The Gold Puppet

Disclaimer: Yes, nothing changed. The copyright is still JKR's and we make no money from writing this.

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

Authors' note: We'd like to thank everyone for reading.

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The Gold Puppet

Chapter 3

With a puff of gold smoke, the blood-red liquid turned to a pale green colour, although a drop of black right in the middle of the potion remained unchanged. A satisfied smile appeared on his face and slowly turned to joyful laughter. His hand, however, never stopped stirring the content in the gold cup.

"It's not going to work," he whispered tauntingly to the cup.

In response, it started to shake feebly, attempting to displace the potion. He watched with a smirk, sensing Hermione Granger's anger. Purposely, he ran his forefinger around the rim of the goblet, laughing even more joyfully than before when the cup became unresponsive once again.

Slowly, the dot of black in the potion began to dissolve.

"Silly little girl," Tom Riddle said, his eyes dancing with merriment.

As if he was going to allow the girl, or rather, the girl's Horcrux to show Hermione Granger what had happened. For a moment, he almost wished that Albus Dumbledore was still alive, so he could throw the news his precious champion Mudblood had split her soul into the old fool's face. Imagining the look on the coot's face and his disappointment in his "golden" heroine, made his lip curve up in a vile smile.

However, he couldn't let filth like her warn others he was still around. His Memory Charm had worked perfectly, but the silly Horcrux had tried to warn her, sending outrageous words to her mind and making her sick to get her to notice something was off. He had to imperius the Horcrux to prevent it from spilling the beans on him — unlike those unskilled fools, he was able to use the Imperius Curse with delicacy and precision, making sure the normal happy-go-lucky, unrealistic side effects were absent. It had been when he figured if the Horcrux could reach her real-life body, he could too, by using it. He had invaded Granger's mind with absurd ease. Gryffindors were such lousy Occlumens.

He snorted.

But, to his absolute disgust and surprise, the Horcrux had fought off his imperius when he tried to use her to get the Elder Wand, which also caused him to lose his grip on her mind. Their fight had taken too much of the girl's magic and she had collapsed, making it impossible for him to stop Potter. Bloody sacrificing Gryffindor heroics — no Slytherin would have caused him this aggravation.

So, he couldn't take the risk, especially after he noticed the Horcrux made an effort to reach her mind after she'd collapsed by infiltrating her dreamworld and showing her what had really happened inside the Chamber of Secrets. Besides, he had better things to do than imperius a Mudblood all day long. He had to make her forget it, again.

"Nothing a bit of potion can't solve," Tom murmured, feeling the Horcrux's anger increase.

Who said that "good" potions couldn't be used with other intentions? he thought, thoroughly amused.

He'd always found the distinction some made between good and evil magic ridiculous. It was all about power and the ability to wield said power. He had plenty of it and no qualms in using it. "Evil" was just a construct designed by the elite to hold those more powerful than them back — to keep everyone in rein, so they would not rise up in a bloody revolution. Good or evil potions, he would use whatever was available to achieve his objectives and the potion he now used was created and commonly used when people wished to forget nightmares. In this case, he was sooooo sure Granger would want to forget what she had dreamt.

He chuckled.

No, he could not let Potter know that he was alive again. It would hinder his plans, and he didn't need those idiots who were striving to become heroes knocking down his hideaway every single day. Killing morons was so tedious, he recalled.

Although Potter's expression might be quite amusing when the boy found out that Tom Riddle now had three soul parts, instead of just the two necessary for him to live again.

He was actually quite surprised to find how unstable the soul still residing in his other self had become; the moment what was left of his soul there had detected him, it had fled to him, as if attracted to the other much larger parts or to his much stronger magic?

Yes, Tom knew he was the superior one of the two of them.

