The Gold Puppet

Disclaimer: This does get mighty repetitive. Well, okay, since we don't want to lose that one Knut in our pocket... Everything in the Potterverse belongs to JKR not us, and we get no extra Knuts or any other monetary compensation for writing this. Duh.

Authors Serpent-In-Red and Nerys

Authors' note: Thank you for reading and reviewing; Marieve.

Marieve: We’re glad you like our combined efforts on this fic. And yes, this entire situation will be incredibly frustrating for Ginny and ... dangerous. For we all know how much Tom likes to play with his food. ;-)
And he sure is going to have his hands full with Hermione; she is indeed far more sneaky and crafty than he gives her credit for at the moment. I am sure your weather forecast will be accurate, eventually. LOL.
So, Serp and myself thank you for taking the time to review; we enjoyed the feedback and we hope you will enjoy this next chapter.

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The Gold Puppet

Chapter 4

"We are the champions! No time fer losers, 'cause we are the champions!" Hagrid sang loudly, a nearly empty bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand, while he staggered around the grounds, swaying back and forth due to the substantial amount of alcohol in his system.

The full moon shone through the clouds, brightening the area. A dark shadow moved at the rim of the Forbidden Forest, and Hagrid squinted in its direction. A breath of fire sparked from all its ends, showing the now twenty-five feet long Blast-Ended Skrewt in all its hideous glory. The giant scorpion-like creature curled his long sting over his back, identifying it as being a male. Hagrid knew it had to be the one who'd survived the maze of the Triwizard Tournament intact and had fled to the Forbidden Forest afterward.

"Biscuit! Yeh've come back ter me!" he slurred, stumbling in the direction of the dangerous beast with his arms held wide.

This was almost too easy, Riddle thought sarcastically, standing out of sight in the Forbidden Forest, but close enough to keep "Biscuit" under control. He made the beast turn to Hagrid, making sure its deadly sting was aimed at its target.

Killing a half-breed Giant was problematic since it required repeated casting, because every curse would bounce off the oaf's thick skin, and he couldn't afford "Professor Hagrid" to alarm anyone. Lord Voldemort’s existence had to remain a secret and that meant killing everyone who could identify him.

Besides, he'd found there was a poetic justice in using the Skrewt. His Basilisk was dead, because those meddlesome children believed in the oversized clod's innocence. Angry, his eyes flashed red; his face contorted; and his knuckles turned white, gripping his wand tighter. Not only was he a nuisance back in school, the poor excuse for a wizard and equally unfit giant caused him plenty of trouble during the battle of Hogwarts, just by existing. Him and his stupid, oversized, idiotic half brother. Well, perhaps Tom should be glad that the moron was such an utter failure, or else things would've been more complicated than necessary. As it was, Hagrid had only run around after his dog the whole time.

But no matter. Rubeus Hagrid wouldn't be around much longer.

This made him incredibly happy and his muscles relaxed, forming a broad smile on his moonlit face as he watched the utter fool grab a hold of the Skrewt's —er ...— well, he had no idea what body part it was actually that Hagrid hugged onto, but it was unimportant. His wand swirled above his head. Biscuit's sting flashed forward at tremendous speed and struck Hagrid in his back.

"Ouch!" Hagrid cried out. "Bad Biscuit," he slurred.

His intoxicated mind did not realise he was in serious trouble, yet. But he would soon find out, because that venom was a potent paralysing agent, potent enough to floor a dozen real giants.

With a satisfied expression, Riddle lowered his wand. He could leave the rest up to nature. The Skrewt was not a tame pet, and Hagrid had no control over it.

That became very apparent when its ends sprayed fire all over his creator. A sharp pang sounded when the bottle dropped from Hagrid's hand and broke before it hit the ground due to the immense heat. What little alcohol had remained in there erupted like a white flame to the sky. The screams of pain were music to Tom's ears.

The Skrewt clutched to Hagrid, pressing his immobile body against its soft underbelly—the only place the animal wasn't covered by its thick, shiny, grey armour. It had taken a lot of manoeuvring on Tom’s end, but eventually, he'd been able to strike the animal with the Imperius Curse at its only weak spot.

A loud sucking sound filled the air along with the crackling of flames, and Hagrid had turned quiet.

Tom silently laughed. This was all coming together quite nicely. His eyes glittered as he saw the struggle in Hagrid's eyes, illuminated by another burst of fire from the Skrewt. The half-Giant's mouth was wide open, although no sounds came out.

Definitely a piece of artwork.

"Goodbye, Hagrid," he said softly, a sneer pulling at the corners of his lips. "Monsters don't make good pets, do they? As I've told you ... oh, give or take half a century ago."

