The Gold Puppet

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

By: Serpent In Red and Nerys.

Authors' Note: We thank you all for reading.

Warning: non-consent Tomione smut up ahead (not too graphic, yet, but still), hence the rating-change to M.

Spells were created using an online English to Latin dictionary with our little twist to it, to make it sound like a real spell, so please excuse our limited knowledge of Latin.

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The Gold Puppet

Chapter Six

They'd all had breakfast together, but the Weasleys had left to meet with Ginny's new Healer. Hermione and Harry sat across the table from each other, drinking their coffee silently. Ron'd had another fit when he'd realised, they weren't going and would stay behind together again. Hermione felt it was really unfair. It wasn't like it would do Ginny any good to see her, so she couldn't go. And Harry had another meeting with Kingsley in an hour to talk about him starting at the Auror Academy this year. Besides, the staff at St. Mungo's had explicitly said that only immediate next of kin was allowed to come. They were neither.

Stupid git, Hermione thought angrily, as she placed her coffee cup back onto the saucer with more force than necessary and leaned back in her chair.

The redhead constantly had mood swings these days whenever Hermione disagreed with him, even if it was about minor things. From the food she had for breakfast to what she wore ... it was almost as if he tried to control her life for her. As much as she hated to say so, she became rather annoyed with the unwelcome critiques. And guiltily, she had thought more than once that Ron was turning too much into a male Mrs. Weasley, which was not a good sign in her books.

And then, there had been the time when he had accused her of not wanting to kiss him. Or if she perhaps preferred Harry since she always was with him lately. It had been an entire rant of all kinds of things that she'd done wrong, some of which she'd had absolutely no idea of what he was talking about. His irrationality became utterly irritating and began to drive a wedge between the two former "lovers".

"Do Master and Mistress need anything else?" Kreacher croaked happily, after he was done clearing the table.

Harry shook his head and the house-elf turned to Hermione, who smiled, held up her cup of coffee, and said, "I am good."

Suddenly, she felt strange, dizzy, and nauseous. She put the cup down in haste and grabbed a hold of the edge of the table.

"Mistress?" Kreacher asked, concerned.

"Hermione?" Harry added, taking her hand from across the table.

"Something is ... wrong," she spoke between laboured breaths; her hand clutched to her chest, "very wrong."

She closed her eyes. The world swirled around her. It was almost similar to the feeling one got when Apparating, but magnified tenfold. She swore she felt the pancake she'd just had for breakfast lurch in her stomach.

Kreacher clicked his fingers and a bucket appeared next to Hermione on the floor. "In case Mistress needs it," he explained, watching Hermione's green complexion.

She opened her eyes and shot the house-elf a look of thanks before closing them again, her breathing still shallow.

Harry had moved around the table and looked down at her, his hand on her back for support. "Can we help?"

"I don't know. I am missing something." She shook her head. "Something important. But I can't tell myself—I can't tell myself," she panicked, slapping her hand on her chest hard. "I have to tell myself. Why can't I tell myself?"

An expression of agony appeared on her face while she groaned, alarming Harry. Something was already wrong with Ginny; he hoped that nothing similar would happen to Hermione. He couldn't bear the thought of losing yet another friend. The ones he'd lost during and after the war were more than enough.

He had thought that everything would be over with the death of Lord Voldemort and the end of the war, but things seemed to just happen to everyone around him. Trouble was constantly knocking on his doorstep. It seemed all his friends had waited for Voldemort's death to have nervous breakdowns. Even Ron was being impossible. Harry'd told him over and over again, he had no such feelings for Hermione; but the way Ron spoke to them whenever he saw them together... Harry felt like punching him in the nose at times, as Hermione had once done to Draco Malfoy.

Hermione moved her hand to her forehead, slapping it hard with her palm, trying to get her mind to cooperate and tell her what she needed to know.

"Hermione, Hermione!" Harry yelled distraught; he grabbed her hands to stop her from hitting herself. "Calm down."

"Ginny. Something is wrong with Ginny," Hermione cried out, looking up into Harry's face desperately.

"Yes, we know," Harry replied. "She's getting help, remember?"

"No, no, he's not help," Hermione muttered. Abruptly, she flew to her feet. "We need to go to St. Mungo's, Harry. That Healer is not good for her. We need to go immediately."

"But—" Harry started; however, it was no use.

