Summary: Student and Professor relationships are illegal. But Tom has watched Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall and knows they have feelings for each other. Wanting Dumbledore out of the way, Tom has an idea. But what exactly will the consequences be?

Rating: M

Warnings: Teacher/Student Ship, Femmeslash (only background)

Disclaimer: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall and Tom Riddle are such wonderful inventions, but sadly not mine. I own only the plot.

Author's Notes: Warning: teacher/student ship ahead!!! I put it in the warnings anyway but this is in case you don't bother to read them. I think it's obvious from the summary who it is.

Show Me Your Colours

Prelude: Tom

By Alexannah

On the whole human beings want to be good, but not too good, and not quite all the time.
- George Orwell

"Riddle, will you pay attention please?"

I look up at the front of the class lazily. Dumbledore glares at me out of those fierce eyes of his. I admit they send a shiver down my spine.

"Carry on, Professor," I say calmly, leaning back in my seat.

He takes a deep breath as if counting to ten, then continues, looking away from me. "Now Mr Riddle has consented to join us in the real world, I have an announcement to make."

I listen with only mild interest to his talk about the annual Animagi Introduction Course. Every year he attends as a lecturer, and he always gives one of the hardest working NEWT pupils the chance to attend with him as a student, as long as they have both the talent and the enthusiasm. McGonagall is sitting straight up in her seat, eagerly drinking in every word. I have absolutely no doubt that she will be the chosen one this year; as top of the class straight-O student and Dumbledore's favourite, it will be a miracle otherwise.

I take the opportunity while the class is distracted to watch McGonagall. Although a Gryffindor, she is the best-looking girl in the year, and possibly – possibly? Probably – the school too. She rarely wears her long hair down, but today she hurried in late for class, admitting she overslept, and she didn't have time to plait it. The light streaming in from the windows shines on the waves, making them gleam almost blue. I sigh contentedly.


I jerk out of my daydream. Dumbledore is glaring at me again. I don't see why, as he knows perfectly well that I don't have the enthusiasm for the course. But he's been picking on me ever since the beginning of the year.

I raise my eyebrows innocently. "Sorry, Professor; carry on."

I resist the temptation to provoke him more. Dippet is another of the ignorant mass who practically worship the ground I walk on, and I have a wild dream of Dumbledore getting fired for picking on me. But it won't work. For some reason best known to themselves, Dumbledore and Dippet seem to have some strong bond of trust between them, and Dippet wouldn't even put him on probation. Sometimes I feel like Dumbledore and I are competing for the best reputation within the school.

Another dream I have is of bringing Dumbledore's – reputation, that is – crumbling down, but to do that I'd really have to dig up some dirt on him. Even Skeeter, the nosiest Slytherin in the school, hasn't been able to do that yet, and she was the one who pulled the plug on the 'secret' relationship between Sprout and Pomfrey last year. That didn't go down too well. As technically the girls had done nothing wrong, they couldn't be expelled, but their reputations are in tatters. The only people who talk to them now are Dippet, Dumbledore (bloody Mudblood-lover), Rolanda Hooch and McGonagall.

I'm not saying I'm not capable of finding something, but the problem is is that there seems to be nothing to find. Dumbledore is too bloody honourable to try anything, even on McGonagall. Fortunately for me.

For the last five years, I only really noticed her for her reputation in Transfiguration and her lovely hair, which she's always had. But she'd always been a small, shy thing, not really worth my time. Then, last summer, she changed completely. I saw Dumbledore himself look at her twice as she entered his classroom. She'd grown taller, with a much more feminine figure, her face had lost its baby fat, and her eyes glittered mischievously. She suddenly had bags of confidence, and her beautiful hair was longer, thicker, and softer to the touch. She sits in front of me in Transfiguration and Charms, which is how I know this. She's never appeared to notice me brushing it gently with the tips of my fingers. The others have, though. Including Dumbledore.

She's always been his favourite, but in a different sense. Before he seemed much more father-like towards her, as if she was a little girl, but now he treats her like an adult – more so, I think, than the rest of the class.

I am not stupid. I know he's attracted to her. I am, too. But Dumbledore is not stupid, either – he knows he'll get fired if he tried anything. Not that he would anyway: as I said, he's far too honourable.

But to get him out of the way, I need him to lose the bleeding principles. Then once he's fired and out of the picture, I can make my move.

Unless, of course, I make my move before, and see him boil over. Yes, I like the sound of that. Then … what? Hope he gives himself away? Hardly. Dumbledore is, I hate to admit, a good actor. Not quite good enough for me, but enough so that McGonagall, intelligent though she is, cannot see through him.

I would have to do it myself. Set them up. Stage it. Make him give into his inner desires. And I would need proof. But, the question is, how …?