The Gold Puppet

Disclaimer: If only... *sighs dreamily and envision a life of... lands hard on her behind back in reality.* Don't own and getting no money for this. *growl* So, we cherish every review. *hint, hint*

By: Serpent In Red and Nerys

A/N: Thank you for reading, rating, and reviewing: Lady Miya, JaceDamian23, and Anon.

Anon: I am glad you’re enjoying this story written by me and Serpent In Red. I’d also liked to thank you for compliments for my other stories. And well, thanks for liking our (sobs: we wish) Voldemort, he is a fun character to write with all his total selfishness. And he is also a nice let-out for daily frustrations (well, I don’t know about Serp, but I use him like that. *sniggers*). And we do enjoy the high-powered romance, too – though, we do resent Hermione for getting all the fun. XD
There can never be enough gushing in the world. *winks* But we do feel the love and will, therefore, update now. Thank you for your review.

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The Gold Puppet

Chapter 11

For a while, Tom stared at the empty spot where Hermione Granger had just Disapparated with a virile, and yet, forlorn expression. He hadn't wanted to allow her to leave his side. She belonged with him. But he knew she would be more useful to him after she'd got her N.E.W.T.s. There was no doubt in his mind she would gain a position of power, and that, he could use for his benefit. His long cloak hung over his left arm. He'd almost let her Apparate away with it, so she would still be marked by his presence in some way.

But, just in a nick of time, he recalled what he had stashed in its pocket and it would not do if she found her petrified Horcrux. No doubt upon contact with her real life self, the soul inside the cup would have the expected response, because no spell could hold off something that powerful, and it was too soon for that to happen. Hermione was not ready for that yet.

However, he was getting closer and closer with her. In the end, she would be his.

Calmly, Tom undid the charm on his voice, knowing he wouldn't need it anymore, and he put his attention on the most enjoyable conversation he was ever going to have with Granger—ever since the time he allegedly made her fuck his snakelike self. But unlike that experience, this had been real.

"Had fun, too?" he asked the petrified soul tauntingly, knowing it would have heard and experienced everything Hermione had felt, too. "Oh so sorry; I forgot you couldn't talk," he mocked, sniggering.

He missed the bemused glances, the couple of giggles, and raised eyebrows that were sent his way by those who saw him talking to his cloak. Casually, he whirled it around his tall frame again, placing his wandhand in the pocket and stroking the smooth, cold surface of the gold cup before unpetrifying her wandlessly. Because he wanted to get to her, he left his hand there, tracing the rim of the cup with his index finger. The cup shuddered in his pocket, and he chuckled.

Oh, he was getting to her, alright.

But he wanted to hear what she had to say about her "personal" encounter with him, so he stopped caressing the cup, although he didn't remove his hand. It was far too enjoyable to show her who was in control here, and he absolutely loved the physical reaction inside himself whenever they had contact. It was obvious she felt the same way; she just didn't have his kind of expertise in not showing emotions and feelings to others. To his delight, the cup kept trembling in his hand, and ... (he frowned) was she—oh not again!—crying? If she was, he would give her something real to cry about in a second.

He spun on the spot and Disapparated into his flat. Tom yanked the cup from his cloak's pocket ready to curse it when he realised the cup wasn't crying; it was laughing, no, giggling, no, it was sniggering ... extremely gleefully.

Unexpected. Maybe nerves? Women were strange emotional creatures after all.

"What's so funny?" he enquired, not amused.

"J—Just wo—wo—wo—" she laughed louder before regaining her composure somewhat and continuing in a steadier voice, "I was just wondering who sorted you into Slytherin." She roared with laughter again. "You were right to try to burn the Sorting Hat. It's lost its touch decades ago."

Bemused, he planted the cup on the table where it danced on its feet in merriment to his utter irritation. Tom opened his mouth to say something, but of course Babble Granger beat him to it.

"A changed voice," she mocked. "Do you think that even counts as cunning?" She snorted. "Nooooo, now I will never figure out whom I had dinner with. Pfftttt..."

The cup twirled around in mocking delight.

