The Gold Puppet

Disclaimer: nothing is ours and nothing monetary is gained by us from writing this. Nothing, nothing, nothing. *cries*

Authors: This story is written by Serpent-In-Red and myself.

Authors' note: We'd like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing; The-Quiet-Girl, Cosette.x, Cennaka.

Cennaka; You are close, but not entirely. However, all your questions will be answered in this chapter. We hope this update was fast enough. Thanks for reviewing.

Cookie to those who get the Gilmore Girls' reference in this chapter. It's a small one, so... we won't hit you over the head if you don't. (And yes, we don't own or make money from "Gilmore Girls" either)

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The Gold Puppet

Chapter Two

Green, everything was green. Hermione opened her eyes to a swirling world. Statue snakes, a carcass, something red that moved, it all went in and out of focus. She blinked, sitting on her knees. The stench of mold filled her nostrils and something gold shined in front of her. A cup with two handles. Her hand was up in the air and she never felt more hate than in that one moment. Her eyes went sideways—she held a fang in her hand. All became clear again.

Hermione smirked. She was so going to kill him. Without hesitation, she jammed the fang in the golden cup. The moment she hit it, a shock travelled through her system. Her mouth opened and she heard a male voice scream in pain, simultaneously with her. Something hard and cold rolled against her body as she doubled over in extreme agony and she dropped the fang.

"Hermione!" yelled Ron, frightened.

She was in no condition to reply. Hermione clutched to her stomach and chest. It was like her ribs cracked open, as if someone jammed a crowbar between them to rip out her heart. Two hands gripped her arms and she cried out in pain.

Quickly, Ron withdrew. "Hermione, Hermione," he sounded panicky. "What's wrong? What can I do?" He looked helplessly at the exit, wishing they hadn't gone here alone, because he had no idea how to help her. "Please be all right, Hermione."

But she wasn't. She tried to answer him, to reassure him that she was OK, but a sickening crack sounded inside her chest and she gasped for air. Quickly, she placed her hands on the ground for support, but one came to rest on what she identified as that blasted cup. Her stomach turned and she dry-heaved a couple of times, causing her head to feel like it exploded.

"What's that?" squeaked Ron, upon noticing a dark mist vacating the cup.

Thud.

In between her dry-heaving, she registered the soft mass of red hair that fell on top of her left hand. Ron had passed out. Why?

"That would be me," a snarky male voice drawled, answering Ron's previous question, before he kicked the unconscious body out of the way.

Shock flooded her system upon recognising the voice. No, they were both going to die!

She turned her head, causing her world to spin, and she fell on her side before she rolled to her back—her hand clinging to the cup, unable to let go. A dark mist vacated the cup slowly and she followed its trajectory with her eyes. It collided with the chest of a young man in Slytherin robes. There he stood, the bane of her existence—Tom Marvolo Riddle—exactly as Ginny had described to her.

Her eyes widened with horror, and panic nearly caused her to black out. She wanted to scream out of frustration. Out of all possibilities, they had to encounter him, while Ron was unconscious and she was in no condition to fight. She doubted that the both of them together could've defeated Lord Voldemort in a duel, but the chances of survival were, at least, higher.

Her mind raced, as she mentally calculated every option available to her to come out of this alive and preferably victorious. He held a wand in his hand, Ron's. But despite it, he didn't seem entirely solid. A vague mist clung around him like it did to people who walked outside on a foggy day, be that a dark fog.

She moved, trying to pull her wand. It was a mistake. She felt like all her bones got broken at once and an unearthly cry left her mouth, the sound barely identifiable as hers. She froze; her eyes wide in fear and pain, she tried to make her breaths as shallow as possible. It hurt. Oh Merlin, moving hurt. She had to be dying, because he just stood there, smirking down at her with a cold and condescending look, while he twirled Ron's wand between his long fingers, not making any attempts to help her or put her out of her misery.

Was he more solid than a minute ago?

Lying as still as she could, she noted that the more dark mist from the cup entered his chest, the livelier he seemed to become. She had to stop this! A pitying glint darted through his dark eyes when she made another attempt to move, to let go of the cup and draw her wand, only to be screaming in agony again without accomplishing anything.

