The Gold Puppet

Disclaimer: We don't own anything from the world of Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. It's all hers. And we make no money by writing this.

Story By: Serpent In Red and Nerys (otherwise known as "Silver Puppet Masters" on FFnet).

Authors' Note: We thank you for reading and reviewing; Chays020 and Nicky111.

Chays020: Do you know that Serp and I had the same discussion at some point during our writing of this story? We also asked to each other, “Isn’t it bad that we’re enjoying writing these evil things so much?”
Our unified answer: “Nah.” ROFLMAO. It’s nice to hear we are not alone in these thoughts and we’re glad you’re enjoying the story “too” much. XD
As for your Weasleys wishes… well, you won’t be disappointed. We just admitted that we’re evil writers, haven’t we? ;-)
And we’ll do our best to update a.s.a.p., but… *points to message below*… it may be a bit later than usual.

Nicky111: Well, Serp and I wouldn’t mind “sharing Tom’s body”. *insert sniggering crazy writers*
Maybe it also has to do with this story being more from Tom’s POV than Hermione’s? But eh, to each their own, and if you don’t like the story, we’re sorry to hear it.

Warning: With the upcoming sixth chapter, this story will go from a T-rating to M.

We couldn't find any reference to the colour of Firewhiskey, so we took the liberty to make it red. Red for fire. And as such making it distinctly different from any Muggle whiskey. The same goes for Slughorn's H.E.F. initials, so we made up the names for E (Errol) and F (Floyd). If anyone ever heard Jo saying what Slughorn's names are supposed to be, let us know and we will alter it.

Serp is on holiday (shame on her), so the next update may be a bit later, depending on whether or not there is internet available. No, we are not sad people with no life. We have Tom. ;-)

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The Gold Puppet

Chapter Five

Humming softly to himself, Slughorn levitated a tray full of Painkiller Potions and strolled towards the infirmary. The tip of his wand lit up the path before him. He had to watch where he went since this part of the castle was filled with debris and had no more functioning candles on the wall. But he was an accomplished wizard, after all, and he could easily manage two tasks at once.

Despite the amount of deaths that had tolled up today, his main concern was getting the proper acknowledgement for his own deeds. He was greatly pleased by the large number of compliments he had been given for holding off You-Know-Who with Minerva and Kingsley—though if he said so himself, they had merely assisted him—he had done the bulk of the work, being the most powerful of the three, naturally. It had been obvious by the way You-Know-Who had focused his attacks primarily on Kingsley and Minerva that the man knew he stood no chance against him.

Yes, many students even looked up at him now, which really boosted his ego. He knew he had made the right decision by staying around to help defeat him.

Therefore, with a bounce in his steps, he steadied the tray before turning his wand towards the infirmary door. It appeared that the nurse was currently not in her office, since the identification ward was activated. It wasn't too abnormal. There were so many people injured during the final battle barely a day ago and Poppy was always very protective of her patients. With a flash of gold, indicating that the identity of the visitor was confirmed as allowed to enter, the ward opened slightly. It was just enough space for Slughorn to squeeze through, and immediately, it slid back into place after the professor entered the infirmary.

Most of the beds were occupied, and a quick glance around the room informed him that all the occupants were fast asleep.

Excellent. It meant that perhaps he could "borrow" some of the special ingredients from Poppy's cabinet.

Gently, he placed the tray on the table against the wall and tiptoed to the door of the nurse's office. He frowned ever so slightly when he realised Poppy had activated the wards to prevent people from stealing things from her office. These wards were created by the Founders and virtually impossible to break through. So, even if he would have had the time to lower each ward, he couldn't; only the school nurse and the Headmaster had the proper access to activate and deactivate the wards.

Cursing his luck in a low voice, he whirled around and was about to exit the infirmary when a voice stopped him.

"Good evening, Professor Slughorn," a young woman's voice greeted him.

He turned around and glanced about the room, searching for the source of the voice. A surprised expression appeared on his face when he saw it was Miss Granger. He'd thought she'd been just as deep asleep as the others. Apparently, the Founders' wards had saved him from being caught red-handed. It was his lucky night.

"Miss Granger, good evening," he smiled and strolled over to her bedside.

She had been one of his favourite students, after all, and she was really smart—excellent Potion brewer, too. He had to make sure she wouldn't forget her old professor in the future, because that girl would definitely go places, make something of herself, and obtain a really important job some day.