Hermione was already on her feet and headed for the door. He heard her ruffling in the hallway and realised she put on her coat. Harry rubbed his forehead. He knew Hermione hadn't taken it so lightly that Ginny had tried to kill her. She put on a brave face for the others, but inside, he knew it had hurt her deeply. And now this... it was bound to end badly for all parties concerned.

A mass of bushy brown hair peeked around the doorframe. "Let's go, Harry," she demanded bossily.

Harry sighed. It appeared he had no choice. He knew Hermione wouldn't take no for an answer, so he grabbed his coat and Apparated along with her.

They arrived at the Apparition room in the hospital, registered with the welcome witch, and were soon at the floor where the closed ward was located. They walked up the nurse behind the counter and inquired about the room where Ginny stayed in.

"I am sorry," the ward's nurse told them, "but Ginny just went back to bed. She and her family had a long talk with Healer Lewis, and I am sure they can fill you in on all the details. I really am not at liberty to discuss these matters with outsiders." She looked at Harry (the hero of the hour) apologetically, while ignoring the angry Hermione completely.

"We are not outsiders," Hermione hissed, slamming her fist on the counter. "We are her best friends and we will—"

"Lorraine, is something wrong?" a male voice drawled behind her.

Hermione and Harry turned their head and saw a medium height, fat-bellied Healer with short scruffy grey hair standing there.

"These people are here about Miss Weasley," nurse Lorraine explained. "I was just telling them we only give out information to next of kin, Healer Lewis."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the Healer upon realising he was the one she'd come here for in a hurry. Now, that she saw him, she felt a bit silly about her previous thoughts. He didn't seem threatening at all. But perhaps she had read something about him somewhere? Maybe he had screwed up other patients?

That was impossible. George swore he would find the best psychologist Healer. If this Healer Lewis messed up with his other patients, fat chance the Weasleys would've allowed him near Ginny.

Then, why did she feel the need to come all the way here to St. Mungo's in the first place? Besides, she wasn't a Seer—she mentally snorted—so why did she get that feeling that there was something wrong with him?

Another wave of nauseousness hit her and she bit her lip, trying to prevent her stomach from turning.

"Ah, I see," Healer Lewis said to Lorraine before his blue eyes darted between Hermione and Harry curiously. "So you're here to see Ginny, aren't you? I'm afraid that she's asleep right now and can't see visitors. I understand that you're concerned with her, but as her Healer, I must insist that you allow her to rest."

An amiable smile appeared on his face, and Hermione frowned. He seemed perfectly fine to her.

An even stronger wave of nauseousness hit her, and she closed her eyes, clearly feeling the acid in her stomach travel up and down her oesophagus. It was almost like her body tried to tell her something, because she would feel fine one moment and the next she'd feel as sick as a dog.

Healer Lewis's gaze lingered on Hermione briefly, and he stepped forward. "Are you feeling alright, Miss?"

"It's him," she heard herself say. "Watch out. You're in danger."

Confusion filled her mind and she looked down. Did she just hear herself talk? She finally got rid of Riddle's voice in her head, and now, she heard herself?

A hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up into the Healer's intense blue-eyed gaze. Suddenly, she felt like an idiot for coming here. His touch made her feel safe and comforted, not even remotely threatened at all.

"I understand it must have been hard on you," he told Hermione in a soothing voice. "Why don't you come into my office?" he offered, extending his hand to a door not too far away. "I am sure we have loads to talk about."

Without thinking, Hermione nodded. It felt so ... right listening to him.

"But—" the nurse started to object, glancing at the Healer's full schedule.

"I am sure we can make an exception to the rule for these fine young people, Lorraine," Healer Lewis interrupted. "They are not gawkers or from the press. Everyone knows who they are. Besides, I would have to talk to you both about Miss Weasley anyway," he added, addressing Harry and Hermione again.

He guided Hermione down the hall with his hand on her back, while Harry followed shortly behind them.

"Watch out!" a woman's voice cried out.

Hermione and Healer Lewis turned around just in time to see one of the portraits, which previously hung on the wall, crash down on Harry, knocking him out. He remained still, a pool of blood slowly forming around where his head was. The occupant of the painting, an old wizard Healer in orange robes, had fled to the neighbouring painting of "The Lady with the Lamp" and stood there panting, clutching his framed credentials and multiple awards to his chest protectively.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed and was about to move forward. A wave of dizziness caused her to nearly fall backwards, but Healer Lewis steadied her by her shoulders.