A twinge of concern began to form in his chest, but he shut it away, because it was ridiculous. She was deliberately trying to make him doubt himself, so he would error. He wasn't falling for her manipulative tricks. Ignoring the dancing cup, he walked to the centre of the room where his shopping bag lay on the floor. He'd banished it to his flat after leaving the shop since he wouldn't want to be found dead having to carry stuff around for no good reason at all. He wasn't a wizard for nothing. He picked up the bag from Flourish and Blotts, containing two Arithmancy volumes, and put the books on the ruined dresser before he walked back to the cup—its deceptive ways weren't influencing him at all. So, he'd bought the book she'd suggested. He hadn't read it before; hence, it was no big deal. He liked to read new things, and a book couldn't harm him. It had nothing to do with what she tried to achieve now.

"You think I am dead, dear," he snarled, halting in front of the armchair. "There is absolutely no reason for you to think poor Seth MacDougal is Tom Riddle."

The cup laughed so hard at his words that it tipped over and rolled off the table. Furious, he caught it underneath his foot, wanting to stamp the insolent Mudblood in the ground. Alas, Horcruxes didn't destroy that easily. But he did sit down in the chair, keeping it contained underneath the sole of his shoe—right where she belonged.

"Were you even thinking with your brain when you decided to step into my path in Knockturn Alley?" the cup continued relentlessly. "Or did you keep that part of you at Hogwarts after graduation? Or ...," she laughed even more gleefully, "was your brain in the ring destroyed by Albus Dumbledore?" she accentuated the name on purpose. "It had to go somewhere. I haven't seen you use it much ... yet."

His wand made it to his hand and he twirled it between his fingers, while a cool expression appeared on his face.

Do continue little one, you will soon regret it.

Hermione's soul didn't need his incentive.

"Interesting wand you have there," she said lightly. "And so nice of you to flash it around in the pub underneath my nose. Didn't you ever consider Harry might have talked to me about the connection between your wand and his?"

Abruptly, his fingers froze and the wand halted in midtwirl.

The cup laughed.

"Apparently not," she mocked, not going too far with this since she knew perfectly well she'd never seen Tom Riddle's original wand before that encounter with his cup in the Chamber of Secrets. The few times she had seen Lord Voldemort cast he'd used the Elder Wand and Lucius's. Besides, Harry had only mentioned their cores were similar. He'd never described the outside to her. Well, there had been no need to. And knowing Riddle was a master in flushing out lies, she kept her statements in forms of questions or suggestions about what he had or hadn't considered.

Suddenly, Riddle smirked and started twirling again. "Nice try, Granger, but yew is a popular wood for wands and the core is invisible from the outside. So, as I previously stated, Lord Voldemort is dead and you have no reason to suspect the kind, helpful and caring Seth who made you feel soooo good," he added tauntingly.

"No, I have absolutely no reason to think that Tom Riddle could be Seth the orphan, who is dark-eyed, black-haired, pale, tall, handsome, with his long piano fingers, whose magic swirls around him like an aura, and whose looks have been described to me a thousand times, as well as his persona being charming, mesmerising, manipulative, powerful, and oh ... has some mood swings that, of course, I have never witnessed in Harry's behaviour, ever."

She laughed again.

"Yes, I am sure your altered voice will do the trick, Lord Voldemort," she squeaked his name in a bad imitation of his former cold, high-pitched voice. "I mean it's not like we don't know it has never changed before," she sneered sarcastically.

"And you just let me walk away after that." Another snort left the cup loudly. "I was sure you wouldn't let me go; I mean you couldn't possibly be that daft. Although, you did leave your sissy, girly diary in Lucius Malfoy's care, so ... maybe you never were that bright. I wouldn't even let a Malfoy watch over the crap that exits the rear end of my body, let alone a part of my soul. HAHAHAHA!"

He stamped on the feet of the cup, causing it to fly through the air. His hand whisked out and he caught it in front of his emotionless face. She stopped laughing, eventually, and waited expectantly.

Smiling broadly, Tom spoke softly, "I am afraid you're going to be very disappointed in yourself, Hermione, for it seems you are the one not using your brain ... in both parts of you."

"Oooo, do tell, do tell," she said in faux enthusiasm. If the cup would have been able to clap its ears as hands together, it would have done so. "Give me one of your "insightful" lessons on how the world operates. I sooooo love those, because wow, you are always sooooo right."

He ignored the high dose of sarcasm dripping from her voice like the stickiest honey. "You have no reason to believe Lord Voldemort has returned," he said sweetly.

"No reason," she replied snorting. "Let's see... Hagrid died; Slughorn died; Harry got an irremovable painting crash on his head; Ron's acting like an idiot."

