The Gold Puppet

Disclaimer: Yadi, yadi, yadi... you know the drill. Don't own - no money - and loads of sobbing now.

A/N: we'd like to thank all those we read, rated and reviewed: Lady Miya, JaceDamian23, mel.

mel: "please update soon!" - Is this fast enough? *winks*

hero_jaejoong: Thanks for enjoying the chapter. (look sideways and check behind and in front of themselves as well) Well, we won't make any comments on canon!Ginny since naturally canon is The Bible and some of those die hard fans are like ... scary (shivers)and we mean scarier than Tom. (Hide last sentence from our Lord). Perhaps even scarier than Twimoms. Ermm... thinks about it fully. Nope, nothing is scarier than the Twimoms.
"a promiscuous back stabbing b****h or promiscuous friend" - Yeah, because any teenage girl who has like a couple of boyfriends in two years time is a slut. *rolls eyes at some people's interpretation of canon!Ginny's actions*
"she made me want someone to get her as far away from tom's very evil but nonetheless very attractive hands." - Cup!Hermione is working on it. LOL
"why isnt tom trying to find another way to be immortal again? or is he already immortal from making hermione a horcrux?" - *points to chapter two* But that's the only hint we will give you.
"ps:i have a tiny itty bitty winsie favour to ask.... i promised to send lots and lots of fanfictions cookies if you guys accept.. pretty please...with strawberry on haagen daz cream and cookies on top.." - LOL. You must be a Slytherin. However, seeing we are snakes too, we didn't miss that the actual hint is completely missing from that text, so unless we know fully what we'll be accepting and swearing to, we have to decline the strawberry on haagen daz cream and cookies on top regretfully for the moment. (Had it been chocolate ... nope, we are not open to bribery. We have morals. *stop laughing*). So... we might be inclined to accept, but we need to know what to first. Thank you for reviewing.

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The Gold Puppet

Chapter 14

"You sure waste a lot of time on Ginny Weasley," Hermione taunted. "Developed an attachment when she wrote to you, Riddle?"

He raised an eyebrow at the cup and smirked. "Why, jealous Granger?"

She snorted. "Just curious."

But he heard the badly disguised edge in her voice, and his smirk broadened. Patting the cup condescendingly, as if it had a head and was a pet, he replied smugly, "You have nothing to worry about, honey. The only interest Weasley holds to Lord Voldemort is her connection to Potter. Watching his girlfriend go insane will thoroughly destroy the insipid boy."

His cruel statement was met with loud laughter: gleeful, annoying, mocking laughter. Tom folded his arms over each other and considered drawing his wand and "practising" some of his darker spells on her; but he waited patiently instead. Lord Voldemort had all the time in the world for that silly cup to act and talk herself into a corner before she would come to remember who had the true power here.

"After all those years ..." a snort, "in Harry's mind ..." a hiccough, "you still don't know the first thing about him, do you, Riddle?"

Sniggering, enjoying some personally unshared amusement at his expense, the cup twirled around once.

"Harry is much stronger than you give him credit for," Hermione continued. "It's why you lose every time the two of you meet. It's why you will continue to lose to him. You keep making the same mistakes over and over again," she ended, giggling.

"Is that so, Granger?" he rebutted, in a slightly demeaning tone on purpose. No need to stop her chattering now.

"Yes," she said triumphantly, "that is so. Turning Ginny crazy will not destroy Harry." She snorted, again. "It will hurt him to see her like that, but that will be all. He will continue to be Harry Potter," (Tom narrowed his eyes at hearing her speak that name with a truly unearned reverence), "The-Boy-Who-Lived."

"That can be remedied easily," he snarled viciously, not at all enjoying the way one of his possessions seemed to hold his enemy at such high esteem.

"Oh, sure, try that again. Maybe four times is a charm?" Hermione mocked.