"No!" her voice shouted in her mind. "Forget Harry. Behind you, focus on what's behind you!"

"Lorraine, please inform Healer Amesbury that we have an injured visitor," Lewis said calmly, gazing at Hermione, while helping her remain upright, "I'll take care of Miss Granger here."

"Right," nurse Lorraine nodded, her face pale, thoroughly confused in regards to why and how the portrait had fallen down.

With shaking hands, nurse Lorraine managed to levitate the portrait off of Harry's head, and she bandaged the visible wounds. But each portrait was preserved by protection charms; what if Harry Potter—The Chosen One—was injured beyond repair while he was inside their hospital, on her watch? That would be horrible.

Hermione was about to move towards Harry, despite whatever nonsense her mind tried to sell her, but she was stopped by Healer Lewis again.

"This way, please, Miss Granger," he said, turning her around. "Someone will take care of Mr. Potter."

"You ... know ... who I am," Hermione wheezed out.

The feeling of sickness washed over her once again, as she looked up to the Healer's face. Up close she saw he had a pitted complexion.

"Look, listen!" the voice in her mind cried out with an overflow of frustration, as if it wanted to say more but somehow was unable to.

"Of course," Healer Lewis replied. His lips curved into a smile. "Who wouldn't know who you are? After all, you are Mr. Potter's best friend, and he was the one who ... vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

She must be very ill; she thought she heard mocking undertones in the friendly Healer's voice. It was impossible.

A growl, sounding very much like her own, resonated in her mind. Why she suddenly felt the need to hit her head against the wall, she had no idea.

"This way, please," Healer Lewis told her, holding the door to his office open for her. The door closed with a click behind her, and he indicated to the chair in front of the table with his hand, "Have a seat."

Without suspecting anything, she sat down, although he remained standing. She never noticed him flicking his wand casually at the door behind her back, warding it against people who might try to enter. Neither did she witness the Silencing Charm he placed on the whole room nor that his hair was slowly changing to a darker colour; her mind was still stuffy from the horrid symptoms she felt.

"This was ... surprising. I never expected to see you here," he said.

Maybe Ginny's illness was contagious in some way? Her imaginations were getting worse and worse: they made her think that Healer Lewis's voice was changing—was he speaking the Queen's English when they first spoke to him?

"Well ... I ... Ginny's my friend ... and Harry's her boyfriend," she explained, closing her eyes and attempting to fight off the dizzy feeling when her voice in her mind basically ordered her to keep them open.

"But you weren't here simply to visit her, were you?" he questioned, his voice coming directly above her.

His hands came to a rest on her shoulders, and she felt a shiver go down her spine. She mentally frowned at herself: what was she thinking?

Definitely the wrong reaction to a simple move.

"No ... I ..." She bit her lower lip, knowing how rude she would sound if she told him why she came to St. Mungo's to check on Ginny.

"You were worried about my expertise?" he asked, sounding amused, while he squeezed her shoulders.

"Maybe," she murmured, feeling embarrassed.

"Oh, Hermione, my, what an idiot am I," she heard herself grumble; and she closed her eyes, wishing she could drown out the voices.

He laughed and leaned forward. "I promise I'll do my best to help Ginny," he told her; his breath tingled along her cheek and neck, for his face was right next to hers, and his dark eyes glinted all too cheerfully when she shuddered.

"Open your eyes! Open your eyes! Use your mind! You know that voice! LOOK AT HIM!"

Her voice screamed in her mind, and she complied. With a startle, she realised that she wasn't looking into the face of Healer Lewis. She felt like someone dropped giant blocks of ice into her stomach, as she stared into a face she had heard described to her for so many times. She jerked her shoulders from his grasp, scrambled sideways out of the chair, nearly falling down in the process, and pulled out her wand.

"Nervus Puterum!"

He did it on purpose. She knew he must have, from the way he'd smirked at her to the way he'd said the words to the incantation slower than his wand movements. He'd cast the spell on her non-verbally, but he'd also wanted to let her know why she could no longer move—he was taunting her deliberately by questioning her ability to recognise a jinx cast non-verbally. The jinx caused most of her muscles to become flaccid (as she bloody well knew and would have known without him handing her condescending clues, thank you very much) and she fell forward, unable to do anything about it or even break her fall with her arms.