He arched an eyebrow at that.

"Well, more so than normally," the cup continued between gritted teeth, "because I can't explain why at times. I am still having some blackouts and there was the hearing voices' issue, and, oh yeah, Ginny mentioned I was possessed by you. And Ginny keeps mentioning your name, due to your own stupidity with the potions you're feeding her, so you'll still be on the forefront of my mind every time I think of her. You make me come into the hospital on a regular basis, so you can "help" me with the voices and the blackouts. But you forget that every time I come into St. Mungo's, I am reminded of Ginny and her words, and therefore, of you. Gee, do you think that now that I've actually met you I may start to wonder about your identity and the truthfulness of Ginny's words once I have had a little time to consider "Seth" and everything that happened recently?"

It was very, very silent after that.

Triumphantly, Hermione continued, "And let's not forget that I have to take into account the over the top Reality Distortion Curse you used on me, making me experience being in your captivity, or the times I found myself snogging Healer Lewis as if I would ever, ever do something like that. And then, I let a complete stranger do to me what you did to me in an overly crowded area. Yeah, I will never connect the dots. You're perfectly safe now, Tom Marvolo Riddle," she ended, sniggering softly, enjoying the current situation she'd just laid out to him.

Tom couldn't help himself. Her words had made him concerned. She had a point. Crap, she had excellent points.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Why had he felt the need to step into her path when he saw her running towards him in distress? Why had he wanted to protect her from an encounter with Ron Weasley? Why had he taking her into that pub of all places, and then, proceeded to sit down at his old seat. If any of those fools in there decided to gain a backbone and contact her, she would know who Seth MacDougal really was. He knew it was highly unlikely since most of them had a dubious background and feared him tremendously, but still, one was enough.

Oh blasted, they could send her an anonymous letter. Maybe he should burn the place and everyone in it to the ground?

"Yeah, because that wouldn't get me to be suspicious," the cup's voice chimed in.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose and raised his mental walls to block her out, which to his utter revulsion became harder and harder to achieve. But he needed to think and he seemed to be unable to do that around her.

Blasted Mudblood and her conniving, scheming methods.

Really, what had the Sorting Hat been thinking? She was the bleeding poster girl for Slytherin with those characteristics. So, she was brave—big deal. He'd seen plenty of cowards in Gryffindor and more than enough unfortunate bravery in his House—bloody traitors.

He really, really regretted Snape got off so easily. His death had been far too expedient and not nearly expedient enough. He growled when he recalled how close Potter had been to him without him noticing, and why was he dwelling on that nonsense now?

Granger.

Dammit, he needed to focus on what could become an issue, not on what had been or should have been. Ugh.

Seth MacDougal ... what else had he risked by showing himself to the Mudblood like that?

Seth MacDougal's life story would be no problem. His blood-traitoring family really had been wiped out by Death Eaters, and he had killed the sole survivor to gain a new identity. The pureblood had had black hair and his eye colour, but he'd been a fat, pimpled fellow with glasses thicker than Sybill Trelawney's—utterly common, unattractive, and ... dumb. So, he could easily use the losing of weight, clearing of his skin, and getting his eyes done as an explanation as to why he seemed different.

Tom'd felt that having to drink Polyjuice Potion for one identity, and keeping one bloke alive in a closet for it, was more than he could stand.

There were only two major problems with Seth's identity. He'd been rather short and he'd been in Percy Weasley's year. Since he hadn't been a Prefect or anything else out of the ordinary, Granger would not have noticed Seth. After all, she'd had other things on her mind, better things, him. But if she mentioned Seth to that other blasted redhead, things could go wrong for him. Really, he should have castrated that breeding-like-bunnies couple during his first reign. Nothing but trouble came out of that insipid, meddlesome family.

"Still thinking about the errors of your ways?" a taunting bossy voice asked. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, I thought Lord Voldemort would have had a solution by now. Oh, but I forgot you only have two modus operandi, kill or torture." She giggled. "Oh please fill me in, did you get those high scores on your N.E.W.T.s through bribery or blackmail?" she paused. "Okay, okay, I suppose that makes four methods in total," she mock-admitted. "Let's see, kill, torture, bribery, blackmail ... mmm ... and ... oh, of course, getting whacked by Harry Potter," she ended triumphantly.

