This Supposed Crime
by Riley

"This could get messy,

But you don't seem to mind

Now don't go telling everybody,

And overlook this supposed crime"

--- Alanis Morissette, "Hands Clean"

The young man who stepped off the Knight Bus was older-looking than she had remembered, though only five years had passed--- hardly time for a profound change, among the long-lived wizarding race. Yet she could see the lines around his eyes, the shadows within, that spoke of age measured in experience, not years.

And not all of those experiences pleasant, she'd wager.

Then he spotted her, and smiled--- and the years melted away. "Minerva!"

"Tom!" Minerva McGonagall ducked through the quintessential crowd of Diagon Alley as the Knight Bus moved off.

Tom Riddle set down his valise and caught her in his arms. The embrace was brief, but intense; though he let her go after a moment, he still kept hold of one hand. "Minerva. I've missed you."

"Then why didn't you come home?" she asked, only half-teasing, as they walked down the street together. "You know I'd have been glad to see you."

Was it her imagination, or did his face darken at that? "I've been... studying." He looked away, then back at her, smiling. "And I'll tell you all about it--- once I've had a chance to recover from the trip---"

She laughed; the Knight Bus was never a pleasant ride. "All right, then--- come along." She tugged his hand to lead him.

*****

It was her flat they went to--- working for the Ministry in a hazardous division like Transfiguration, she could command a rather impressive salary.

Tom, from the expression on his face, approved--- though he did raise an eyebrow when she showed him the master bath. "A Roman bath? Minerva, how decadent."

She couldn't control a grin. "I got used to the facilities at Hogwarts--- and my shoulders appreciate it when I come back from pulling a two-day shift."

The look he gave her now was sympathetic. "Two days? You're underpaid, then."

She laughed. "I haven't told you what I draw."

His lips twitched playfully. "I don't care if it's more than the Minister himself--- you deserve better." He started to pull her in for a kiss, then stopped, ruefully. "And certainly better than my travel-grimed self." He shot a longing glance at the tub. "I don't suppose you'd mind if I made use of this delightful apparatus?"

"That's what it's there for!" she laughed, feeling more light-hearted than she had in weeks: Tom was home. With her.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd stay this time....

She pushed that thought out of her head, began unfastening her robes. Tom, undoing the clasps of his own, looked up in surprise. "I'm going to join you, of course," she said matter-of-factly, and got a delighted grin in return.

The bath, like the one at Hogwarts, filled quickly, and they sank into the hot water together. Tom leaned back against the soft sides of the bath and closed his eyes in relief. "That's wonderful---" he half-opened one eye, smiled slightly. "Yet another advantage we have over Muggles--- their baths don't have soft sides."

"Most wizarding tubs don't either," she pointed out with a hint of asperity. "It takes a master Shifter to manage that spell without causing leaks---"

He smiled. "Then I'm fortunate to be in the home of a master Shifter like yourself." Refusing, she noted with some relief, to pick up their old argument. Perhaps he didn't want to spoil their reunion any more than she did.

"Is that where you were, then?" she asked after a moment, "with the Muggles?"

He snorted. "You know me better than that." He slouched down in the tub, ducking under the hot water, then came up, thoroughly wet. "I've been... studying." He reached for the soap.

"Studying what?"

His smile was almost... febrile. "I'll show you--- I'm sure you of all people will appreciate what I've learned---" he broke off, laughing. "After, that is, I've had a chance to get clean."

Minerva smiled in spite of herself. Tom was perhaps the most fastidious individual she'd ever encountered--- even in school, he'd preferred to take at least two baths a day. "Want me to wash your back for you?" she offered, and was rewarded with a gleam of invitation in his eyes.

And she did. And he returned the favor. After which they sat together, quietly, him leaning against the wall of the tub, her resting in his arms.

There would be time for more, later. A reunion should be special.

His lips brushed the crown of her head, thoughtfully. "D'you want to see what I've been studying, then?"

She opened her mouth to say yes--- and a wave of cold swept over her. Minerva didn't give much credence to the notion of Divination--- but she could have sworn there was an icy hand at her back. And not for the world could she have asked him, then. "Are you sure you've--- rested enough?" she asked, leaning back and looking up at him with what she hoped was a playful glance.

"Business before pleasure--- my Nerve." He smiled slightly, bending to kiss her neck.

She laughed at the old pet name. "Have you eaten, then--- we can talk over dinner," she added, trying to banish the premonition of doom, certainly to keep him from sensing it.

For a moment, he looked down at her, intently, as if he could see through her. Then--- "All right."

*****

Dinner was a simple enough affair; the building had three house-elves to serve the tenants, but Minerva tended not to make many demands on them, not least out of consideration for the fact that the gourmand in the flat below her ran the poor things ragged. And for this evening, at least, Tom insisted that a cold supper was all he could manage after the trip.

So they curled on her sofa with a plate of cold meats and cheeses and some very crusty rye bread, a jug of wine... and his studies.

"It wasn't anything like an organized course of study," he explained to her. "Mostly, it's been a matter of learning things that Hogwarts doesn't teach--- things I'd probably have learned at home," he added darkly, "if Mother hadn't cut herself off from her family to marry... my father." The last two words said with his usual dose of bitterness.

She rested a hand gently on his thigh. "Your Slytherin heritage, then?" He'd been obsessed with it at school--- first his grandfather's fortune, then the Chamber of Secrets....