He caught her in his arms, while her wand rolled away under the desk. "Going somewhere?" he mocked, circling her waist with one arm and pulling her flush against his body.

He flicked his wand at her face, ceasing the spell there so she could speak, before he put his wand away.

"You sick bastard, let go of me!" she growled.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Manners, Granger," Tom shook his head. "How many times must I remind you?"

Confusion flashed through her eyes, causing him to smile despite his previous irritation at finding her and Potter at St. Mungo's. Apparently, she still didn't remember. He wondered how she'd figured out there was something wrong with Healer Lewis then, because obviously her Horcrux hadn't been communicating with her about his existence.

She glared at him furiously. "You despicable, hypocritical bigot. Why don't you just remain dead for once?"

"Now, now, Hermione. That's not how you speak to your superiors," he taunted. The jeering look in his eyes was replaced by harshness. "How did you find out?"

"That you're a biased, idiotic, butt-faced wanker? Anyone with half a brain would've—"

His eyes slightly narrowed, and he grabbed her face with his free hand and squeezed it harshly, stopping her with her words.

"You're trying my patience, Granger," he warned quietly. "And I'm not putting up with your nonsense any longer. Legilimens!"

Moments later, he left her mind. Cold fury etched on his face, realising that the stupid little Horcrux must have done something to the Imperius Potion he had placed in the cup. He should've remembered to prevent it from moving, but he had thought the potion would do just that. Apparently, he was ... mistaken, much to his disgust. He'd never seen anyone free their minds while being under the influence of the Imperius Potion; it was ten times stronger than the curse itself, and in Hufflepuff's cup, its qualities were further magnified. But, it seemed, there was a first time for everything, since obviously, Granger's Horcrux had broken free.

He glanced down at the girl in his arms, hating her just as much as he hated her troublesome Horcrux. If she hadn't been so useful in getting rid of his enemies, he would've killed her within the first minute, no, second his eyes landed on her.

His fingers dug even deeper into her skin, and she let out a muffled cry. He liked the sound of that. And he did have her here now, helpless in his arms. He could toy with her a bit, make her see who was in charge, who was her master. He liked the idea of that even more. And he did have some time now, unlike before in the Chamber.

Malevolently, he looked down at her. A broad smile spread on his face, causing her to watch him worrisome. Anything that made him happy couldn't possibly be good news for her. Hermione's eyes widened when his hand (instead of squeezing her jawbones to pulp) stroked her face in a slow deliberate move. She held her breath. What on mother's green earth was going on?

His hand disappeared into her hair, while the arm he had around her waist tightened, pressing her even harder into his body. His face moved to hers.

"What. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Doing?" she hissed through gritted teeth with deliberate pauses between each word.

For a brief moment, he stopped moving his face to hers, grinning. "Showing you what your kind is good for, Mudblood."

He captured her lips in a bruising kiss. There was nothing she could do. The back of her head was in his hand. His arm trapped her body against his. Her limbs were completely flaccid; the only muscles she could use where her facial muscles, and she needed those to keep her mouth firmly closed. A startled cry left her tight-lipped mouth when he yanked her head back forcefully by her hair.

Well, at least his revolting mouth was no longer on hers. That was a huge improvement.

That was what she thought, until she felt his tongue slither over her neck.

Oh yuck, disgusting pervert.

She clenched her teeth together to keep her mouth from spilling out all kinds of things that would undoubtedly not improve her situation. When his tongue crossed a sensitive spot at the side of her neck, it felt like a shock travelled through her system. If she could have moved, (and now she was thankful she couldn't), she'd have shuddered in his arms from the tingling sensation in her nerves. She was revolted with herself when Goosebumps erupted on her skin as he nibbled gently on her ear.

She glared at him, her face flushed red from anger and humiliation.

"You will follow my lead, dear," he snarled in her ear, and he walked her backward into the desk, so he wouldn't have to carry her full weight anymore as he placed her on the rim, quickly pressing his legs between hers. "When I kiss you, you will reply in kind," he ordered ever so softly.