Of course, the Mudblood Horcrux and he himself were the only ones who knew that the soul part of the Lord Voldemort that was recently "vanquished" by Potter was now residing in him. He sneered at the verb since the boy hadn't done anything, but stand there, chat, and use that silly Disarming Spell again. Saint Potter hadn't even tried to kill him, the epitome of humiliation. It totally disgusted him how he had become so utterly ... stupid throughout the years. Out of all things, he had to insist that he was the one who must kill Potter? Why had he cared? Dead was dead after all.

Or perhaps the idiocy was yet another side effect of the Horcruxes?

Yes, regretfully, there were negative side effects in creating Horcruxes, something which he'd learnt much, much later in life and quite some time after he'd spent years hunting down legacies from the Founders and turning them into said objects. It was annoying, really, that with each Horcrux he'd created, he had lost a small part of his magic. The amount was so little that he had not detected it at all. However, after all seven Horcruxes had been made ...

But it was no longer a problem, and he should really thank the Mudblood and the blood-traitor for helping him. A most likely scenario.

He sniggered at his delightful little inside joke. Besides, it was not them he owed. It was his ancestor who helped restore his magic.

Salazar Slytherin himself had been a great wizard and owner of a fabulous collection of books and magical objects. When he had created the Chamber of Secrets, he had decided to hide within it most of what he had owned. So in order to preserve them and to maintain the Chamber in their best condition, a great amount of magic had been used.

When Tom had been "recreated", so to speak, he had "absorbed" a good fraction of that magic, not to the extent that would have caused the room to cave in, but much more than the amount he had lost and more than enough to allow him to do magic that he previously had been unable to do.

He had yet to find out the reason why he could Apparate inside of Hogwarts now. Was it simply because he had gained a larger amount of magic? Or because the source of magic came directly from Salazar Slytherin himself? Although books never recorded it, it was possible that each of the Founders could easily do things that other Headmasters and Headmistresses couldn't do.

But that wasn't the only puzzle he had to investigate. He also had to look into preventing Granger's new-found ability to see through his impeccable Disillusionment Charm, because that could become a problem in the future. He'd known it would happen, being that his very creation was connected to her life-force. If he had known in advance it would be a stinking Mudblood daring to desecrate his cup, he would have thought of another method to protect it. But he was stuck with her now; it was absolutely revolting.

He felt violated, having such an unworthy creature besmear him with her essence. Though, it was only a minor quantity, as he kept reminding himself, he still felt dirty. He wanted to take a shower to wash away the feeling, but it was inside of him, her filthy, despicable, Muggle energy. He balled his fists and stared at the cup with fury.

Oh, how she would pay for this.

He'd make her sorry she'd ever been born. He'd make her sorry her stinking parents had the nerve to procreate and pollute the world with more of their inferior, unclean, muddy genes. She'd feel his wrath first hand and she would crawl at his feet where she belonged, begging his forgiveness, which he would not grant her.

His eyes flashed red as he looked at Hufflepuff's cup on the table before him. He had to control his temper in order not to smash it into a million pieces. But Hermione Jean Granger would get exactly what she deserved for thinking she was allowed to exist, for thinking she had a right to breathe, for thinking she could oppose and try to kill him, for thinking she could contaminate Lord Voldemort—the greatest wizard of all—with her atrocious, pathetic magic. This whole situation was obscene and he had to find a method to purge himself, eventually.

But first, he'd use their connection to his benefit. This time around, Lord Voldemort would be victorious.

He raised his wand at the cup and smirked when it trembled on its feet briefly. "Wakey, wakey, Granger," he mocked right before casting one of the darkest of spells.

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With a violent surge of coughing, Hermione woke once again. This time, however, at least her head no longer felt as if it was being hacked apart by a machete, although her temples were still slightly throbbing. The sound of chairs scratching against the floor immediately reached her ears and threatened to magnify her headache.

"Hermione, how are you feeling?" Ron asked, holding onto her hand.

She shook her head and the hand Ron wasn't holding onto, signalling she couldn't reply, because she was still unable to stop coughing.

"Madam Pomfrey, we should get Madam Pomfrey," Ginny suggested, and she ran to the nurse's office.