"The first time always hurts, Hermione." She didn't much care for the intimate and taunting way he pronounced her name. "Although, it seems to cost you more than it did me." He seemed to find that amusing, because he chuckled at the end of the sentence.

"You," she hissed furiously, tightening her facial muscles at the pain that pulsed through her from that tiny exertion on her side.

His lip curled up and he took another step closer to her. Towering right above her still figure, he was the most intimidating person she'd ever met.

"Yes, me," he said quietly. "You didn't think that you, a filthy little Mudblood, could possibly kill the greatness that is Lord Voldemort? A creature of such low stature polluting the wizarding world with your incompetence, breathing the air reserved for those more worthy than scum like you. You're nothing but muck sticking on the sole of my shoes and it disgusts me you dare to infest a Founder's item with your essence," he spat.

The last bit of black mist entered his chest and Tom Riddle inhaled exaggeratedly, pushing his chest forward and leaning back, his arms stretched out to the side.

"Finally," he spoke more to himself than to Hermione, who noticed she suddenly was able to breathe normally again. Her pain subsided and ... she could move!

Swiftly, she tossed the cup at Riddle's head and went for her wand. He swatted it away as if it were a fly and stamped on her wrist, pinning her wandhand to the ground. She cried out and tried to yank her arm out from underneath his foot, but he pointed his wand at her.

"Stop moving," he threatened.

Furiously, she glared at him; but she complied to his command, for she saw no opening to do any damage to him.

Buy yourself time, she thought. He's a talker, Harry told me so. Not to mention he never seemed to shut up when I wore the locket, she recalled, annoyed.

He squatted down without removing his foot off her wrist. The subsequent rolling pressure on her bones made her whimper, and she bit her lip to silence herself, not wanting him to get the satisfaction of seeing how much he hurt her. Watching her agony with intense satisfaction, he only removed his foot from her wrist to maintain his balance, while making sure to grind her bones in the process. Before she had time to do anything, he pressed Ron's wand in the hollow of her throat. Her breath hitched. This was it. He was going to kill her.

"You really don't know what just happened, do you, Mudblood?" he sneered with clear amusement at her cost. "How you assisted me in regaining my body by replacing my Horcrux with your own."

As if to emphasise his words, he summoned the cup and dangled it in front of her eyes. Hermione felt all colour withdraw from her cheeks. Did he say replacing?

His cold laughter bounced off the Chamber's walls. "Oh dear, is it too upsetting for your high morality to know you just created a Horcrux?"

"N-no," she stuttered.

"Y-yes," he copied mockingly.

Tight-lipped, Hermione glared at him. "I didn't perform the three spells necessary to create a Horcrux. I haven't taken in ten drops of Draught of Living Death and I surely didn't kill anyone."

Riddle smirked at her. "I took the drops; I performed the spells; I prepared this cup for whoever would try to kill me," he explained smugly, rolling the cup between his hands. "It can hold its contents forever, you know. Nothing in it will ever go stale or bad. Helga Hufflepuff charmed it that way. Hepzibah never knew what a powerful item she really had, but I—Lord Voldemort—found out its secrets and used it to protect myself. I knew someday someone—possibly an enemy—could find my Horcrux and try to destroy it. You tried to kill a part of me, Hermione, and you did it with enough hatred for it to damage your soul. I already laid the groundwork for the creation of my attacker's Horcrux, but you gave me the finishing touch—your hate."

"Why would you want to make your enemy immortal?"

"Because by pushing in your soul, mine got freed, an exchange so to speak," Riddle explained triumphantly. "And I have to thank you for being so kind to do this inside the Chamber of Secrets." He looked around fondly. "I was bored to tears, haunting this place, never able to leave ever since Potter," he spat out the name, "destroyed my journal."

"You didn't die, then?" asked Hermione, horrified, glancing sideways where her wand lay, just out of her reach.

But Ginny woke. What did this mean for the other allegedly destroyed Horcruxes?