He threw the cup on the floor and glanced at the cup askew, not really keeping his attention on it, while the wheels in his mind turned. The twit continued her gleeful monologue, despite the pain she must be feeling from being thrown on the floor, and she was completely oblivious about what he was truly thinking.

"As if glaring at me will work? Oh sure! Glare at the stupid little Horcrux. Because that will certainly get all your problems solved. And, if in doubt, torture said cup; perhaps that will make everything work out. After all, a cup Horcrux is oh so scary. Pfft, not working, Tom Marvolo Riddle. The real life me is still out there. I will work this out."

She continued with her babbling, adding vulgar insults every now and then. He knew women should be kept away from pumpkin brains. The ridiculous language they picked up from him! It was annoying, really, especially when he was in the process of devising a plan.

Yesss, her words had given him an idea—he was sure that filthy, little Mudblood wouldn't be too pleased to hear about that—but she interrupted his thought process. So, he flicked his wand at the cup, causing it to start screaming at the top of her lungs again. A faint smile appeared on his previously impassive face and he relaxed. Such a delightful sound. It really did help him to think.

Slowly, he leaned forward in the chair he sat in and propped up his face with his hand, while he looked at the cup that rolled on the floor in pain. The smirk on his face became more and more pronounced as a plan started to take form in his mind.

"You know, Granger," he said softly, "do keep talking. I'm starting to see the value in what seemed like incessant gibberish."

He lifted his wand, stopping the curse, and allowed the cup to concentrate on what he was going to tell her next.

"I must thank you for reminding me how dangerous it is for the real life you to walk around freely, now that she saw me. Perhaps she can put two and two together one of these days. But that, does not matter any longer, because I will make sure that she will never be in the position to tell anyone what has happened."

The Horcrux remained quiet, but he could feel her fear, and oh, how he relished in it! His eyes glittered merrily. Tom was positive that if the cup had a heart, it would be beating erratically right about now, because she had no idea what he was talking about. And being in the unknown always caused fear in a person.

So he laughed, deciding to keep her in the dark just a bit longer, so she could wallow in fright and concern. Tracing his finger around the rim of his empty teacup, he leaned back in his armchair.

"Please do tell what kind of brilliant scheme you've finally come up with. I'm so very curious in regards to what kind of plan someone with your intelligence can put together," the cup finally said.

He could tell she tried her hardest to sound calm, but of course, that kind of pitiful acting wasn't going to trick Lord Voldemort—even her insult seemed extremely half-hearted when she was worried.

"A simple action on my part will solve the problem once and for all," he answered cryptically, tilting the teapot, which was magically kept warm, and pouring a cup of tea for himself.

"Like what? Using crude methods such as Memory Charms? Or are you going to throw another Killing Curse at Harry again?" she mocked. "Oh yes. The latter one seems like a wonderful plan. Because then you can play dead again and get reborn later, just like every other time you supposedly died, right?" She snorted. "Ooooh, how scary is that!" She started giggling again. "As if the real life me wouldn't know that. As if she can't work it out if she'd been Obliviated. Harry and Ron both know what it's like to be Obliviated, and you could be reassured that Ron will tell her about what happened in the pub. He won't be able to keep his mouth shut about something like that, especially if the real life me keeps trying to make nice with him."

He could almost see her triumphantly grinning, but it didn't matter to him.

"What's the fun of Obliviating you, honey,"—he smirked at his choice of name for her; she immediately stopped in her giggles, no doubt in anger since he purposely reminded her of what happened because of the Reality Distortion Curse—"when there is another method I can use, that would prevent the real life you from forgetting what happened?" He paused, deliberately taking his time with drinking his tea. "Very soon," he quietly said, placing the teacup back onto the saucer, "not only you will be in my possession, but so will your pathetic, dirty, impudent, unsophisticated, real life self."

Rising from his chair, Tom laughed and walked towards the cauldron, leaving the Horcrux to her worries.

Therefore, he didn't see how calm the cup stood there, on the floor, nor did he feel the triumphant atmosphere surrounding it since he'd just done exactly what she wanted. If she couldn't inform her real life self, well, then Lord Voldemort should do it for her.

We'll see who's the final victor in the end, Riddle.

His arrogance would be his downfall, and he would pay for underestimating Hermione Jean Granger.

---

Ron gulped as he placed his hand on the doorhandle. He knew what waited for him behind that door, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for it. Mrs. Weasley was known to nag on and on for hours, especially when she was upset about something. After Hermione and he hadn't shown up for the meeting, she was bound to be extremely upset about that.