A glass of water was stuffed into her hand, and she really wanted to roll her eyes if she could. Honestly, how did they propose she'd drink the water if she couldn't even stop herself from coughing? When she had another coughing fit, water sloshed over the rim of the glass, drenching her sheets. Ron started patting the wet spot with his torn sleeve in a kind yet totally disgusting unhygienic method of assistance. He should be thankful the nurse was not yet here to witness his "help".

A hand patted her on her back—Harry's hand, she realised.

"Out of my way," Madam Pomfrey's voice spoke, and Harry stepped aside, clearing the area for professional assistance.

When her coughs began to subside, a goblet of weird smelling potion was placed against her lips, and she wrinkled her nose. Did they expect her to drink that? Somehow, she felt slightly distrustful, like potions could harm instead of help her. So, she pressed her lips firmly together.

"Drink this, Miss Granger, it will make the headache go away," Madam Pomfrey said.

For real?

Without a second thought, Hermione opened her mouth and drank the liquid. After a few minutes, the headache finally came to a stop, and she thanked her lucky stars that Madam Pomfrey was such an excellent nurse. And closing her lips together had been rather childish. She knew the nurse meant her no harm and she wasn’t four years old anymore.

"How are you feeling now, Miss Granger?" the mediwitch asked.

Hermione blinked a couple of times and nodded. "Loads better," she answered, a smile finally appearing on her face. "Thanks, Madam Pomfrey."

"Thank Merlin you lot are leaving school," Madam Pomfrey glared at Hermione, Ron, and Harry, in that order. "There wasn't a single year when I haven't at least seen one of you."

Despite her harsh words, they could hear the endearment in her tone of voice, and it was apparent when she bustled around the room, retrieving different potions in order to mix a concoction for Hermione, that she cared a lot about their well-being.

"You gave us quite a scare when you just suddenly fainted," Ginny said quietly, concern shining through her eyes. "Harry and Ron didn't know what to do. Good thing McGonagall entered the Head's Office just in time."

"What happened?" Hermione asked, not quite remembering anything after what happened in the Head's Office.

"Madam Pomfrey said that you were too exhausted," Harry answered apologetically.

"Oh, stop being a prat, Harry," Hermione chided, rolling her eyes.

"As if he could've destroyed the Horcruxes without anyone's help," someone mocked.

Oh no. She was still hearing that voice. She grabbed her hair and shook her head, attempting to shake it out. With a soft chuckle, the voice silenced again.

"Hermione?" Harry frowned.

She gave him a small smile and shook her head. "I think ..."

"It's probably after-effects from what happened in the Chamber of Secrets," Ron spoke up, successfully breaking off Hermione's words.

Harry and Ginny turned and looked at him.

"What happened?" Ginny asked, curiosity written all over her freckled face.

"After Hermione stabbed the cup, we were thrown backwards into one of the statues. Well, we both hit our heads pretty hard and passed out."

"You passed out?" A frown promptly appeared on Ginny's face.

"We both passed out," Hermione quickly corrected, and her lip curled.

She had no idea why she wanted to clear up what had happened, but she just blurted it out before she had time to think. However, Ginny's frown hadn't gone away with her words; in fact, it deepened. Ginny was now staring at her as if hell had come to earth, as if she saw something entirely dreadful. Quickly, Hermione changed her expression to one of sincere innocence.

"Ron just likes everyone to forget he hit his head, too," she informed them, very amused when Madam Pomfrey found that alarming enough to begin meddling with him, too.

"There is nothing wrong with me," Ron objected, trying to pull his head out of the nurse's firm grasp when she pushed on his skull.

"Does this hurt?"

"Well, yea-hah," Ron said in a duh-uh tone of voice, "you're crushing my head."

"Nothing's broken," Madam Pomfrey mumbled, before swirling her wand around Ron's head. A purple circle formed above his head and slowly descended. Ron's hand flew up, but before he could scratch his face to stop the itch, Poppy Pomfrey grabbed his hand. "No touching."