What would that oaf do if he found out Tom was behind all of this? He was in no condition to tell anyone, anyway. The idea was very tempting, to taunt one of the favourite students of Albus Dumbledore. Perhaps dear Professor Hagrid could tell the old coot that Tom Riddle was still alive when they met in their precious hereafter.

He was about to step forward, but screams for help sounded in the distance. Tom peeked in the direction of the castle and saw two people rushing to Hagrid's aid. Flashes of green erupted from their wands and headed straight for the beast that still clung onto its creator.

Thump!

The ground shook when the Skrewt dumped the now completely blackened Hagrid on the grass, and it calmly returned to the Forbidden Forest, ignoring the curses that bounced off its armour. The two professors chased it with The Unforgivable, to no avail. Reaching Hagrid's barely identifiable body, they looked down in shock.

"He's still alive," Flitwick squeaked, noticing his ribcage rise and fall.

"Oh dear," Sprout muttered, horrified. "His belly, Filius, look at his belly." Professor Sprout referred to the gigantic hole at which Hagrid's intestines bulged out. They were ripped and obviously chewed upon. "I thought those horrible creatures had no mouth."

Flitwick didn't reply; he focused on his casting. His wand whooshed and flicked. He tried to levitate Hagrid, but his giant blood made it impossible.

"Warn Minerva that I can't move him. We need Poppy here with burn-healing paste," Filius said matter-of-factly, while starting on a complicated Healing Charm.

Pomona Sprout placed her wand against her temple. A silver thread clung to the tip of it as she moved it away from her mind. With a whisper and a flick of her wrist, it became a mandrake, which dove underneath the ground and left a trace of elevated soil behind (much like a mole's), as it sprinted toward the castle hurriedly.

"What can I do?"

"Don't you have any plants that could help heal this?" Flitwick inquired, wiping his forehead with his non-dominant arm in order not to stop casting.

"Normally, yes, but the greenhouses have been completely destroyed in the battle. I have no supplies left and Muckusflowers require three months to blossom before its juice can be harvested."

The panic was apparent in her voice, though she attempted to maintain a calm exterior.

"He doesn't have three months," Flitwick muttered, more sweat dripping down the side of his face.

"He doesn't have three hours," Tom told the shaking cup in his hand, satisfied.

Controlling the Skrewt hadn't been a real task. He could have done it with his eyes closed; so, he'd been able to give the Horcrux his main attention. And boy, was he having fun with that. It became easier and easier to take over Granger; of course, all the potions they fed her to "help" her weren't doing her any favours. But how could they know?

Something wet leaked over the palm of his hand. Surprised, he looked at his hand before he lifted the cup and noticed the rubies that decorated it were the cause of it. They leaked some crystal-clear fluid. Carefully, he raised his wand and performed an Identification Charm, wondering what Granger was up to this time. He glared at the results with disgust. Tears! They were tears. Ugh. She was crying over the oaf.

Oh Salazar, no, now she made that horrid noise as well.

But how could she? He had her under control. He could see it through her eyes, her delightful "discussion" with the silly little redhead that he had steered along.

Only now that meddlesome witch interfered. Oh well, no Calming Draught could keep him incapacitated. He had antidotes for those. All he had to do was drop them in the cup and he was good to go. He'd heard the nurse mentioning she was low on Painkiller Potions, and he knew who would bring those to the infirmary. He could hardly wait and he knew how he was going to go about it. He had to prevent himself from laughing out loud in order not to be detected by the morons still thinking they could rescue that huge waste of space.

"Shut up!" he hissed at the cup, as he stalked away—just in case Minnie got the insane idea to chase after the beastie and make it pay. It would be so her.

He clearly remembered how she had used every opportunity as a Head Girl to get on his nerves when he was back in his sixth-year, simply because he had refused to go to Hogsmeade with her. Not to mention the many times she had caused trouble to his Death Eaters during the first war—not that she knew that Lord Voldemort was the same boy she had fancied back in school, but it still caused him too much trouble.

Revenge will be sweet, he thought, the irritation he felt with Granger's tears very much alleviated.

No, a simple Avada just wouldn't cut it in his eyes. Minnie needed to learn some manners first.

He summoned his antidote potion and added three drops to the cup. Minnie would have to wait. Right now, he had a bigger nuisance to fry and no bezoar would save Sluggie.

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Tick, tock, tick, tock ...

Hermione stared at the clock that hung above the entrance of the infirmary, and she shifted her position yet again. Instead of numbers or Roman numerals, the clock displayed planets circling around a sun in the middle.