And bringing Lavender home! What had he been thinking?

He closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards, heaving a sigh. He and Lavender had parted ways a few minutes ago, because she had forgotten to buy something for her new pet rabbit, but she had asked for the address of where he was going and promised she would be there within twenty minutes.

He shuffled his feet and grabbed his hair with both hands. He was so, so dead. He wondered if it was really worth it, trying to get to Hermione by using Lavender. But who could blame him, honestly? After what she just did in Knockturn Alley...

The memory caused a mulish expression to appear on his face. It wasn't his fault. If his mother forced him to...

He groaned. He couldn't tell his mum what he saw, either, because then he would have to explain to her why he was there. She would have his head if she found out he fucked a whore and in such a dodgy place as Knockturn Alley no less.

No, no, no. He'd better keep his mouth shut about what he saw. Fortunately, his face had cleared up completely by now. So, at least, he didn't have to worry about them seeing he'd been in a fight and asking where and how that fight had occurred.

But, despite his own indiscretions, he was still determined to show that man-eating bitch. If she could run around with two males, he could have two "dates", too. He had to show her that she wasn't the only one in the world to him, because she really took him for granted. She always had.

Taking another deep breath, he opened the door and walked into the hallway.

"Where have you been?" Mrs. Weasley's voice immediately filled the hallway in hushed tones as she hurried out from the kitchen with her hands on her waist.

Ron took a step back and gulped, hating the guest alert his parents had placed in Harry's house so they would be alerted whenever someone entered.

"No messages, no messengers, not one clue of where you had gone! You could've been murdered! You could've been kidnapped by a Death Eater who hadn't been caught yet!" Mrs. Weasley's voice got louder and louder with each word she said.

"FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITORS, DEFILING THE HOUSE OF MY ANCESTORS—" Mrs. Black's voice immediately started shrieking.

The door to the living room swung open, and Harry and Mr. Weasley raced out. They immediately ran over to the portrait and pulled on the curtains with as much strength as they could muster.

"I ... I ..." Ron stuttered, placing his hands in front of himself like a shield.

"You had better explain yourself, young man," Mrs. Weasley said loudly over Mrs. Black's screams and sent a stern look his way.

Finally, Harry and Mr. Weasley managed to close the curtains, but they kept their stances, pretty sure that Mrs. Weasley wasn't quite done with Ron yet—she had been glaring at the clock and muttering under her breath for the past hour already. The only reason why Hermione, who was still sitting inside the living room sipping her tea, hadn't been yelled at was because, well ... she wasn't exactly family yet.

And Mrs. Weasley wanted her to become family, so in her eyes, Ron was the most to blame for this entire ordeal she just went through. She'd been worried sick about him. But now that he was here, alive and well, she recalled how he was screwing up his relationship with her perfect daughter-in-law to be. As if it wasn't bad enough, Ginny had tried to kill the poor girl, now her son also hurt wonderful, sweet, little Hermione ... and he had no excuse for it.

"I ... I had ... had to go look ... look for Hermione," Ron mumbled, his face paling under her glare.

Oh, so now he used her as an excuse for this action as well. "And arriving back here much later than Hermione?"

She took a few additional steps forward, which caused Ron to take a few steps backwards, causing his back to almost touch the front door again, while Mrs. Weasley folded her arms over each other.

Harry and Mr. Weasley's eyes glanced back and forth between the two of them, as if they were watching a Quidditch match, but they dared not step in between their "conversation". Nobody in their right mind ever interrupted Molly Weasley if they valued their hides.

"I ran into my friend!" Ron blurted out, causing Harry and Mr. Weasley to swing through the air on the curtains, which tried to open again, while Mrs. Black shrieked through the little openings that were created. However, they were able to keep the level of interference to a minimum, and after that, both Ron and Mrs. Weasley lowered their tones significantly.

"A friend," Mrs. Weasley huffed. A frown appeared on her face shortly afterwards. "Who?"

"Lavender Brown," he muttered.

"Lavender?" she asked, a confused expression on her face.

Apparently, she still remembered that he and Lavender had dated for a while back in his sixth year—Ginny and her huge blabbermouth. The fact that he'd had a bad thought of Ginny made his ears turn red in guilt, but Mrs. Weasley took it differently. She considered his guilt to be related to Hermione and she leaned into her son's face.

