The Gold Puppet

Disclaimer: We don't have any money. So please refrain from suing us for a fruitless cause, since we obviously don't own anything, or else we'd be asleep on top of piles and piles of money (although we doubt that will be comfortable) instead of writing fanfic about a couple that would make J.K. Rowling (the rightful owner of the Potterverse) scream bloody murder. (Yay for run-on sentences!)

By: Serpent In Red and Nerys

A/N: We thank all of you for reading.

Warning: Next chapter will contain a violent lemon, only on this site.

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The Gold Puppet

Chapter 7

"Have to warn Harry—Have to," Ginny Weasley mumbled, sitting on the edge of her bed rocking back and forth. Her expression changed and her eyes shifted across the bare room nervously. "But what if it is Harry? No, no, no." She shook her head, grabbing it with both her hands when strange visuals entered her mind. "Know the truth, you're not mad. It's him. Must not take those potions anymore, mustn't take them ..." She rose from her bed and darted around the room in a daze. "Hermione, Hermione, Hermione."

"Miss Weasley," a female voice spoke cautiously.

"Have to see, Hermione," she muttered to herself, not acknowledging the second presence in the room. "Have to make her see, warn her."

"Miss Weasley, it's time for your medication."

Ginny turned around, her face white and her pupils dilated. She looked at the blonde nurse, who'd introduced herself, but she couldn't recall her name. Nothing stayed in her mind lately, everything was fleeting.

"No, no, no," she said, stepping back. "I need to talk to Hermione first."

"Of course," the nurse said soothingly, "she will be right here." She held out the glass to Ginny Weasley. "After you drink this—"

"NO!" shouted Ginny.

With a bang, the glass the nurse held in her hand shattered into tiny pieces, which flew around wildly. Blood poured from the woman's hand and face, and she staggered on her feet. Alarms went off. Ginny backed away, as more staff members entered the room in a hurry.

"Evelynn," nurse Lorraine mumbled, grabbing the bleeding woman. "Oh Merlin."

"Get Lynn out of here," nurse Patrick ordered, not taking his eyes off Ginny.

Patrick, yes, she remembered his name. Why couldn't she recall Lynn's name before? Something was terribly wrong with her mind. Ginny looked at her hands. Were those hers? She had to figure out why—why...

"Have to keep it together. Have to," she muttered, lifting her head abruptly when she saw signs of movement.

Patrick held up both his hand in a display of harmlessness, while walking slowly to Ginny. His second colleague stood a bit more to the side of him, not approaching the girl.

"Now, Ginny, why don't you let me help you back to bed?"

"I am not taking that potion anymore," Ginny said.

"I don't have any potions in my hand, do I?" Patrick said, showing her his empty hands.

Suspiciously, Ginny looked at the other fellow. Shouldn't she know his name? She'd seen him before, hadn't see?

"Ginny," Patrick said, demanding her attention. "Don't mind him; let's get you to bed. You'll feel better after you've rested, won't you?"

She furrowed her brow and looked down, trying to think. Her mother should be here shortly, shouldn't she, to take her home? She wasn't mad after all. No matter if she'd attacked her father last time they visited. Why had she done that?

Relieved, she remembered. Because his eyes had flashed red. She'd been sure she'd seen it at the time, but now, she no longer was. Riddle couldn't be in her father, could he? He was in ... in ... in ... Hermione. Panic flooded her system. Hermione was with her family, with Harry; she had to save them all.

"Ginny?"

"Stay away from me!" she yelled, and Patrick and his assistant got blasted off their feet.

From the doorway, a curse soared through the air and struck Ginny straight in her chest. For a second, she stared into the mocking blue gaze of Healer Lewis, and then, her world turned blissful. All worries left her body and she felt so happy. Everything was right again.

"Are you guys alright?" Healer Lewis asked in his Texan drawl, not lowering his wand.

"Peachy keen," Patrick replied, coughing. "How about you, Jude?"

"Never better. Don't you just love your job?" Jude said sarcastically, scrambling to his feet. "Glad she doesn't have a wand. That is one powerful little bitch."

"We don't talk about our patients like that," Patrick reprimanded, giving Jude a disapproving glance.