She groaned. Madam Pomfrey had forbidden her to read, so she had nothing to do but count the seconds. According to the nurse, reading would only cause Hermione's headache to come back. Therefore, although Hermione was very much annoyed with this restriction, she really didn't fancy another hour of head-splitting pains; so she complied with Madam Pomfrey's orders.

Her eyes landed on the bed next to hers, which was occupied by Ginny. George had wanted to transfer the redhead over to St. Mungo's last night, but the hospital was already overflowing with patients. All the Healers worked overtime due to the amount of people injured during the war. Additionally, he was not settling for second best—he wanted the best psychologist Healer there was for his sister.

Hermione understood how he felt. After Fred's death, George was even more determined to protect his family, let alone his only sister.

Suddenly, Ginny stirred in her bed. It seemed like she woke. With a barely noticeable shake of her body, she slowly opened her eyes.

"Ginny," Hermione breathed out in relief. The redhead turned her head, and not noticing the alarmed look flashing through Ginny's eyes, Hermione continued to say, "We were so worried about you. How are you feeling? Are you—"

"Stop pretending, Riddle," Ginny hissed, narrowing her eyes at Hermione. "I know what you're trying to do. You're not fooling me."

Riddle? What? Why? Had Ginny lost it completely?

Hermione looked behind her, just in case. Besides the other bedridden patients, nobody was there. With gaping wonderment, Hermione looked back at Ginny. The redhead was really glaring at her, her! Hermione blinked, not knowing what to say back—she'd never been lost for words before. But she was too stunned to reply. Ginny's words made no sense to her.

"Oh, the innocent 'I have no idea what you mean' act," Ginny sneered. "I've seen it all; you don't fool me any—"

A soft cough from Madam Pomfrey's office made her stop her words. A few minutes later, however, she gazed back at Hermione again; her eyes filled with hatred, doubt, alarm, and fear. It took the brunette by surprise, and she still didn't know what to say.

"You're not tricking me anymore, and mark my words, I will find a way to destroy you once and for all, Riddle," Ginny whispered, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Hermione considered calling the nurse over. Something was obviously terribly wrong with Ginny, and she wanted to know what it was and get her the proper assistance. She also wanted this ridiculous conversation to stop. Hermione was about to say something to clear things up between them, to show Ginny she had her best interest at heart before calling out to Poppy Pomfrey, but the words that came out of her mouth were completely different from what she was thinking.

"Really?" she smiled and flipped over to her right side. She propped up her head with her hand. "When was the last time you've done something mildly impressive, Ginny? The Bat-Bogey Hex? Or how wonderful you were at," she snorted, "snogging Harry?"

Flames of anger flared up in Ginny's eyes, and she sat up in her bed.

"Let's see," Hermione said with a faux thinking look. "Who was the one who went with Harry on the hunt for the Horcruxes, while you were so cosily sleeping in your dorm here at Hogwarts? Who was the one who spent hours trying to find out who was the culprit behind the attacks back in your first year? Who was the one travelling back in time with him to rescue Buckbeak and his Godfather Sirius Black? Who—"

"Don't you dare, Riddle. How dare you use Hermione's body like that? How dare you—"

Hermione laughed, causing Ginny to stop in her rant, because the laugh was so unlike Hermione.

"It's alright, Ginny. We know that you've been ... traumatized by what happened with Riddle back in your first year," Hermione said patronizingly, her expression clearly one with enjoyment and a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. "We understand how distressed you are, and we'll find the best psychologist Healer there is for you."

"RIDDLE!" Ginny growled, flinging her blankets away with one hand and grabbing her wand on the side table with the other. The other patients stirred in their beds, but did not seem to wake from their slumber.

Hermione winked at her, and quickly, placed an innocent look back on her face right before Madam Pomfrey rushed out of the nurse's office.

"Girls!" Madam Pomfrey hissed, disbelief written all over her face. Her head snapped towards Ginny, and her eyes widened. "Miss Weasley! You lower your wand this instant."

The redhead took no acknowledgement of her words. She still glared at Hermione, while her wandhand twitched, as if she was deciding on which hex to use on the girl in front of her.

"Miss Weasley, if you don't lower that wand right now, I will have to confiscate it," Madam Pomfrey threatened, striding forward and stopping right between the two girls with her arms widespread.

Behind Pomfrey's back, Hermione gave Ginny a small wave before lying back down on her bed.

"Madam Pomfrey, you have to believe me. It's Riddle. He's possessing her ..."

Hermione frowned, glancing between Madam Pomfrey and Ginny. What happened? Why was Madam Pomfrey standing in front of her bed as if she was shielding her from harm? Why did Ginny look so angry again?