"How dare you bring another girl to this house?" she whispered furiously. "It's not yours, you know. You can't just invite people over without consulting your host. We are guests of Harry, and so is Hermione. You are making them both miserable with your ridiculous behaviour. Can't you see how right that girl would be for you?" Mrs. Weasley gestured over her shoulder in the direction of the living room, while she got a dreamy, loving expression as she considered Hermione and her son together. "Don't you see how bright she is? You should be thankful she loves you instead of treating her like a pariah over some petty disagreements."

Petty disagreements? She fucked and snogged other men! Indignantly, Ron opened his mouth to defend himself.

"Don't you dare," she hissed, pricking him in his chest with her index finger. "Don't you dare put the blame on her, Ronald. You are my son. I know you. Your jealousy and peevishness will be your undoing if you don't tone it down. Hermione is perfect for you. Now, go tell this Lavender nicely to take a hike and make up with Hermione. I am sure she will accept your apologies if you make them. Now, Kreacher has been safekeeping a beautiful gift-wrapped box of Honeydukes's finest chocolates for me. He knows you'll be asking about them, so hand it to her when you give her your most sincere apologies, and I am positive everything will work out for the best. Hermione is a very caring young woman, Ronald. She'd make an excellent wife for you."

After that, Mrs. Weasley turned on her heels and walked back into the living room, certain her son would not disobey her wishes. The doorbell rang. Harry and Mr. Weasley again had to restrain the curtains, while Ron stood there, not knowing what to do. Lavender had arrived earlier than expected, so he couldn't intercept her outside and make up some excuse. He couldn't leave her standing outside, and he couldn't let her in.

What had he been thinking? His mother would kill him if he invited Lavender in now.

Suddenly, the source of it all whirled into the hallway and pushed him aside bossily.

"Where are your manners, Ronald?" Hermione snapped, and she threw open the door. "Lavender!" she said cheerfully and hugged her classmate exuberantly, ignoring how Ron's mouth was now wide open. "It's good to see you again. Come in, come in. Can I take your bags and coat?"

Harry stared at the interaction between the two girls and occasionally glanced at Ron, who stood there frozen as Lavender replied to Hermione's answer. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared a look and a frown before they watched the two witches chatter as if they were friends who hadn't seen one another for a long time; if they recalled correctly, Ginny had mentioned about the two of them not talking with one another after what had happened back in their sixth year.

Ron felt miserable as he saw Hermione and Lavender walking to the living room together, chatting lively over the battle at Hogwarts. She didn't even care he brought someone. She didn't even care.

Both Harry and Mr. Weasley glanced at him with pity. So, he avoided eye contact and slugged to the living room, too. Not eager to see the, no doubt, look of disapproval on his mother's face.

"Oh, thank you," Hermione said happily.

He noticed her flipping excited through the leaves of some stupid book on worldwide wizarding education.

"I know how much you always enjoyed reading "Hogwarts: A History"," Lavender explained. "So I thought you'd like this one, too."

"I love it, thank you."

And the girls chattered on throughout the entire evening, oblivious towards Ron's dismay, which was further heightened by the many glares Mrs. Weasley sent to him during the whole time.

---

The next morning, Harry stood beside Hermione who had just finished packing all her belongings in her Hogwarts trunk, and then, dumped said trunk in her beaded bag. "This really is for the best, Harry," she said, hugging him.

He held on to her tightly. "I'll miss you," he said over her shoulder, not wanting to let go.

Harry had been trying to stop her from going, but he knew she had a point. The atmosphere at Twelve Grimmauld Place had reached new lows after Lavender had left.

"And I'll miss you, too," she replied, leaning back to look into his familiar face. "But if we want to have some chance to remain friends in some shape or form in the future, it's best if Ron and I get some distance between each other before we bash the other's head in."

Harry sputtered, trying to object again to her being the one to leave instead of who he felt was the cause of all the arguing.

"You know I am right, Harry," she interrupted, stepping away and hauling the heavy bag over her shoulder. "Ron needs to be here with his family for Ginny's sake. Besides, Hogwarts starts earlier this year for those students who missed classes, so they have a chance to catch up. As I am the Head Girl, I need to be there too to help out. I only have a bit more than one week of summer holiday left, and I really need to see if my parents are alright."