"I've heard what happened in the Head's Office. I do hope you are feeling better," he said, his voice laced with concern.

"Loads better, Professor," Hermione replied, returning his smile with one of her own. "I must say, you were truly courageous yesterday."

"Me?" Slughorn asked with a hearty laugh, clearly understanding where this conversation was leading towards.

To be praised by a member of the Golden Trio! If only there was someone around to bear witness to something so extremely impressive. His beady eyes darted around the infirmary, but the other patients had not woken. However, his disappointment was quickly forgotten when he saw the look Hermione sent him.

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, she would definitely not forget him. He had it made.

"Of course, Professor Slughorn. You were so brave, courageous ... and my, I never knew you had such wonderful duelling skills," the girl commented.

"You're too kind, Miss Granger," Slughorn beamed at her. "I was simply doing what I should do. After all, I am your professor, and I should be protecting my students."

"Certainly," Hermione nodded, lowering her eyes. "But not everyone could have done what you did, and most professors just stood by and watched. All of them were so ... afraid of him. But not you, Professor. You just jumped into the battle and duelled him. You were really brave, Professor." Affection and reverence dripped through her voice mildly as she addressed him, looking up at him with fondness plastered all over her face. "Perhaps we should toast to your fearlessness?"

Her eyes slid over to the side table and Slughorn's eyesight followed. His eyes visibly lit up when he found the bottle of liquor on her table, a bottle of one of Ogden's finest; 1783, it stated on the label. He felt the desire to obtain it pulse through his veins. That was a very good year, a very good year. It was almost impossible to get and priceless. For the sake of propriety, he objected, not too firmly, to what she was suggesting.

"Why, Miss Granger. You know that this is forbidd—"

"Yes, Professor, but Ron insisted it was okay, since the death of Lord Voldemort,"—her lips curved into a nearly undetectable smile and Slughorn's cheek twitched at hearing the name of You-Know-Who spoken so casually—, "does call for celebration. Harry got three of these bottles from Aberforth for his victory, and he passed one along to each of us for helping him. But I insist that you should drink most of it; since it was because of you, that we won the battle in the first place."

"Well ... I—I mean, Harry did do most of the work ..." Slughorn stuttered, though it was obvious from his face that he was flattered. And he did puff out his chest, giving off the signal he felt Hermione wasn't entirely mistaken.

"But Harry couldn't have possibly done all the work," Hermione argued. "If you hadn't helped, I doubt Harry could've stayed hidden for such a long period of time." She grinned at him. "He wouldn't have retained enough energy for the final duel with him."

"Well ... I ... I suppose ... Yes, I suppose so," he answered, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"So," she magicked a pair of glasses from the side table and the bottle of expensive liquor into the air before them and poured two glasses with equal amounts, "a toast to your victory, Professor." She handed one of the glasses to Slughorn.

He eyed the liquor for a few seconds before finally accepting it. "I suppose one glass can't hurt." He glanced at Hermione again. "You wouldn't ... I mean ..."

"Nobody needs to know what happened tonight, Professor, and I think you should keep the rest of the bottle."

She waved at the liquor standing on top of the side table. Slughorn's eyes, if possible, lit up even more. She tipped her glass towards him, "For your courageous act."

"And to your speedy recovery, Miss Granger," he added courteously, tipping his own glass towards her before downing it completely.

Clink.

The glass dropped to the floor and shattered as he staggered back and forth, his breathing a lot heavier than seconds before.

"That ... that ... that was ... was quite ... strong," Slughorn commented, placing a hand on his chest.

"Not really," Hermione retorted quietly, a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. "I daresay it's not acting fast enough."

Baffled, he looked up, finally noticing something was off about the girl; her tone of voice, it was different from the way she normally spoke.

She swirled her untouched liquor around, watching the blood red waves linger against the glass before settling down again with the rest of the fluid.

"But you see, I do prefer chatting with you first," she told him, smirking.

Abruptly, she placed the Firewhiskey onto the side table, pulled back her blanket, and stepped into her slippers, while she drew her wand.

Slughorn took a few steps away from her.

No, there was definitely something wrong with her. She ... she didn't ... she didn't sound like Hermione Granger; she didn't act like Hermione Granger; she wasn't Hermione Granger; she couldn't be. There was a formidable cloud of darkness hanging around her now. Although he had heard rumours how she had occasionally broken a few school rules with Mr. Potter, he had always seen her as a kind girl, definitely not someone with such a dark aura.