"It itches," Ron complained, while the circle turned white as it moved down.

"No apparent brain damage," the nurse concluded, while waving her wand again to extinguish the Diagnostic Charm.

"I said I was fine," Ron grumbled with clear emphasis on the past tense, while rubbing his face relentlessly.

But Ginny wasn't paying attention to Ron's little antics; she scrutinised Hermione. It began to grate on her nerves, seeing the redhead stare at her face with that wide deer-eyed terror look. She should give the girl something to be really frightened about.

Annoying little chit, the voice sounded in her mind again.

Hermione, however reluctantly, had to agree with it. Couldn't Ginny find something else to stare at? It made her feel as if there really was something wrong with her, and it was especially irritable when that voice was still bothering her and just wouldn't go away.

Hearing voices no one else can hear is never a good sign, even in the wizarding world, her mind recalled Ron telling Harry. She was about to speak up and ask Madam Pomfrey for assistance in this matter when something else came out of her mouth entirely.

"Something the matter, Ginny?" she asked sweetly.

"Riddle," Ginny whispered barely audible.

"What?" asked Harry, eyes darting from Ginny to Hermione.

"It's Tom Riddle," Ginny said more firmly, rising from her rickety chair and pointing to Hermione. "He's inside her. Something went wrong in the chamber. It must have."

Hermione snorted. "And they say I hurt my head."

Madam Pomfrey furrowed her eyebrows and stared at Ginny, examining the redhead as if she was trying to see if the girl was ill or wounded.

"Ginny," Harry started hesitantly. "That's not possible."

"Why not? Don't you see it?!" Ginny shouted, alarmed. "Look at her."

Everyone looked at Hermione, who hoisted her shoulders apologetically, showing she clearly had no idea what Ginny was going on about. Her eyes darted meaningfully from Harry to Ginny, showing him her concern for his girlfriend before she glanced back at Ginny with the expression of a parent hovering over their feverish child.

"Don't!" Ginny shrieked, her voice going up an octave in pitch. "Don't ever give me that look again, Riddle!"

"Hermione destroyed the cup, Ginny," Ron interrupted, watching his hysterical sister worried. "I saw it. He screamed when she destroyed it."

Ginny shook her head, obviously not convinced by the evidence given to her.

"That also happened to the tiara," Harry recalled carefully, in a voice one would use on skittish animals to prevent them from bolting.

"And the locket," Ron said, making sure to add his moment of glory.

Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes at how boastful he was. The locket was just there. What was the most it could've done? Chomp at his toes? It was not as if he'd beaten Riddle properly in a duel. He'd just stabbed the thing with Gryffindor's sword, because Harry’d told him to. Gee, heroic, anyone could do that.

She noted Madam Pomfrey had pulled her wand unobtrusively, while eyeing Ginny's behaviour. Though, on occasion, the mediwitch looked in her direction, too. That was positively unacceptable. Any kind of possible suspicion had to be buried thoroughly, now.

"Plus, Voldemort died when his curse rebounded," Hermione added reasonably. "He didn't become some fleeting vapour as before when Harry was still a baby. So, he couldn't have had a Horcrux around anymore."

That settled it for everyone, except for Ginny.

"He's doing to her what he did to me!" Ginny hollered. "You have to help her. We have to do something. You don't know what it is like when he possesses you." She grabbed Harry by his shoulders and shook him. "Look at her, Harry, look at her expression. It's his. I know—"

Abruptly, Ginny collapsed in Harry's arms when Madam Pomfrey's Calming Charm hit her. Harry lifted her and watched her with worry. Ron ran around the bed, until he stood next to Harry and stared at his younger sister, panic apparent in his stance and expression.

"Quickly, put her in that bed over there, Harry," Madam Pomfrey ordered. "Weasley, go get your parents. She is going to need all the help she can get."