In the corridor, Ron halted a few feet away from the opened door, hearing only the last sentence. She was leaving? A sharp pain stabbed in his chest, until he recalled he hated her now. Good riddance, yes, good riddance.

"Are you sure that won't be too painful?" Harry asked, concerned. "You said yourself they won't remember you."

Hermione bit her lip. "I know. It's why I avoided going in the first place, but I realised I have to see them ... I—I ..." She dropped her head.

"Isn't there anything you can do to make them regain their memory?" asked Harry, concerned.

Silently, she shook her head, blowing her nose in a familiar handkerchief before looking up at him again.

Ron stood there, almost ready to walk into the room and tell her everything was going to be alright, but he just couldn't make that first step.

"No, I—I used the Memory Charm, Harry. If you don't store their memories beforehand, they can never be replaced back afterwards."

"Why—?" he stopped, realising she hadn't dared to take the risk of someone else restoring their memories and causing her parents undue pain. "You didn't think we would win," he said softly.

Ha! See, and she reprimanded him for leaving; she hadn't believed it herself, Ron thought triumphantly.

"Sorry," she said, looking at him apologetically.

Harry snorted. "Don't be. It's not like I ever thought we'd get there. I mean, come on, seven Horcruxes! And Dumbledore didn't leave us a single clue on how to destroy them. If you hadn't nicked those books from his office after he died, we'd have never figured it out. Really, and then, he left Snape in the impossible position of being in charge of getting us that sword in person, because it had to be acquired under certain circumstances. And he left us those puzzling Hallows' clues. Really, it would have been nice if at least one thing could have been simply laid out before us instead of having us chase shadows. Can you just imagine all the things that could have gone wrong?"

"Well, I did say those Hallows were unimportant," Hermione replied with twinkling eyes and a growing smile on her face.

"Yes, yes, you did," Harry said humorously, pricking his finger in her chest. "You almost, almost made me lose, Granger."

"Eh, I think breaking your wand was my best attempt," she sniggered.

"Eww ... don't remind me of that disgusting snake," Harry said, wrinkling his nose. "You didn't see it get out of her."

"I smelled it," Hermione said, with an equal look of disgust on her face.

They looked at each other's face and started laughing. Her bag slid from her shaking shoulder and landed on the floor with a heavy thud.

An embarrassed expression appeared on Ron's face, and he was more than glad that the two of them couldn't see it. He knew what they were talking about, of course—it had occurred when he had left them to go back to the Burrow, when they went to Godric's Hollow alone. He shuffled his feet in discomfort and would've turned around to go to his room, but they started to talk again inside.

"I can't believe we got away there," Harry hiccoughed. "I was certain we were done for, especially when he arrived as well."

"He did shriek in frustration when we plunged out the window," she recalled, sniggering.

"Really?" Harry asked, delighted.

"Oh yeah, I remember it well; it was a very girly sound," Hermione deadpanned, and because it made Harry laugh, she continued, "Really, Harry, I think you made him seem scarier to us than he ever was, so we'd think you'd be a bigger hero."

"Na—naturally," he hiccoughed, leaning against the bed for support. "He—he, hahaha, was never scary at all. I just wanted the glory."

"And you obviously exaggerated his desire to kill you," she added, "because if he really wanted to get his hands on you, he wouldn't have wasted his time searching for Dumbledore's wand. He'd just had his Death Eaters round up every Weasley he could get his hands on. I mean, it's not like he didn't know you'd come to their rescue. He'd used the strategy successfully before to try to obtain a prophecy he could easily have lifted from the shelf himself."

"Maybe his brain got fried in the cauldron during his resurrection?" Harry suggested, laughing.

"Because Pettigrew screwed up the potion," she added, giggling.

Or ferret fur clogged up his brain after staying too long in the ferrets' nest, Ron added, snorting in the corridor all alone.

"Oh, no, it's all that snake venom he drank," Harry decided, nudging her in her side with his elbow.

"Or he just spent too much time around his followers. You'll drop a significant amount of IQ points every time you have to hear one of them talk. Remember how they argued amongst themselves about who got to press their mark? Can you imagine having to listen to that kind of bull for years … day and night?"

Now, they both couldn't take it anymore and roared away undisturbed, tears falling down their cheeks. In the corridor outside, Ron leaned against the wall, chuckling as well. But every time he felt like joining them, visuals of Hermione in that pub flashed before his mind's eye, and the pain he felt made him refrain from the urge.