"I know how you feel, Miss Weasley. Please do not worry," Madam Pomfrey soothed the girl, while she assisted Ginny to lie back down.

"You don't understand ..."

"Perhaps you would like some Dreamless Sleep Potion?" the nurse offered.

"No!" Ginny shook her head violently and sat back up again. "I don't want to sleep. Not with him around."

She shot a look at Hermione, and Madam Pomfrey sighed.

"Fine," the mediwitch agreed, "but if I hear any signs of arguments, I will give both of you a Calming Draught. No ifs, ands, or buts."

Reluctantly, Ginny nodded. Seconds later, the only sounds left in the room were the clock and the soft snores from the other patients. With more force than necessary, Ginny flipped over and buried herself into the blankets; her back turned towards Hermione. Seconds later, she flipped on her back again and stared the brunette from the corner of her eye, as if she was afraid that Hermione would suddenly attack her.

"Ginny ..." Hermione gathered up her courage and started to say.

Ginny turned her head and glared at her, like she dared her to continue speaking.

Hermione bit her lower lip and decided to say what was on her mind anyway. "I don't know why you think Riddle is possessing me, but ... it's not true. I'm not being—"

"Stop acting, Riddle," Ginny cut in, rolling her hands up into fists. "I know you. You're not tricking me again. And if that conversation from before wasn't proof enough ..."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, wondering how their previous conversation proved that she was being possessed.

"Ginny, we've never even finished our conversation. You were just speculating that I might've been possessed by Riddle back in the Chamber," she tried to explain to the girl. "I—"

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" Ginny screamed, covering her ears with her hands.

The other occupants in the room woke up, startled, sitting up straight to see what happened.

"Wha's the mad'er?" a sixth-year Ravenclaw asked drowsily, two beds away from Hermione.

"That's enough!" Madam Pomfrey declared, marching up to Ginny and Hermione with two glasses in her hand. She placed one on the bedside table and handed one to Ginny. "You're disturbing the other patients."

"Madam Pomfrey ..." Ginny protested.

"No ifs, ands, or buts," the nurse reminded her firmly.

When Ginny opened her mouth to reason with her, she resolutely held the glass up to Ginny's mouth and forced it down her throat. After the last drop passed Ginny's lips, Madam Pomfrey turned towards Hermione.

"But I didn't raise my voice," Hermione complained.

"I will not have you two disturbing the rest of my patients. You will either drink the potion or I will feed it to you," Madam Pomfrey said.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, but she didn't know how to convince the woman in front of her. Realizing Hermione was not going to drink the potion on her own, Madam Pomfrey lifted the glass and poured the contents into her mouth.

"Have a good night's rest, Miss Granger," the nurse patted Hermione on the head after the glass was finally empty.

Seconds later, Hermione slowly got drowsy. Her eyelids felt heavier and heavier, and the last thing she saw before she fell back to sleep was McGonagall throwing the door of the infirmary open.

"Poppy, we need your help. Hagrid's been attacked by his Skrewt!"

Pomfrey started to run in McGonagall's direction, but the tartan wearing woman stopped her by holding up her hand. "You need to bring burn-healing paste. I was told he's in really bad shape."

So, Poppy swirled around and ran to her cupboard. "How much of his skin is burned?" she asked, picking two jars.

"All of it," Minerva said gravely.

Poppy let out a shocked cry and emptied the entire shelve. She tossed several jars to Minerva and tucked the rest of them in her arms. They paced out the infirmary in haste, Poppy following Minerva, not knowing their trip would be in vain.

Several hours later, a teary-eyed nurse entered the infirmary empty-handed to get the shock of a lifetime. In the middle of the infirmary, spread wide-eagled, lay Horace Slughorn, dead. His face was contorted in a hideous manner, and his eyes stayed wide in forever frozen panic, while his fist held onto a tuft of flaming red hair.

But the biggest shock the nurse got was from the ongoing event, a few feet away from Slughorn. There stood Ginny Weasley, a pillow in her hands, pressing it down in the face of Hermione Granger, who, Poppy noted, wasn't moving.

The nurse drew her wand. "Stupefy!"

While the stupefied Ginny fell on top of Hermione, Poppy ran to the girls and jerked Ginny (and her pillow) forcefully off Hermione. Quickly, she checked for a pulse.

"Please be alright, please be alright," Poppy muttered.

She'd never lost a patient in her infirmary before. And if Hermione was dead, it would be her fault for leaving her alone with the unstable Ginny Weasley.

Please breathe, Miss Granger, come on now, breathe, she wished desperately.

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