His wand flashed; tension returned to her muscles, but she was still held immobile—half sitting, half hanging on the edge of the desk, securely held against his chest. "If you do not... comply," he trailed off ever so threateningly, while his hand moved underneath her shirt at her back. "I will find other ways to ... indulge myself." His fingers grazed along the hem of her pants as a clear warning signal.

Fear and fury overtook every sane thought inside Hermione's mind.

He tilted her head slightly, and his mouth found hers again. She felt his tongue demanding access. So ... she bit him, hard.

With extreme satisfaction, she tasted his blood in her mouth before he yanked her head away from him. Triumph flew through her eyes when she noticed, he'd even taken a small step back and was trembling slightly.

"There, take that, Voldemort," her voice in her mind sniggered, satisfied.

But her elation lessened when she saw the look in his dark eyes. The cold, detached darkness had been replaced for something altogether different; something feral peeked out; something so dangerous there were no words to describe it. And he stared at her with that intense, predatory gaze, like he considered devouring her whole. She felt herself grow cold to the marrow of her bones when she realised, she'd just made the biggest mistake of a lifetime. Of all the things she could have chosen to do, biting him had been the worst idea imaginable.

It excited him.

Knowing her wand was underneath the desk she sat on and she'd never get to it in time, she sat there, still, watching him breathe heavily. Her mind raced over any possible solutions to her predicament, but she had no idea what he planned to do next, so it was a useless endeavour. She came up with squat, zip, zilch.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she scolded herself, biting her lip.

She must have blinked, because his wand was suddenly in his hand; his eyes flashed red as he shoved her forcefully over the desk. She cried out in shock and pain as she first tumbled into the revolving chair behind it, and then, onto the hard, hospital flooring. A sickening crack reached her ears when her left shoulder dislocated upon the impact. Her yowl resonated through the Healer's office, and she clutched to her upper arm with her right hand before she realised that she could move again.

Hermione heard his footsteps approach her position when her eyes fell on her walnut wand. She didn't have to think twice and reached for it, knowing how much it would hurt to move, but also realising it would hurt a hell of a lot more when he got to her. Her fingers curled around the stick when she got yanked up by her left arm. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she couldn't stop herself from letting out a howl in severe agony. Despite the wand in her hand, her mind could do nothing but fixate on the immense pain, as he tossed her in the chair behind the desk, yanked her wand from her grip and raised his at her face. Sobbing, she gripped her left arm again, which hung limply to her side. Her whole body shook.

But it wasn't just her. His wandhand trembled ever so slightly. She could see it in his eyes, her death. And right now, she'd welcome it - anything to stop the sharp pain in her shoulder. They stared at each other, as she wept over the pain she felt.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally moved; Hermione braced herself for the familiar, sinister green flash and was surprised when he did the unthinkable.

His wand moved from her face to her shoulder, and he chanted in a sing-song voice, swooshing his wand over the area. The pain disappeared instantly. Stunned, Hermione looked at him, while he continued casting. With a pop, her shoulder relocated itself.

She stared at him, lost with words and disbelief clearly written on her face. She had thought that he would kill her or torture her at least, but his actions confused her. She continued looking at his profile, for he had slightly turned his body after he had healed her. She wondered if he had an ulterior motive.

Well, duh, of course he does! He's Lord Voldemort, she thought. At least she wasn't hearing her own voice anymore.

He remained silent, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was having a hard time comprehending something. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Before she could take any action, however, he opened them again. As quick as lightning, he turned towards her and pointed his wand at her.

"Veritasomnia Muto!"

Still breathing slightly heavier than usual, he watched as the Mudblood sank to floor, her eyes closed in a seemingly peaceful slumber. His hand tightened around his wand, holding onto it with more force than necessary. He was enraged. This was not supposed to happen. He was the one who was supposed to be in charge; he was the one who was supposed to decide what was going to happen next. How dare that irritating, filthy, disgusting little wench bite him? How dare she get to him like that?

He took another deep breath before allowing a small smirk to appear. Did she think that this was the end? Did she think she'd won? No, he would show her what it meant to be truly terrified, to be truly shaken.

He chuckled; his mood improved tremendously, as a plan formed inside his mind.