Tom narrowed his eyes at imagining hers rolling, and he itched to curse her into oblivion, but he wasn't a Slytherin (The Slytherin) for nothing. So, he snorted back mockingly and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"And I suppose you have all the answers," he said condescendingly, "because you always know everything," he paused, tilting his head, considering, before adding lightly, "Miss E in Defence."

The cup bristled as he had known she would and he thoroughly enjoyed that. She always said too much when she got emotional and he really needed her to keep chatting now. He hadn't believed the moment that he would want her to keep talking would ever come, but here it had arrived.

"At least I don't live in my enemy's mind and keep losing to him, because I am not paying attention," she snarled. "If losing his parents, his Godfather, ... Albus Dumbledore and so many others didn't destroy Harry, do you really think he will fall to pieces with the pathetic game you're playing with Ginny now?" she huffed. "You truly are insane. Sure, it was a good way to start, but now you're going about it completely the wrong way. Harry lives to take care of others, to rescue them, to be the hero of the hour, and you're stupidly providing him with exactly that which makes him rise to the occasion: someone who needs to be taking care of."

Another snort left the cup before she ranted on.

"No, in order to destroy Harry Potter, Ginny should not need any care in the end at all. She should be fully capable of normal comprehension and be just as self-sufficient as she used to be. But you have to make sure that by that time Harry knows he is not the hero at all. He is the villain who not only missed the pain of his girlfriend and didn't prevent it, but who caused it. It will shred how he sees himself to pieces. It's so obvious, but you, Lord Voldemort, the great thinker," she sneered, "don't even see it."

She laughed mockingly.

"I mean ... he left her! Left her all alone while you were in charge. The terrible things that could have happened to her ... You are such an idiot wasting your time on stupid mind games with the wrong individual when you could oh so easily target Harry with that. It will drive a wedge between them thoroughly, because he won't be able to look into Ginny's eyes ever again, knowing all those bad things happened because he failed to protect her properly. And no matter whether Ginny blames him or not, he will and it ..."

She suddenly halted in her rant when she saw his vicious triumphant expression. Tom was sure if the cup had had a human body, she would have slapped her hand in front of her mouth, shocked. He let the anticipatory silence linger on, relishing in the moment.

"Why, thank you, Granger," he finally said oh so softly, barely breaking that delicious silence. He drew his fingers over the cup, caressing it gently. "You have been most helpful and ... Lord Voldemort always rewards those who serve him well."

He took the cup in his hand and lifted it to his lips, giving it a teasing kiss and laughing when he felt it shudder.

"You really are a good little servant, honey. Lord Voldemort will remember this when he lays judgement on you in the end."

He placed the horrified cup back in its little prison before Disapparating away—a broad smile on his face. He never heard the relieved sigh that left Hermione, because he hadn't spotted why she had really shared those things with him.

Forgive me, Harry, Hermione thought remorsefully inside the vault, because her plan to protect Ginny's sanity had worked out perfectly.

---

Hermione stood in the front lawn and stared at the house hesitantly. The sun shone brightly against the blue skies, and everything seemed so peaceful and joyful, a sharp contrast to how she was feeling inside. She and her parents were only separated by a door, yet she couldn't bring herself to walk towards it, let alone knock on it.

What if her parents were happy? What if they didn't care about their previous life? What if they were upset about the fact that they've given birth to a witch and were grateful that they were given the chance to lose their memory? They'd never objected whenever she asked to spend time away from them to be with Harry and Ron during holidays. Maybe they'd been glad to be rid of her?

And what if the opposite was true? What if they weren't happy? Then, their misery would be her entire fault, because they'd been happy before, hadn't they? She wasn't sure anymore. Maybe she shouldn't have come here? Maybe it was better not to know? What if she made things worse by disturbing them? What if she couldn't fix things? What if...?

She closed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists. Doubt flooded her mind. For the past three days, she had visited this house, yet she'd never gathered enough courage to face them. Every time she almost knocked on the door, there was some reason not to do it. What if...?