Why had he not noticed this before?

His stomach cramped and he clutched to it with both hands, trying to stay upright in order to keep a watchful eye on the girl.

"Being Head of Slytherin twice in your lifetime, I would've thought that you would know some of the basic characteristics of being a true Slytherin," she said, tapping her wand on her hand. "Do tell me, do you even recall why you were sorted into Slytherin?"

Sweat condensed on his forehead and ran down the side of his cheek, but he hardly cared; he kept his attention on Hermione, not knowing what she was going to do next. To Horace this conversation had drifted to surreal territory. A Gryffindor questioned him about proper Slytherin qualities?

His stomach knotted as fear swarmed in when he noticed how she twirled her wand between her fingers. Oh Merlin, no, that was impossible. It couldn't be...

His mouth turned dry and he reached for his wand to find it was no longer there. He stumbled back, eyes widening in terror.

"Need I remind you the traits?" she asked casually, ignoring the obvious realisation that had struck Slughorn. Slowly, she moved forward until she stood right in front of him. "I suppose that the only thing you have is ambition. And then, there is that pathetic, obvious for everyone to see, plotting you do to collect those more worthy than you into your corner. Do you think that counts even remotely as cunning?" she sneered. "Did you think that people would really look up to you if you duelled Lord Voldemort?" She circled around him. "Did you think that you could possibly defeat Lord Voldemort?" She stopped beside him and whispered in his ear, "Did you think that he was still that young, innocent," she sneered at the word, "boy you taught fifty-three years ago?"

A horrified look passed through Slughorn's eyes as she confirmed his suspicions, and he whipped his head around to stare at Hermione Granger.

Her grin widened.

"Yesss," she hissed, "you thought you'd seen the end of Lord Voldemort, didn't you?"

Her eyes glinted with joy and she took a few steps backwards, observing how Horace's nose, ears and lips turned purple - the first stage of poisoning had set in.

"Or did you think I would be merciful to a fellow "Slytherin"?" Her lip curled in disgust as she spoke the word in relation to Horace. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out you told Potter I'd made seven Horcruxes?" she asked ever so quietly.

Slughorn turned whiter than the palest of ghosts.

"But perhaps I can be a merciful Lord?" she asked herself, tapping her chin and looking up at the ceiling in mock thought. "Perhaps I should give you a chance to save yourself?" she looked at Slughorn questioningly.

He didn't respond, but she saw the glimmer of hope dart through the foolish man's eyes.

"It's Poison of Athena's that's running through your veins," she explained. "Though a Professor of Potions should have deduced that by now." With a mocking look, she said, "Let us see if your Potions brewing skills have improved over the years."

With a flick of her wand, the drawer of the side table, where the poisonous liquor bottle still stood, opened, and numerous ingredients hovered directly to Slughorn. His eyes searched desperately among them for that one shrivelled, kidney-like stone, which Potter so smartly had used to rescue Ron.

"Oh no, we're not going to use a bezoar with you, Professor, since you are The Potions Master," Hermione jeered. With another flick, a boiling kettle with a bubbling greyish turbid liquid in it appeared on the ground before him and the ingredients fell down next to it. "Aren't you going to thank me for giving you a head start? Only the last three bits of the antidote have to be added, and I've even measured the quantities of each ingredient for you."

Slughorn didn't stop to think, nor did he have the time to stop and think. His extremities began to sting and tingle. With Poison of Athena's, he knew this was not a good sign. He could only hope that Hermione, or rather, Tom wasn't lying to him. Dropping to his knees, he tried to pick up the ingredients with his now trembling hands.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Hermione clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Such awful display of handling ingredients. Didn't you remember that mermaid's hair could only be magicked into the potion three seconds after the potion turned blue? Touching it beforehand would damage its magical properties."

With a violently shaking hand, Slughorn wiped away the sweat that was dripping into his eyes, only to cause some of the ingredients in his other hand to fall.

The antidote to Poison of Athena's needed mermaid's hair, puffer-fish fins, and-and...

He rumbled through the ingredients.

"I'd hurry if I were you," she reminded him, leaning against one of the beds occupied by a snoring patient. "If I'm not mistaken, you have only three minutes left." She started to laugh, a high, cold laugh that did not belong to her, that should not be coming from her.

