the shudder that ran through her body. She had known Tom was ambitious and headstrong, he had views for a bigger, better world, but she never thought he meant something like this.

She rose from her seat and said, "Then you will have to do this on your own." And without a backward glance, she walked away, never to speak to him again.

Minerva screams as one of his spells hits the ground at her feet, throwing her into the air before she lands painfully on a pile of debris. Her vision swims as her head hits the stone, the sticky warmth of her own blood mixing with the dirt and grime. She tries to move, willing what little energy she has left to push herself to her feet, but nothing happens. Her strength is failing, and her body is weak.

His footsteps near her prone form, sharp and clear over whooshing of the blood through her own ears. He chuckles, a deep throaty sound reminding her of the boy with the silver tongue and the dark, mysterious eyes.

The footsteps stop and he gazes down at her, the corner of his mouth curling. Oh, forget about wands and magic. She wishes she could reach up and slap that smirk right off his disfigured face. Unfortunately, she can do nothing but lay there, watching him watch her as he raises his wand.

She closes her eyes, waiting to hear the fatal words. In all her years, she had never thought this was the way she would go, at the hands of the first boy she had ever given her heart to. But as the seconds stretch on, nothing happens. She can still feel the warm blood trapped in her. She can still breathe, the muscles of her chest aching though still able to expand and relax.

She opens her eyes and he is still standing there, his wand pointed almost carelessly at her, as he looks beyond the features of her face. Her mouth opens, ready to question his hesitance, something she had never known him to do, when he suddenly stumbles back. He sheathes his wand and without a word, disappears in a cloud of black smoke.

It takes a few minutes for her to get enough strength to cast a distress flare into the sky. It takes even longer for her to understand why he spared her life.

The moonlight filtered through the small space of the curtains across the room. It was after hours in the Hospital Wing, but he couldn't stay away. He had to see her, he had to know that she was all right.

Quidditch was such a brutal sport. He never understood why she ever pursued it but she definitely good at what she loved. She moved through the air with such grace and beauty, even he found it hard to look away.

His heart jumped in his chest as he thought back to what had happened during the last few moments of the match. The score was close, and usual, his Slytherins had begun to play dirty. The quaffle was tucked under arm as she ducked one, two, and three green-clad Chasers. She was ready to score when a bludger came right for her head.

The sound of the iron ball against her skull was sickening. The sound of her hitting the ground was worse. Around him, his colleagues were whispering, jeering, laughing but he remained silent. Her body was broken, her right leg bending at an odd angle while her blood painted the grass beneath her red.

Now she laid here in this pristine white bed, her body wrapped in white bandages, lost in a potion-induced sleep while her body healed. The feelings of today were like those he felt the day she walked away.

He remembered the pain he caused, the hurt he saw in her eyes the day they broke up. He knew they never truly saw eye to eye, but she always thought the best of him, even when he didn't deserve it.

"You will never hurt again, Minerva," he whispered, his hand caressing her soft cheek. "I will never cause your pain."