Come on, Hermione, grab yourself together, she thought, annoyed with herself.

Every time she had scolded Harry or Ron for not doing something that needed to be done ran through her mind. But it was always easier to see right and wrong from a distance when it wasn't too up close and personal to yourself. This—this was hard.

Coward...

The word echoed through her mind.

But these were her parents. Her parents whom she had attacked and violated. Something she had thought she'd never do in a million years. Something she had sworn to herself she'd never do. She'd always seen herself as the one who would protect them against others trying to use magic on them. Never had she envisioned her to be the one to raise her wand at their kind faces.

"Hermione?" her father had asked, looking at her with concern.

"Dear, what's wrong?" her mother'd said, walking to her with her arms held wide. "Why are you crying? Did something bad happen to that friend of yours, Harry?"

"I am sorry," she'd whispered, raising her wand.

Her mother'd frozen and glanced at her father.

"Put that wand down at once, young lady," her father had ordered sternly.

"I-I ... I can't let him find you. I can't risk it. Harry'd do something stupid and I-I wouldn't..." she sniffed up her nose. "I wouldn't stop Harry then."

Her parents had looked at her with a mixture of emotions running through their faces. She'd seen shock, confusion, worry, and fear—a lot of fear.

"Hermione, talk to us," her mother'd whispered. "We're your parents. We can help."

But she'd already made her decision and it needed to be done. "I am so very, very sorry. I love you both," she'd whispered right before her wand had flashed. "Stupefy!"

It wasn't the last spell she'd used on them and their friends that day. And no amount of extenuating circumstances could undo the fact that she'd used a Memory Charm on them. Of all the spells in the world available, she'd chosen the worst one. She'd messed with their minds and made them forget vital information about themselves. Whenever she'd heard of the Ministry using that charm on defenceless Muggles just to conceal their petty little secrets, it had made her blood boil in fury. Now, she was one of those despicable individuals.

Suddenly, the door opened and a woman with a bag of garbage in her hand appeared. She threw the bag into the trash can before she noticed the shocked Hermione standing in the front lawn. A curious expression appeared on Monica Wilkins's face. Cautiously, she moved closer to Hermione with a friendly smile on her face.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. A frown appeared on her face, as if she was staring at a particularly hard puzzle. "Have ... have we met before?"

Blinking back tears that appeared in her eyes uncontrollably, Hermione took a step back and shook her head.

"I ... I ..." she stuttered, not knowing how to tell her mother who she was. All her previously well-rehearsed excuses for being on their doorstep fled her mind like leaves from the tree during fall.

She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to be selfish ... but if they were happy, and she couldn't give her parents back their memories, watching them from afar hurt. A lot. And she was already experiencing that pain right now. She could see her mother, talk to her, but she could never reveal who she was. She could no longer call her "Mum"; she couldn't hug her, kiss her, and tell her how much she loved her.

Hermione observed Monica, noticing that there were a couple of more grey strands in her brown locks than before and a few more wrinkles on her forehead. Altogether, her mother looked older, much older. It had only been a little over a year's time since she last saw them.

Heaving a sigh, Hermione gave her a crooked smile, "It's just that ... you remind me of my parents."

"Oh," Monica replied, frowning. "Are they...?"

"Oh, no," Hermione immediately answered, realising that Monica thought her parents were dead. "It's just ... they don't quite remember me anymore. They are—er—ill."

"I see," Monica nodded sympathetically.

"Have you lived here for long?" Hermione asked slowly.

"A couple of months now," her mother responded, sighing. "We've moved around a lot this year. We just couldn't ..." she stopped, realising she was about to tell a complete stranger she hadn't been able to find peace anywhere. Besides, that young woman looked sad enough as it was, no need to make it worse by adding her troubles to hers.

"It's quite a quiet neighbourhood around here," Hermione commented, looking around her surroundings. "And the people seem happy."