He didn't remember. He couldn't recall what else he needed. His breathing turned heavy, and panicking, he dumped the two he had found in the boiling potion. It turned utterly orange, not good.

"Hermione" leaned forward and glanced in the kettle mockingly. "That's no passing grade, Professor."

He wiped his forehead again, staring at what was left on the ground; pomegranate, beetle-juice, monkshood, runespoor eggs, and a lemon drop. He couldn't recall which one he needed. He swayed sideways, blinking with his eyes, trying to focus on what was in front of him.

"But silly me; the potion needs aconite, doesn't it, Professor?" her voice sounded like it came from a million miles away.

Slughorn stopped his search, and slowly, raised his head, until he stared at Hermione. She moved in and out of focus. His veins seemed almost ready to pop and had turned a sickening brownish colour.

"T-Tom ... pe-pe-please ..." Slughorn begged in a hoarse voice.

"Please?" Hermione questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Please?" She squatted down until she was at the same eye-level as Slughorn. "But you're such a brave professor, a fighter for the Light side, the protector of Potter," she spat out the name. "And now you're asking for help from a person who wants the boy dead? You dare ask for Lord Voldemort's help, after you assisted others in their attempts to get me killed?"

She stood up straight, crossed her arms across her chest, leaned against the bed, and crossed her legs at her ankles. Slughorn had a hard time maintaining an upright position as his whole body shook.

"You're dead, Horace Errol Floyd Slughorn. I am going to stand here and enjoy the show, Professor. Take your time. I am in no hurry." Her laugh wrapped around him when he crashed to the floor on his back next to the useless boiling kettle.

"Poppy will find you later, and she's going to believe that you tried to break through the wards to steal her ingredients. They do have exact the same effect on a human body as Poison of Athena's." She smirked. "And isn't it deliciously ironic that it is just what you were previously planning to do, until you detected the wards? Poor, dear, misguided, Professor Horace Slughorn, the thief."

Again, she laughed, though this time, a lot softer.

"Goodnight, Professor," she said, her distant voice even softer than her laugh. "For forever."

She watched as the Potions Professor gasped for a breath of fresh air, but couldn't—his windpipes had constricted, making it impossible for air to enter his lungs. His fingers could no longer bend, and a look of horror appeared on his face, as he acknowledged that he was going to die.

"Send my regards to Dumbledore," she said offhandedly, "and tell him I'll take good care of Potter," —her head nodded sideways to the sleeping Ginny—, "and his sweet little girlfriend."

Horace Slughorn barely heard the end of the sentence since his heart stopped and his body turned flaccid on the ground. Death had found him at last.

For a while, Hermione stared at the dead body with an utterly satisfied expression. Finally, she pushed her body away from the bed and vanquished all evidence of Slughorn's poisoning: the bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey, the glasses (broken and whole), the boiling kettle, and the Potion's ingredients.

When she was finished, she looked at Ginny Weasley and a diabolical plan came to life in her mind. What if she could make them all think, Ginny had played a part in his death?

A vile smirk graced her features, contorting them. How Molly Weasley would cry over her soon-to-be thoroughly insane daughter. Driving her only daughter insane, the one she had been wishing forever to get since she got married, would not only be a shocker to Potter, but also to that insipid family. Revenge would be sweet, indeed. After all, the mother hen had been the one who'd killed Bellatrix Lestrange, one of Lord Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters.

With a flick of her wand, she obtained a bit of Ginny's hair and planted it in Slughorn's fist. Sure, they would know it had been the wards that had killed him, but everyone would still wonder what the fiery, mental Weasley's role had been in his death.

Hermione swirled her wand above her head to undo the Never-Ending-Sleep condition every patient in the infirmary was currently in. Well, she couldn't have them wake up, while Slughorn was making a fool of himself, could she?

Then, she turned to Ginny, and a malevolent expression distorted her face. Oh, she would take care of Potter's girlfriend, alright. Casually, she strolled to the bed and stroked the girl's cheek with her index finger. The redhead remained asleep, still under the effects of the Calming Draught.

Yes, Ginny Weasley desperately needed all the help she could get, and as soon as possible, or things might spin out of control. A smile appeared on her face. The girl definitely needed the best psychologist Healer there was. For a moment, she immersed herself in silent laughter, until she noticed the time. Slowly, she returned to her bed and lay down, waiting for the magical signs that Poppy Pomfrey took down the ancient wards around the infirmary.