"No heir of Salazar Slytherin can truly die inside the Chamber of Secrets. These walls are filled with olde magick. It took a couple of months before I was restored back to the state of almost being fully solid and alive again. But I couldn't leave the Chamber, for outside it, the protection would cease and I would be erased from existence."

Hermione smirked. So, he was trapped here. That was a huge relief.

"That's no longer the case anymore," Riddle said, wiping the smirk off her face. "This"—he wiggled the cup—"had just enough power to reinstate me fully. Lord Voldemort is back." His lips curved into a self-satisfied grin. "And very much alive."

Shit. That meant that Harry had to get rid of two Voldemorts, and it was because of her and Ron's stupidity. They should've guessed that there was something more to the Chambers of Secrets than a stupid Basilisk. After all, the name said secrets, plural. She should have thought of that before now and had Harry - Harry! Someone had to warn Harry! She glanced around, searching for an opportunity. Ron! If she could wake him, perhaps ...

He laughed as he stowed the cup away in his pocket.

"It's not going work, Hermione," he said softly, in the way that adults would speak to children, and patted her cheek.

Either her disgust had shown on her face or he had performed Legilimency on her without her knowing—or perhaps both—but he chuckled again and purposely drew a single finger down her cheek.

"Tell me, Granger," he demanded, authority not diminished in the slightest by the soft voice he was using, "did you really think that I, Lord Voldemort, would lose to Potter, a silly little boy merely surviving because of luck and help? Did you think that children like you," a condescending glint flashed through his eyes as he eyed her features, "could defeat me?"

She glared back at him stubbornly, refusing to answer his question. He raised an eyebrow and slowly ground his foot back into her wrist. She bit her lower lip to prevent herself from whimpering; but he saw her discomfort, she could tell by the way his eyes lit up.

"You know, Granger, I would've thought that that old coot would've taught you lot simple manners," Riddle said conversationally. He narrowed his eyes at her, "You will answer me when I ask you questions, Mudblood."

Flames of fury lighted up in her eyes. She had never felt so much hatred toward another living being in her life. If she could've moved, she would've attacked him, with her bare hands if she didn't have her wand. She wanted to rip that smug look from his face, tear his hair out, and sink her teeth into whichever part of him she could reach. But that wand was still pointed at her throat, and she knew she would never be fast enough for anything to work.

"I hope you rot in hell, Riddle. It doesn't matter if you kill Ron and me today. Harry will figure it all out on his own and defeat you again, just like the way he defeated you again and again before," she growled through gritted teeth.

Although she knew that there was only a slim chance that Harry could figure everything out without Ron and her help, she merely wanted to wipe that annoying smirk off his face.

In response to her taunt, he smiled instead, a joyful expression on his face, as if he was enjoying a particularly entertaining show.

"Name me one time when Potter has figured out anything on his own," he dared her mockingly.

Hermione racked her brain and he laughed out jubilantly when she came up empty. She really, really hated that laugh.

"And I thought I've told you already." He shook his head and clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You've made a Horcrux, dear." He patted his pocket and his expression shifted to a mocking one when he said the endearment. "I believe that means that you're not going to die any time soon."

She stared at him, not sure what he was playing at. It didn't make sense. He was practically handing her weapons to use against him—she knew that he was alive now, which meant that she could tell Harry, and if she wasn't going to die, that meant that she could take risks that she normally wouldn't dare take.

"So naive," he commented, like he was really sorry about something that was supposedly defective about her. "So pure, simple, and utterly disgusting." He ended his words with a sneer. "I'm surprised that Dumbledore trusted you with a mission like this." He glanced at the pocket that was holding the cup. "You've lost your chance, Hermione. You're not going to get another one," he sighed exaggeratedly. "Sure you don't want to take a chance and try to beat me in a duel?" He smiled encouragingly at her, wiggling his eyebrows.

Hermione felt her body shaking with anger now, very much annoyed with his taunts and just him, in general.

"Sorry I have to cut the conversation short," he said, glancing around the Chamber of Secrets, "however, I have places to be and we can't have you disappearing on Potter. I'm sure he will need all the help he can get from you."

She nearly screamed out of frustration when he patted her on her head, as one would to a child or a pet.

