It was odd how a person could go to school with someone for six years and never speak to them. True, he was a Slytherin and she was a Gryffindor, but they were both top students, both quidditch players, both wizards. At some point their paths should have crossed along the ever changing corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but they never had. Not until Tom Riddle was late to transfiguration.

Minerva sat in the back of class, her boots kicked onto the table. Nobody else ever sat there. Just how she liked it. Everything Professor Dumbledore said she already knew and the class struggled with. So Minerva McGonagall lounged in the back turning pieces of parchment into tiny mice. Sometimes she'd let them go and watch the other students jump out of their chairs.

Professor Dumbledore was speaking when the door screeched open like an injured house-elf. Somebody needed to use a greasing spell on that thing before half of Hogwarts went deaf. Minerva lifted her eyes instinctively toward the sound. Tom Riddle shuffled inside the classroom. Dumbledore eyed him suspiciously.

"Sorry, I'm late," he muttered. Since when did Tom Riddle show up late to class? Dark circles ringed his drooping blue eyes and with a yawn, he searched the classroom for a seat. They were all occupied save the wobbly one Minerva was using for her books. Minerva rolled her eyes and muttered a quick spell. The books floated up and smacked down on the desktop. A small smirk appeared on Riddle's face.

He sat down beside her. As he shrugged out of his robe, she could smell him - like old books and butterbeer. Though Minerva had never spoken to Riddle, she'd seen him around the school. He always looked cold, a bit lifeless. She never thought a Slytherin would smell so warm, so… inviting.

Riddle yawned again and then ran his hand through his wavy brown hair.

"You look tired," Minerva whispered. "Did you not sleep well last night?" It would be weird if she didn't talk to him, right?

Riddle flipped open his textbook without paying the slightest attention to her.

"No, Minerva," she lowered her voice so it was like a boy's. "I didn't sleep well last night."

His electric blue eyes shot to her and then drifted away.

"That's too bad," she said. The voice she used for herself was strangely higher in this re-enactment. "Why were you up so late? Studying?"

The corners of his cheeks raised like he was fighting to hold in a smile. Tom Riddle never smiled. Smirked, maybe. Sneered, certainly. But smiled. Never.

Her voice lowered again, pretending to be Riddle… Tom. "I was doing some knitting, then I ran out of yarn, and you can't just stop knitting in the middle of a pair of mittens so I started asking to see if anyone had any yarn and…"

Tom snickered then he started cracking up. His normally cool and placid face was scrunched up and bright red. Tom's abandoned reaction caused a new heat to build in Minerva, staring at her toes and rising all the way through her body like she was sinking in hot chocolate. She broke out into fits of laughter.

It must have been a sight to see (everyone was staring at them). The top two students, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, huddled in the back of transfiguration in completely out-of-control laughter.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. Minerva and Tom shut up instantly.

"I didn't know this lecture was so amusing."

"Sorry, Professor," muttered Minerva, her face still hot from laughter and… something else. Tom's hand brushed hers as he reached for his quill and they both tensed at the sensation. Minerva was left handed and as they took notes, their arms would occasionally brush into the other person's. Neither one of them seemed to mind.

When class was over, Tom stood up without a word and collected his things. Minerva's face was still a deep shade of pink as the Slytherin walked out of the classroom.

Get a hold of yourself, Minerva thought, Get a hold of your crazy self.

That one moment with Tom was a fluke, a cosmic accident. The weekend passed and everything had gone back to normal. When Monday came, Minerva arrived at transfiguration first and sat in her regular seat. She considered plopping the books down on the chair, but laid them on the desk instead. She didn't want to be rude taking another person sea. There were still several minutes till class started when Tom walked in the door, looking bright eyed and refreshed. He wasn't late. There were plenty of other chairs. Unfortunately.

Someone fell down in the seat next to her. Old books and butterbeer. Tom Riddle. Against her will, Minerva's heart started pounding. He reached into his loose black cardigan and removed his wand. He flicked it and whispered an incantation Minerva did not recognize. Two crimson cashmere mittens appeared just below the tip of his wand. Without looking her way, he placed his hand on top of the mittens and pushed them toward her.

"I don't need to knit," he said coolly.

Her fingers smoothed the feathery fabric before she slipped them into the pocket of her cloak. They were practical. It was good sense to keep them.

Tom said nothing for the rest of class. He studied Dumbledore intently and took rapid notes. Minerva scribbled down notes as well. Their arms swept against each other. The silent agreement was that their arms could touch. They both took advantage of that agreement.

A sinking feeling settled in Minerva's stomach when class ended. Their little note-writing/arm dance had come to a close again. Tom packed all his things away with a determined sweep of his wand. He turned to Minerva and said, "You should wear those mittens when we go to Hogsmeade. It's supposed to be cold this weekend." He nodded curtly and swept out of the room. He looked… hot…when he walked out of a room.

Oh, boy.

Minerva reached into her cloak and touched the mittens. It would be an interesting Hogsmeade weekend.