When she saw the first indication, she flashed her wand at the sleeping girl. "Imperio!"

While Hermione kept her wand hidden underneath her sheets, Ginny jumped out of bed and grabbed her pillow. Hermione smiled when she felt the pillow push in her face. The Imperius Curse was a hard one to battle, especially when the order given was something you actually wanted to do for real yourself. Besides, when you didn't see the curse coming at you, because you were sleeping, it was practically impossible to beat it.

Hermione smirked in the pillow when she heard the nurse call out, "Stupefy!"

She, quickly, hid her wand in her sleeve and faked unconsciousness, while Madam Pomfrey panicked.

This had been a wonderful productive night, she thought before letting out a cough and gasping for air to assure the nurse she was fine.

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Ginny Weasley was taken to St. Mungo's closed ward short thereafter, despite that George's Healer of choice had not arrived from the States, yet. But Ginny had been deemed too dangerous to others to remain at the school's open infirmary. Several Weasleys had apologised to Hermione repeatedly, who had waved their apologies away with simple variations of "take good care of her, I am fine; there is nothing wrong with me."

Harry had offered them Twelve Grimmauld Place again, so they could stay close by Ginny, and they had accepted and left. Torn between his girlfriend and his best friend, Harry had stayed with Hermione. Since Ron had gone to London with the others, Harry didn't want her to be left alone after nearly being killed. He'd been horrified to hear what had occurred, and despite Hermione's reassurances it wasn't his fault, he still felt responsible and sat beside her bed for the rest of her stay in the infirmary. They both wondered what had occurred between Professor Slughorn and Ginny, and often speculated about it. But an answer was not given.

Although Harry tried his best to hide it (after spending nearly five hours locked up in the Gryffindor boys' dorm crying), everyone could tell that he was very shocked and depressed about Hagrid's death. It certainly placed a damper on all celebrations of Lord Voldemort's death, since Harry turned down all invitations to parties and interviews.

Grawp was nowhere to be found, although Hermione had a hunch that the giant was hiding inside the Forbidden Forest. Hermione herself, of course, suffered no less than Harry from the death of their half-giant friend, and she, too, tried to hide her sorrow behind half-hearted smiles. After all, she didn't want Harry to worry about her, too.

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A thousand miles away, on a black lacquer dresser, a gold cup wobbled on its feet, trying furiously to tip over to dislodge the Imperius Potion inside that gave him control over her mind and body. She'd noticed that the more control he gained over her other self, the less he had over her cup-identity. But she had kept it hidden from him, playing the obedient, imperiused Horcrux, while waiting for the opportune moment. But he was always around. Just when she thought he'd never leave, he did.

He'd been clad in a Healer lime green uniform, which was about three sizes too wide and several inches too short at his arms and legs. But when he took Polyjuice Potion, she realised why. He'd smirked at her and had caressed the cup with his now stubby finger teasingly. A shiver had run through her due to their contact, and she'd felt disgusted with herself for even slightly enjoying the touch. Something was definitely wrong with her. And that was either Hufflepuff's fault or his, definitely not hers.

"Any message you wish me to deliver to your poor, little, helpless, freckled friend, Hermione?" he had drawled tauntingly.

"Yes," she had hissed back when she'd realised who he meant by that and what he was going to do to Ginny. "Tell her she has my blessing to kill you."

His cold, mirthless laugh had rolled around her. "I'll deliver the message," he had said before walking out the door.

A furious growl came from the cup, as she remembered all his deeds so far. How dare he use her like that? How dare he put Ginny in that position? And poor, dear Hagrid ... she felt like crying again, remembering how he was murdered by Tom Riddle.

Her sideway swing turned dangerously far. A bit of the potion inside sloshed over the rim. For a brief second, the golden cup balanced on a small part of the edge of its feet. Then, the potion swirled back in the other direction violently, following gravity and taking the cup with it. Hermione let out a triumphant cheer when she felt the cup tilt over completely at the other side. It crashed down on the dresser's surface, spilling the potion fully, as it rolled to the edge of the dresser and smashed down on the soft woollen carpet floor.

Her vengeful laughter vibrated through the living room.

"Good luck, Riddle. You're going to need it."

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