She waited with bated breath, half of her heart wishing her parents were happy and the other half hoping they somehow missed her, although it was impossible since they were Obliviated.

Monica shrugged; a friendly smile reappeared on her face. "I guess."

An ambiguous answer, useless.

"Is there something wrong?" Hermione questioned, trying to get to the point in a hurry.

"No ... no, why would there be?" Monica asked in return, suspicion flashing through her eyes.

Too fast.

"Oh ... I just thought ... b-because of your answer ..." Hermione stuttered.

Normally, she wouldn't have a problem lying, but with the guilt of Obliviating her parents hanging over her head and her emotions in an uproar, it was a lot harder for her to keep calm.

Monica didn't answer, but the suspicion on her face grew. Suddenly, she broke off eye contact with Hermione and stared behind her.

Before Hermione could turn around to see why, a hand was placed on her shoulder and a sense of comfort and calmness enveloped her. She no longer had to turn to know who was there, because his presence had gained a certain distinct, recognisable quality to her, and she couldn't quite pinpoint what it was that caused it. She'd never felt this way around Ron, Harry, or Viktor for that matter.

His breath brushed her ear, and his familiar raspy voice whispered, "Did you find your parents' house?"

She turned her head slightly and simply nodded.

Seeing her reaction, Tom gave her a faint smile, and then, placed his attention on Monica.

"Good day," he greeted her, a perfectly amiable expression on his face. "Please forgive my fiancée. She's a bit wary about moving back here with me, since my mother told her horrible stories of her experience here."

Monica's suspicious expression waned a little. "Did you live here when you were younger?"

"Yes," Tom replied, placing his arm around Hermione's shoulders. "My parents moved to London when I was three. To make a long story short, they aren't exactly the happiest people on Earth to begin with, so I doubt there's a place in this world that would satisfy their needs." He chuckled. "My mother hated the fact that I've considered moving back here, so she started telling Hermione her horror stories. She probably hoped it would put a damper on our plans." He gently kissed Hermione on the forehead.

Monica sighed. "I understand, but I'm sure it's simply because your mother loves you a lot and wishes for you to remain closer to her. London is a long journey to make if you want to see each other. I wouldn't want to be sep..." A fleeting look of sadness appeared on her face when she stopped speaking, but it wasn't nearly fast enough for Hermione to miss it.

She could feel her heartbeat quickening; could it be that her mother did indeed miss her? It was pretty obvious that she was pretending to be happy. Hermione felt a pain slice through her heart at the notion she had caused her parents pain.

"I guess." Tom gave a short nod.

Monica smiled again. "Any parent would wish that their children were constantly near them. It's horrible when such a bond is broken."

Hermione gazed at her; her eyes teared up again and she couldn't stop them from falling down her cheeks now.

"Oh," Monica said, horrified, slapping her hand in front of her mouth and rushing to Hermione.

Quickly, Tom pulled Hermione against his chest and wrapped his arms around her to keep the woman somewhat at a distance. It was pretty obvious Granger would fall apart completely if Monica Wilkins hugged her and it was even more obvious to him it was exactly what the woman had been planning to do.

"I am so sorry," Monica said, her hand hovering inches away from Hermione's shoulder, while looking apologetically in his direction, because Hermione had buried her face in his clothes. "Your parents ... you told me. It was inconsiderate of me to say that. Please forgive me."

Sniffing, Hermione gave a couple of quick, small head nods in response—not feeling up to the task of talking.

"Look, ermm...," she gave Tom a questioning look.

"Seth MacDougal," he replied warmly, giving the woman a courteous nod since his arms were pretty full at the moment. He looked down with an overly concerned expression for the woman's sake and added, "My fiancée, Hermione Granger."

"I am Monica Wilkins," she replied, holding out her hand and then retracting it again when she realised he couldn't exactly shake it now.

Yeah, superfluous information. Come on, stupid Muggle. Stop beating around the bush and ask us inside. I know you want to.