He chuckled. "That's where I started, at least--- trying to unearth some of Salazar's legacy---" for a moment, his eyes darkened, and she couldn't fathom what was behind them. "But then---" he took her hand, turning to her with that febrile light in his eyes. "Minerva, I've found something else. Something better."

She forced a laugh, startled by his sudden intensity. "What could be better, for Slytherin's Heir?"

He smiled, but his eyes still burned. "Immortality, for one thing."

She blinked. "What, have you started in on alchemy, now?"

He shook his head. "The Philosopher's Stone is of... limited use. The Elixir of Life, you see, is only... temporary; each dose wears off after a few months." He set his wine glass aside, clasped her arms. "But Minerva, I think it might be possible to achieve a more... permanent effect."

His enthusiasm was catching; she found herself drawn in to it. "How?"

His smile was secretive. "Let me show you."

*****

They were at it for hours, with the diagrams and books he'd brought in his valise. Arithmantic equations, formulae for potions and alchemical compounds, and---"

"The part I think will interest you the most, Minerva," he said with a smile. "Transfiguration. Shapechanging--- rather like the business the Ministry's had you lot working on--- only---" he smirked--- "more complicated."

"More complicated." She raised an eyebrow at him.

And got another set of explanations, which this time left her feeling... profoundly uneasy. Not that what she and the other Shifters did was precisely safe... but this had the feel of something... darker. As if here was something he wasn't telling her.

But she didn't want to press him. Not now. Not on his first evening home--- their first evening together in five years.

"It's late," she said finally. "Perhaps we could carry on tomorrow?"

And he'd stopped, looking balky for a moment... then his eyes met hers and he smiled. "Of a certainty."

And drew her close to him and covered her mouth with his.

*****

Much later, in her bedroom.

She woke to find the big four-poster empty; for a moment was disoriented. Wasn't Tom supposed to be here---?

And so he was--- black-and-white silhouette in the window seat, one knee tucked up to his chest for a chinrest, looking out at the moonlight.

Silently she got up, collected the top of the pair of pyjamas (the pants being otherwise occupied by their original owner at the moment) and padded over to the window seat. He didn't look up.

She sat down across from him, reaching out to claim his hands. "Knut for your thoughts."

Now he did look up, his face all planes and angles in the moonlight, serious and earnest and intense. "Minerva." He freed one hand, stroked her hair back from her face. "My Nerve."

She smiled slightly, reached up in turn to cup his cheek. "What is it, then?"

For a moment, he didn't answer, looking away in the darkness. Then, slowly, he turned back, looking down at her.

"Are you going to speak to anyone at the Ministry, then?" His voice was soft, gentle, empty of emotion. Waiting.

No need to ask what he meant. She thought again, hopelessly, of the parchments and books lying downstairs on her coffee table.

Classified at best. Restricted at worst--- the kinds of things even the Shifters weren't to dabble in. And Merlin knew they "dabbled" in a great deal.

But who was she to judge him? How was she to judge him? After what the Shifters had done?

Transfiguration experiments on prisoners. At Ministry orders. Purely for punishment, some of it--- no scientific value.

At least Tom seemed bent on a worthwhile end. And most of the experiments, however dark they were, seemed to involve working on himself.

Silently, she shook her head. He smiled then, reached out to cup her cheek. "My Nerve." Soft twinkle in the green eyes, the light she loved to see.

He stroked her face with his fingertips, slid a hand back to tangle in her hair, coming down from its loose braid. "You're the best of the Shifters," he said softly, not a question.

She started, violently--- because the ratings had come down from the Department of Mysteries only last week. With her name at the top of the list. "How did you---"

"Never mind how I know." Slight snap to his voice, then it softened. "It was never simply your beauty that drew me to you, Minerva. I'd never have loved a witch who couldn't best me at something that mattered."

She trembled at the words, at the lavish compliments--- all the richer for their lack of overt romance. They were, after all, two of a kind.

"You're the best," he repeated steadily. "And I--- there are those things at which I too intend to be... the best." Shadow in his eyes for a moment.

"And those would be?" She heard the slight snap to her voice, and it frightened her.

He looked down at her intently. "You know the answer to that."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then she looked up at him. "What are you saying, Tom?"

He clasped her shoulders firmly, gently. "Do you want to come with me into this?" he asked seriously, earnestly. "Do you want to come with me into this now?"

She looked into his eyes, and knew it for what it was.

A final offer. If she accepted, they would be together--- partners, forever.

If not, he would take his leave of her and that would be the end of them.

And she could not rid her thoughts of the implications of his work.

She looked up at him, helplessly, the no impossible and the yes too horrible.

But she did not need to speak. The deep dark eyes on hers knew and understood.

He nodded, once, almost sadly. Then, very gently, he drew her into his arms, against his chest, and held her close.

She could feel the erratic catch of his breathing, knew a moment of deep pain and deeper remorse. In that moment, had he asked her again, she would have said yes, would have followed him into darkness with all her heart, if only to still that terrible ache in both their souls.

He knew; he could not help but know. But he did not ask.

It gave her hope for a moment, that he had not fallen so far into darkness that he would stoop to such manipulation.

But he had always been proud. Perhaps it was only that.

And for a long time, they sat together in the window, holding each other, until very gently, he pushed her back, and stood, and led her back to bed with him.

*****

In the morning, he was gone.

She had not expected otherwise.

But oh, it hurt.

And she knew, even as she curled in the bed that still smelled of his warm clean skin, that it would never--- really--- stop hurting.