A frown creased Ron's forehead, but he followed her directions, nonetheless. The same expression was on Hermione's face—was Ginny right? Was she being possessed by Tom Riddle? After all, she had been hearing a voice—which sounded an awful lot like him—ever since the incident in the Chamber.

Nonsense, she told herself.

She'd had a hard time getting his voice out of her head after the locket had been destroyed, too. The vile things he had said to her... Though she hadn't bolted as Ron had done, his words had stung and she'd been unable to simply shake it out of her system. She recalled how she had tossed and turned in her bed at Shell Cottage, hearing his voice whisper what an utter failure she was. How she was going to get Harry killed, because she wasn't as smart as everyone hoped she would be. No, Riddle had a way of slithering into your deepest fears and worries, and then, he stirred them around for his amusement. It was no wonder his voice lingered around her.

Besides, Ginny had never mentioned anything about hearing voices in her head after what happened in her first year. A possessed person would have no idea that she was being possessed, and Ginny had moments when she ended up in places she had no idea how she got there in the first place. That had never happened to Hermione at all. It was quite clear that her symptoms now were simply enhanced, because she got hit on her head; although she had no idea if audible hallucinations really were a symptom of a concussion, or if they were simply there due to those sordid devices. She'd have to check in the library later.

No, she knew that Ginny was just overreacting—in a very bothersome way. Hermione could hardly control the small grin from appearing on her face. At least she wouldn't have to suffer from the girl hovering over her, because she'd be afraid that a killing spree would begin. Hermione mentally snorted.

As if that would ever happen.

Harry placed Ginny on one of the beds and looked back at the nurse.

"What's wrong with her, Madam Pomfrey?" he asked, concern laced throughout his words. "She was fine a few moments ago. She even battled Bellatrix Lestrange and all."

"This is not uncommon, Harry. I can't be sure, of course, since I am not a psychologist Healer, but it looks like some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder. Ginny's been in here before, getting Dreamless Sleep Potions—ever since the diary incident in her first year, that is. Now it is all permanently over and he is gone for good, her mind can finally give voice to her—"

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley cried out loudly, storming into the infirmary, followed by a horde of redheads.

Everyone talked through one another, asking the nurse questions about Ginny's condition, while Mrs. Weasley rocked her in her arms like she was still a baby. Everyone had their eyes on the unconscious girl. Nobody noticed how Hermione's eyes danced with merriment, and how she placed her hands behind her head casually, watching the show unfold before her eyes.

"You really need to take her to a psychologist Healer this time, Arthur," Madam Pomfrey said sternly.

"Albus said she was fine," he replied softly, looking at his daughter concerned. "I am sorry we didn't listen to you when you told us this before, but Ginny didn't want to go either and we thought..." he stopped talking, upset that he had let this happen to Ginny.

"I know," Madam Pomfrey said softly. "I should have insisted upon it more. We're all to blame she didn't get the proper help."

"Well, that's not going to be the case anymore," George said firmly. "I have earned more than enough money to get her the best Healer in the world."

While everyone had their attention on Ginny, a smirk slowly spread across Hermione's face. As suddenly as it had appeared, it disappeared, and Hermione blinked twice, not quite remembering what had just happened. She stared at the Weasleys, wondering when they had entered the infirmary.

She raised her eyebrows and scratched her head. She must've been more absorbed in her thoughts than she had thought she had been, or maybe she had passed out again? As if on cue, the soft chuckle echoed in her mind again. Although she frowned, she was thankful that at least it was a lot lower in volume than the previous times, for her head ached again.

Perhaps it will go away after a while, she pondered optimistically. Once this concussion is healed, everything will be alright again.

And that thought made her smile.

Harry looked up at the same time, caught her eyes, and gave her a weak smile back.

"Is Ginny going to be alright?" asked Hermione.

"She will be," Harry assured them both. "She will be."

Well, as long as Ginny was going to be alright, nothing could possibly be amiss. Right?

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