"Why don't you come in for a second? I can make some tea," Monica suggested, trying to make amends. "I can tell you some things about this neighbourhood, so you can make a more informed decision. We don't live here long, my husband and I, but we have a dental practise, so we have seen most of the people here."

"That would be most appreciated, Mrs. Wilkins," Tom replied politely, sending the insignificant Muggle a grateful smile. "Right, honey?" It amused him sincerely to use that word for her now, and he hugged Hermione a bit tighter. "You can ask her all about what it's like here, so you don't need to go on my mother's word."

Before Hermione had a chance to react and possibly reply the wrong way, he had already wrapped his arm around her shoulder and moved them past the Muggle fast, while mouthing thanks over his shoulder in the woman's direction. He got the expected relieved expression back and he was positive Monica Wilkins would be most accommodating from hereon. There was nothing a little guilt trip wouldn't solve. And should she become unhelpful, well, he knew a few spells that could make her do what was needed if it was absolutely necessary. Lord Voldemort wasn't spending any unnecessarily additional time with a bunch of Muggles if he could avoid it.

Swiftly, he moved past the threshold, though he could now feel the reluctance in Hermione's body. Did she want or didn't she want to see her parents? If she got him here interacting with Muggles for nothing, he would be ... displeased.

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?" she asked, whispering.

He couldn't respond straight away, because Muggle Wilkins passed them and showed them the way to the living room. Hermione blew her nose in his handkerchief, and it absolutely delighted him to see she had kept it with her. After some more apologetic words, some meaningless small talk, and an enquiry of whether they preferred tea or coffee (he made sure to choose the opposite of Hermione, so Monica would stay away longer), the woman left them alone on the couch to go to her kitchen.

"I found the potion recipe," he answered her previous question, turning sideways on the couch to face her, while giving her a reassuring smile, "and it's not exactly hard to find out where the famous Hermione Granger has gone." He paused for a moment. "So when are you going to use the potion on them?"

"I—I'm not sure, Seth," she replied softly. "I don't even know if they're happy or not."

Tom frowned. "Isn't it quite obvious?"

"But—we don't know for sure," Hermione answered, twisting her fingers. "It's all just guesswork right now. Monica—my mother—could've simply just had a row with my father—which is quite normal—it—it—"

The snort slipped right out. He just couldn't help himself, because even to someone unskilled in Legilimency, it should be obvious Mrs. Wilkins wasn't upset over a simple row.

His snort got the expected glare as a reaction. "These are my parents," Hermione hissed under her breath. "I have to be one-hundred percent certain. I—I can't ... if I do this wrong too ... I have to be sure." And she folded her arms over each other decisively.

"Fine," he responded, noticing the stubborn way she held her jaw when she was finished, and said, "Then, what do you want to do?"

"I don't know."

"Then, what will make you one-hundred percent certain?"

"Are you here to help or be a nuisance?" she snapped.

"I am obviously here to help," he replied quietly, showing her the scroll in the pocket inside his jacket. "If that means I have to be a nuisance so be it. You are wasting my time with all this feeling sorry for yourself."

Hermione gawked at him. How could he possibly be so inconsiderate?

"And even worse, you are wasting yours and your parents' time," he added coolly, like he was totally unaware of her indignation. "Time you could spend together with them again," he continued smoothly, softening her up, "seeing how this nuisance has taken the liberty of bringing you all the potion's ingredients you need as well."

He flicked his wand and magicked a sachet out of the air, dangling it in front of her. And to his satisfaction, he saw her discomfort about having called him a nuisance when he so obviously had gone through so much trouble for her.

Humans and their silly, feeble emotions, it worked all the time.

Tom pocketed the sachet quickly before she would reach for it, making sure she'd stay depended on him for the solution to her dilemma.

"You need to make up your mind about what you want, Hermione," he said, his face set in a comforting, understanding, yet decisive way that allowed for no contradicting arguments to be made, while he placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned closer to her. "So, what do you want?" he breathed intimately, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze.