She wanted to take another verbal swipe at him, but he had already risen from his squatted position next to her and pointed the wand at Ron. Before he cast his spell, he looked at the wand and wrinkled his nose.

"I suppose I could—" he muttered, not finishing, but swirling Ron's wand around in an intricate pattern. The walls of the Chamber lit up and trembled briefly. "Accio my yew wand!" he spoke out loud.

Hermione was sure he did it to taunt her. He obviously needn't cast verbally.

The ceiling cracked; a hole appeared, swirling around like a tornado. But this tornado didn't suck; it spat out a bright white wand. Riddle caught it in his hand, sheer happiness written all over his features.

"Not that it is much use to him," he jibed, as he returned Ron's wand in the redhead's pocket with a flick of his own. "But even a dork like him would know something was off if it wasn't there anymore."

Now, he pointed his yew wand at Ron's face. Desperately, Hermione kicked in his direction. But he quickly jumped out of her range.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Muggle tactics, I should have known," he sneered disparagingly.

But her attack at him was a diversion to disguise she was reaching for her wand, which he had swatted away before. And now, it was in her hand and she aimed. Yet, for some reason, she hesitated with her curse. She didn't want to attack him.

What?!

She did. She had wanted to curse his sorry arse all the way back to Salazar Slytherin's time ever since she first learned about his bigotry and how he was the reason why Harry was orphaned. There were no reasons why she should even think about the word "mercy" when it came down to him.

She frowned, not understanding why she was getting these strange emotions and reactions. Her face contorted in regret and hatred when her wand flew from her hand and rolled just a little further out of reach than before.

"Now, where was I?" he said, rubbing his chin in mock consideration as if he really didn't remember. A malignant glint danced through his eyes as he noticed her fear when he pointed his wand back at Ron. "Worried about the blood-traitor?"

He didn't wait for her reply and started casting. She recognised the wand-movements as belonging to the memory-modifying charm.

"We don't want his tiny one braincell to remember, do we?" he mocked, and with a swat, he threw Ron across the Chamber of Secrets forcefully. Hermione watched in horror how Ron's body crashed into Salazar's statue, hard.

"You, rotten, foul—" she started rambling, while Riddle's wand turned a loose stone next to her head into a couple of golden fragments, reminiscence of an allegedly destroyed cup. "—loathsome, half-blood bastard, low-life, butt-faced miscreant—" she stopped naming every sordid thing that described Riddle in her opinion abruptly when that same wand got pointed at her, though she was obviously nowhere near done yet.

"Obliviate!"

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Hermione sprung up on her bed, cold sweat clinging her pyjamas to her body. Seconds later, however, she crashed back onto the bed.

"Hermione!"

The shout alerted her that there were others in the room, too.

"Madam Pomfrey, someone get Madam Pomfrey!" Harry's voice resounded in her ears.

She tried to open her eyes, but found that she couldn't. She clutched her head with her hand, a frown creasing her forehead and the headache threatening to split her brain apart.

She tried to recall the dream—no, nightmare she had. She remembered it was important and somehow involved Harry and Ron. However, try as she may, the only thing she could remember was the fact that it had been a bad dream and Ron had been in it. Other than that, she couldn't remember anything that happened. To her dismay, the harder she tried to remember the dream, the further away it seemed to get from her.

"You have to give her some room! The girl just blacked out from sheer exhaustion! She's going to need as much fresh air as she can," she was mildly aware of the Mediwitch saying.

It was just a bad dream, just a bad dream, she repeated to herself mentally, trying to shake the ominous feeling.

She felt herself being hoisted into a sitting position, and something was pressed against her lips.

"Drink up, dear," Madam Pomfrey's soothing voice said beside her ear.

Without thinking, she opened her mouth and drank the potion.

"Sleep well, Miss Granger." Madam Pomfrey's voice drifted further and further away from her, as her body relaxed and her awareness started to blur once more.

Suddenly, she heard that familiar soft chuckle again. "Sleep well, Miss Granger," the voice like satin wrapped around her mind. "You're going to need it."

Before she could even try to stay awake, she was dragged back into the land of unconsciousness.

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