After some time, they regained their composure and stared at each other smiling. "Couldn't have done it all without you, Hermione."

"I know," she said with a wink.

He pulled her over and gave her a brotherly hug. A few seconds later, he released her and gave her an encouraging smile.

"Maybe a professional can do something about your parents' memory?"

She sighed. "I already discussed the subject with Healer Lewis. According to him, they can use my memories of them to undo some of the damage."

Harry's face lit up.

"But... I wasn't around much after finding out I was a witch ... and the blanks, well, they will be significant," Hermione paused. "If they are happy where they are now ... I don't know. It would be selfish, I think."

"So, be selfish for once."

She placed her hand on the back of his head and kissed his forehead. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"You shouldn't go there alone."

"Ginny needs you, Harry. I can handle it."

"If you need me, you'll let me know, won't you?" he said seriously. "I can get there in a sec via my contacts at the Ministry now."

"Afraid to get Splinched otherwise?" she teased.

"Eh, not everyone dares to do such a long distance Apparation."

"It's the same thing as short distance Apparation. You only have to visualise the three D's correctly. It's just in your mind that it's far away." She picked up her bag from the floor.

"Well, my mind says it's at the other side of the planet," Harry replied, grinning. "So, I'd better use the department's Portkeys."

"I'll let you know if I can't handle it alone," she lied. "And I'll owl you. Goodbye, Harry."

"Bye," he said sadly, while she spun on the spot and Disapparated.

In the hallway, Ron quickly tiptoed into his room and closed the door. He leaned against it and slumped down onto the floor. There was no point denying it; he still cared about Hermione more than he should, which was why there'd been many times when he'd wanted to go into the room to enquire about her leaving to Australia and visiting her parents.

But ... how could he forgive her after what she had done? No, he couldn't take her back again, and especially after how kind she was to Lavender ... it was pretty obvious that their relationship meant nothing to her at all.

For the first time since their argument at the hospital, Ron suddenly had the feeling that their relationship had reached the end and the flame that was between them would never reignite again.

---

Tom furrowed his brow when his doorbell rang. He was on his way out and had already put his raincoat on. He glanced through the spy hole viewer and got the shock of a lifetime.

Granger!

Was she alone or had she figured it out already and brought reinforcements he couldn't see?

And how had she found out where he lived? He hadn't shared that bit of information with her yesterday.

He swirled around and whipped his wand at his living room to vanish any compromising materials into a temporary state of non-being. He pulled the Horcrux from his pocket and stared at it. This, he couldn't afford to lose to anyone. They could have Lewis for all he cared, but the Mudblood was his.

"Problems?" the cup mocked.

"Not for me, dear," he said with a smirk, having come to a decision. "Petrificus Totallus!"

Tom could feel her annoyance as he placed her back in his pocket. If push came to shove and she had arrived with an army because his cover was blown, he could use the cup to incapacitate Granger. Lord Voldemort wasn't leaving this place without his most prized possession. Quickly, he redid the charm on his voice to make it sound like Seth's again. He kept his fingers crossed it wouldn't be for nothing.

The bell rang again.

Impatient little shite.

Casually, he held his wand behind his back and opened the door, ready for any curse that was bound to come hurtling his way. But nothing happened.

Hermione gave him a sheepish smile and shuffled on her feet. "Ermmm ... I am sorry to disturb you, but... " She noticed his coat. "Oh, you're going out. I'll leave you to it." She half-turned away.

"Why don't you come in?" he suggested charmingly, stepping aside and opening the door farther for her.

This had to be his lucky day. She obviously hadn't figured it out yet, and he didn't have to snatch her away elsewhere. The Mudblood had been kind enough to surrender herself to Lord Voldemort by arriving at his doorstep. How considerate of her.

He withstood the desire to smirk triumphantly and kept his expression absolutely harmless and inviting, as she quickly turned back to face him.

"If you're not in a hurry," she replied, gesturing at his raincoat.

He wondered why she was here; it was rather odd since she seemed to be eager to speak with him about something, something important judging by her expression, although he had no idea what.

He shook his head, smiling. "Just grocery shopping," he revealed casually. "It can wait. Come in."

"Thank you," Hermione said, relieved, and she moved past him, "I won't take much of your time."

"I have all the time of the world," Tom replied in his rasped voice, closing the door behind her like a predator that had finally boxed in its prey.

-