She bit her lower lip. "I want my parents back," she whispered.

Finally, progress.

He almost rolled his eyes, but merely settled for a reassuring smile that got almost wiped off his face when she added, "But I want them to be happy, too."

Perhaps he should Crucio the entire Granger line into insanity before they drove him there?

"Well, we are here now. So, ask your questions," he said calmly, though inside he felt like exploding, "find out if they are happy or not. It shouldn't be that hard. We can always dose their drinks with some Veritaserum if you want to be one-hundred percent certain," he added tauntingly, kissing her full on her mouth, while she bristled angrily over his last suggestion.

"You—you—" she stuttered when he withdrew slightly; she seemed completely lost for words.

"Me what?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Ugh, you are impossible."

"But you do feel better now, don't you?"

She huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest, while sticking her nose in the air away from him.

Tom smirked at her attitude and said in his most conceited manner, "I am known to always be one-hundred percent right all the time."

Sighing, Hermione closed her eyes. Really, someone in this room needed a reality check badly.

However, inside of her she was smiling softly, and when she felt his hand at the back of her head, turning her back towards him, she opened her mouth before his had reached hers. A passionate kiss followed and she slithered her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. His arms wandered through her hair, down her neck, over her back, before squeezing her buttocks and pulling her in his lap. She pressed herself against him, hard, while roaming her hands through his hair. She really, really liked his hair.

A soft cough made her freeze.

Oh no! No, no, no, no, no. This wasn't happening. My mother didn't just walk in on me making out with a bloke on her couch. Thank Merlin, my father isn't in.

Her face flushed in embarrassment, she tried to wiggle off Tom's lap, but he held onto her with a devious grin. "You really don't want to turn around now," he whispered to her lips.

"Hello, Monica," her father's voice sounded behind her, "and who have we here?"

Hermione groaned and stared at Tom in horror. "You can always Obliviate this from their memory," he suggested mischievously. "Though, I recommend doing it after you fed them the potion."

All she did was close her eyes and bang her head against his shoulder. Life was so unfair.

---

The gold-coloured bubble popped and the droplets sprinkled back into the silver-coloured fluid. When the first trace of smoke started to swirl above the cauldron, Hermione dropped the crushed dried lily petals in and watched the liquid turn a forest green colour.

Seconds later, his hand hovered above the potion, waiting for the right moment to drop the mandrake sap in. Her eyes unconsciously followed the contour of his arm until she was looking at his face.

He still looked awfully handsome to her, even with that frown creasing his forehead.

She tried to stop the furious blush from appearing on her cheeks, but to no avail. She was seriously acting like a silly little schoolgirl, drooling and swooning about her crush. But she did have good reasons to do so. She honestly admired how, on top of everything else, he was able to steer a conversation in any direction he wanted. If there was anything she wished she had, it would be social skills. She was completely inept in that field.

Her meeting with her parents had gone extremely smooth simply because Seth was there. He always managed to ask the right questions; her parents were so at ease around him that they told him the most intimate details about their lives. They'd got enough information in one evening to conclude that her parents were extremely depressed because they didn't have a child, something they had wanted even before they were married. Hermione was positive that if Seth hadn't been there, it would've taken her a lot more time to figure this out. Additionally, her parents absolutely loved him; they very nearly wanted to ask them to stay for the night, had Seth not hinted that they had "plans" later on. Her parents had looked at each other knowingly and had smiled.

For the first couple of nights, Hermione had been staying at a small hotel near where her parents lived. However, when Seth found out, he insisted that she moved to the flat that he was borrowing from "a friend of his". Hermione had been a bit hesitant at the beginning, but then, he reminded her that they would need to brew the potion somewhere and he doubted hotels, wizarding or not, would appreciate the fumes and smoke.

She smiled, appreciating his thoughtfulness and kindness. She had been really surprised and touched when she saw him in front of her parents' home. After all, she'd never really found a bloke before who would do so much for her.