The dark spell he was going to cast would distort reality and dreams. When she woke up, what had happened would be buried into her subconscious. The memory would still be there, but she would be unable to access it without him. Moving the memory caused a gap in her mind, which the brain wanted to fill. The second part of the spell did just that; it distorted reality. The illusion he was going to create for her with this spell—which was needless to say, illegal, and would earn the user at least three one-way tickets to Azkaban—was going to be the "reality" for her. Even if someone tried to use Legilimency on her, they would only see what he was going to place in her mind. He would create a feasible reason for her "overreaction" this morning and something a tad more ... entertaining.

Oh no. He was not going to let the little chit completely forget what happened by using the Memory Charm. No, her Horcrux would remember quite well what had happened. And should he ever need the Hermione in front of him to remember ...

He laughed softly again and squatted down next to her. He ran his wand up her cheek before bringing it up to her temple. Then, he leaned forward until his face was next to hers again.

"Frausia!"

He whispered into her ears, and he began to paint the illusion to her with his words. Her eyelashes fluttered as he spoke to her, letting him know that the vision entered her mind and would soon be considered "reality".

When he was finally done, his lips curved into a wicked smile, and he stood up. He flicked his wand and Hermione floated through the air, landing gently into the chair in front of the desk. With a quick snap of his fingers, a bottle and a glass from one of the cabinets flew over and landed neatly on his desk. He watched her breathing slow down to its regular pace, and quickly, he added a bit of hair to the glass of Polyjuice Potion he had poured out. She stirred when the last drop of liquid entered his mouth.

And when she finally opened her eyes again, she found herself staring into the benign, blue eyes of Healer Lewis.

---

Apologetically, Hermione looked at Harry, and more so, at the huge bandage covering his head, while she twisted her hands restlessly. Apparently, the wounds caused by the protective wards of the portrait could not be healed by a simple "Episkey". She'd sat down in the chair next to the hospital bed he sat in. Harry hadn't gone needy for pillows, because a huge pile was positioned behind his back.

"So..." he recounted slowly, "I got a hole in my head and missed my important meeting with Kingsley, because you forgot you'd read an article about an incident involving one of his patients going berserk and creating a massacre at Healer Lewis's private clinic."

He folded his arms over each other and gave her a stern look, but he could barely keep up the act. Inside of himself, he laughed with joy. This was so Hermione.

"Ermmm... yes, I thought it was his fault, the article said so," she replied quietly, rubbing her neck.

She lowered her head, guilt weighing heavily down on her. Now, she knew the truth. Healer Lewis had been indisposed at the time of the incident. He'd been lying in a magical hospital for three months suffering from a rare form of wizarding cancer, which he still required treatment for. The man had gone to his clinic, despite his own illness, and been able to prevent the situation from escalating beyond the walls of the institution. He'd been a hero, not the slacking charlatan the article had made him out to be. She should have known the Prophet had it wrong. It always printed rubbish.

Due to her quiet introspection, she missed the amusement on Harry's face. "Great, just great. If Lord Voldemort doesn't get me, a painting will," Harry joked.

"Yeah," Hermione said timidly, "I am so sorry. I—I didn't—"

Harry's laughter broke off her apology. It bounced off the walls and was very contagious. Hermione slapped him on his arm.

"You," she said laughing, too. But she stopped laughing when he clutched to his head with one hand. "Does it still hurt?" she asked, taking his other hand in hers.

"Only when I laugh," he grinned.

"I'll try not to—"

The door flew open and in stepped Ron Weasley. The worried look on his face got quickly replaced with a scowl when he saw them holding hands.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked with a sneer when Hermione and Harry unclasped their joined hands as if stung by a bee. "Don't bother stopping on my account," he added, while the green monster of jealousy reared its ugly head.

"Harry got hurt," Hermione explained. Irritation from this morning returned with a vengeance. Why did he always have to be so inconsiderate? "I was just trying to comfort him."

"Yeah, he looks reeeal comfortable," Ron replied, stretching out the vowel and disregarding the frowns that formed on both Hermione and Harry's faces.

Hermione rose from her chair and placed her hands in her sides. "Will you stop being an idiot and think of another for a change," she said, raising her voice slightly.

"Oh, so now I am an idiot!" Ron shouted.

A hand tapped on his shoulder, and Ron swirled around in fury, planning to spill his guts to whoever was there. His mouth was halfway open when he snapped it back shut with a snap. To his surprise, his sister's Healer stood there, eyeing the room and everyone in it in a swift glance. Ron found the man slightly intimidating with the sharp look in his eyes.