His dark-brown eyes momentarily turned from the cauldron and stared into her eyes, and his lips curved into a smile, to which she answered with a shy one of her own. She felt her cheeks turn warm again when she realised that she would have no problem ogling at those beautiful eyes of his forever. The way he was looking at her now reminded her of how he gazed at her after chatting with her parents while he held her in his arms, reassuring her that everything would be alright and that he would help her. She had felt so guilty after their meeting, knowing just how much pain she had brought upon her parents. She had been so sure that everything was her fault, but then Seth stood firmly by her side, comforting her.

It was so ... unlike Ron, who had never done anything for her ... or for anyone, actually. It was always someone else's fault, not his. Especially when he was pushed into a corner, he would automatically start pointing his finger at everyone else. He didn't even have the guts to face the consequences of what he had done.

As if it was Harry and my fault he was a bloody coward.

Honestly, when was the last time, he had offered a solution to anything? Well, except for that time back in first year, but that was playing chess. She wondered how could he be so bloody brilliant in playing chess but awful when it came to using his brains for everything else.

Seth, on the other hand, had always been understanding, intelligent, kind, supportive, charming, handsome...

She seriously wouldn't have a problem snogging him right then and there, if he hadn't lowered his eyes again to observe the boiling potion. Scratch that. She wouldn't have a problem jumping on top of him and having her ways with him right about now. She grinned, recalling how she'd taken him by surprise in his flat. That had been fun and he had not stayed away from her afterwards. He'd sought out her whereabouts and came to her, while all she had demanded of him was to owl her. That showed he cared about her, right?

Perhaps ... she should tackle him again for—for ... disobeying her orders? After all, she hadn't got any owls. She glanced sideways. Nope, definitely not an owl.

She mentally sniggered, wondering what had got over her. She had never been so ... obsessed with someone like this. Sure, he was the embodiment of everything she ever desired in a man, but this was a bit over the board. So, she shook her head gently, trying to shake off her wants and, hopefully, her obsession, too.

But at that precise moment, he picked up the ladle and languidly stirred the potion. Looking at his pale, long-fingered hand, she was suddenly reminded of what happened in the pub in Knockturn Alley and she very nearly groaned out loud, wishing someone would just douse her with cold water.

Beside her, Tom internally laughed to himself. It appeared that no Amortentia was necessary for Hermione after all. He could see it clearly in her eyes how obsessed she was about him. The Legilimency he performed on her in the brief moments they had eye contact was almost unnecessary—the keyword being "almost", of course. He really did like how she was praising him in her mind, and it was pretty obvious that it would be quite difficult for her to voice those thoughts out loud. Additionally, he absolutely adored how she was consciously bashing pumpkin brains in her mind.

And those naughty little thoughts going through her mind—he certainly wouldn't have a problem if she put them into action. Not to mention, they did have some time before the potion was finished. But he wouldn't allow her to hold the steering wheel again.

"That should do it," he spoke up, breaking the silence.

Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes widened like a deer caught in the headlights. It was obvious she had been immersed in her thoughts previously, especially when her cheeks turned a suspicious shade of red.

"Right," she mumbled. "The—I mean, so we just wait now, right?"

Tom nodded, and with a flick of his wand, the potion bottles flew back into the cabinet. Hermione silently covered the bottles of ingredients (the ones that were highly responsive to magic) and placed them back into the cabinet.

When the last bottle was placed back and the door of the cabinet was closed, his arm snaked around her waist and she was swirled around quickly, causing her to squeak in surprise.

"Since we're finished with the brewing, I believe we have some unfinished business," he said softly, pressing her against the cabinet hard.

"We still have to finish the potion," she replied, smiling playfully as she looped her arms around his neck.

"It needs to boil for two hours or so," he answered, running his hand down to her leg and placing it right at the hem of her skirt. "We have plenty of time."

-