"Let's try to keep our voices at a normal volume, shall we?" Healer Lewis said sternly, fixing his eyes on Ron, who gulped nervously. "This is a hospital." Not waiting for Ron's reply, he turned to Harry. "I called Healer Amesbury away from his E.R. duties. He'll be here in a sec to heal that wound, so you can go home."

"Thanks," Harry replied with a relieved sigh.

"No thanks necessary," Lewis said with a sly smile. He lowered his glance, examining his dark oak wand. "I wouldn't want to hang around here anymore than you do. And considering it is partly my fault you got hurt since I insisted you'd follow me, I figured I owed you one." He looked up again and gave Harry a benevolent smile.

"We're even," Harry replied when what must be Healer Amesbury wriggled himself past Ron and Lewis and walked to him—wand in hand.

"Good," Lewis replied. "I do want to talk to you someday soon about Miss Weasley though."

"For Ginny, any day," Harry said, squeezing his eyes together when Amesbury removed a piece of bandage that was stuck in the wound rather abruptly.

"Wonderful," Healer Lewis said cheerfully. "Aidan, I'll see you tomorrow."

Aidan Amesbury mumbled his goodbyes between his teeth, while his wand circled above Harry's head.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, Hermione," Lewis said meaningfully, making her turn red in the face and avert her eyes. "It was nice to meet you all, until next time."

He left the room before any of them could reply.

Ron turned to Hermione. Hermione, he mimicked sarcastically with his mouth, while he imitated Healer Lewis's stance and intimate expression.

She threw her hands in the air in surrender and sat back down in the chair, shaking her head over so much stupidity.

"There, all done," Aidan Amesbury said, examining Harry's head one last time. He gave Harry a pat on the shoulder. "You can go home."

Harry rubbed his hand through his hair at the back of his head. Not a single sign of the wound had remained. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," the Healer said, turning on his heels and hurrying back to the E.R.

The second the door closed behind him, Ron glowered at Hermione and opened his mouth, "Isn't there a single bloke safe from you?"

"What are you going on about now?" Hermione asked tiredly.

She was over exhausted with these pointless arguments. Was there at least one day in the whole year—scratch that, his whole lifetime when Ron would grow up?

"So now instead of Harry, you're interested in that fat-bellied bloke. Who's next? Healer Amesbury? Or are you just interested in all of them?" Ron jeered.

Hermione gritted her teeth.

"Ron ..." Harry tried, but he was cut off by Hermione.

"Do you really think I fancied that?" she hissed.

Ron snickered exaggeratedly.

"Well, you looooved Lockhart, so there is no account for taste. But perhaps, Lewis is not good-looking enough for you," he sneered, crossing his arms across his chest. "Although, you did fancy Krum and he was no beauty."

"Forgetting yourself?" Hermione snapped sarcastically. "Or do you think you're all that."

"So, if not looks, what then?" Ron continued as if he hadn't heard her insult his physique, though his hands had clenched noticeably during her snide words. "The fame? Yeah, I see; both Lewis and Krum are famous, aren't they? Lockhart, too, despite his inability to control a single pixie. And Harry... " He broke off in his words and clamped his jaw shut, but he still shot a jealous look at his best friend.

"Well, they can't help it nobody's ever heard of you," Hermione snarled, wanting to hurt him back good now and knowing precisely where his weaknesses lay.

Their row only escalated after that, and to Harry's horror, they continued bickering all the way home.

---

With quiet determination, Tom Marvolo Riddle entered his living room. His dark eyes fell on the golden cup that lay on the beige woollen carpet next to the black lacquer dresser. The top of said dresser was permanently damaged by the Imperius Potion, which had eaten away the glossy coat, and the carpet needed cleansing as well since it now contained several brownish stains. Finally, after observing all the damage that had been done, his gaze returned to the culprit, and he plastered an overly kind smile to his face, though his eyes remained as cold as ice.

Slowly, he closed the door behind him and stalked to the silent cup. He could feel her fear increase with every step he took, and he liked that, though he showed no signs of it. She should fear him after that little stunt she'd pulled. And he was going to put her in her place.

He halted above the Horcrux, tilting his head.

"Now," he said ever so softly, "I believe I have been too lenient with you." He paused for the proper dramatic effect and continued, his voice no higher than the lowest of whispers, "It's time I teach you a lesson."

-