"If you two are fine, then get me a double dose of Calming Draught and a triple dose of Blissflower Extract," Healer Lewis interrupted, walking to Ginny with a small smile on his face.

Blissflower Extract was so useful in her case. Sure, the extract calmed down the patient and made them forget all their problems when it was first injected. And in the long run, it prevented visual and audible hallucinations to occur in psychotic patients, so Tom had a good excuse for prescribing it. However, long periods of exposure to such "medications" often led to negative side-effects. Some reported loss of sight, while others complained about the loss of memory. Additionally, it was highly addictive, which made it quite a seller on the black market. Numerous accounts of other problems were added to the list each year, though their occurrences were not as frequent. But the reason Tom prescribed it to Ginny Weasley, the main reason, was that it would turn a healthy individual psychotic. On the streets, diluted Blissflower Extract was very popular for the vivid "trips" it sent the user in—the key word in the equation being "diluted". Ginny got the real deal.

"And I'll take care of her," Lewis added, smiling, faking helpfulness and assistance.

"Sure you want to be alone with her?" asked Patrick, concerned.

"I've got it."

"Your funeral," Jude muttered underneath his breath. He clearly wasn't sorry he could leave the room, for he was out of there in a hurry.

"I said I got it, Patrick," Lewis said in a clipped tone, annoyed the nurse hadn't left yet. He took Ginny by the arm and guided her back to her bed. "I do, however, need those potions. We wouldn't want her family to see her like this, would we?"

"We don't use Blissflower Extract around here," Patrick objected. "It's—"

"Which is why you got blasted off your feet and why Evelynn is possibly bleeding to death. Blissflower Extract is the only proper method of dealing with this kind of psychotic episodes."

"But the side-effects ar—"

"Do I need to remind you who's the Healer here? Go get it," Lewis ordered, "or send me a nurse who will do his job."

Patrick shook his head in irritation. "I do not approve of your methods. I'll get you your damn potion, but I am not taking the responsibility of giving it to her. I am not convinced her mental state is bad enough for it. She's been coherent most of the time I witnessed her." He turned on his heels and left.

"Meddlesome fool," Lewis hissed, his eyes flashing red at the closing door before he turned his gaze back on the girl now lying in her bed.

With an overly sweet smile on his face, he sat down on the bed beside Ginny, replaced the Healer's wand for his own, and undid the Imperius Curse.

"Hello, Ginny," he said offhandedly, like they were meeting in a dinner or some other harmless place. He twirled his yew wand between his fingers, watching how her eyes fell on it and she began to tremble.

"You," she hissed. "You're him, you're Riddle."

"Now, now, dear, calm down. I am Healer Lewis," he said patronisingly. "Everyone knows that. It's not a good sign of the state of your mental health to see Tom Riddle in everyone. You do want to get better, don't you? Go home someday ... eventually," he added tauntingly.

Strange thoughts filled her medicated induced mind, and she clenched her fists.

"You leave—leave He-He—" she looked around, puzzled.

"Hermione?" he finished for her, tilting his head.

Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"Such a pity you tried to kill her. It has upset her greatly, you know, not to mention what it did to your ... boyfriend," his face distorted into a sneer, "having to deal with his love trying to kill his best friend. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor Harry was absolutely devastated."

"You leave him alone."

His cold laugh wrapped around her. "I won't touch a hair on his head," he replied smirking. "Someone else will do that for me."

"You leave Hermione alone."

"Oh, jealous, dear? Seems to be a lot of that going around in your family. Your brother's amoeba’s brain also seems to find it very distressing that Harry ... and Hermione," he said their names in a sugary voice, "are spending soooo much time together."

"You-you—"

He patted her cheek. "But don't worry, I am sure the famous Harry Potter won't leave you. You're ill, after all. Mentally unstable. He will feel responsible for your well-being, responsible for not noticing how much pain you've been in all these years," he mocked. "No, the madder you get, darling, the less likely he is to dump you. He's too noble to do that. He'll spend the rest of his pathetic life taking care of and worrying about his crazy girlfriend."

"I am not crazy."

"By the time I am done with you, you will be," he whispered, stroking her face. "By the time I am done, everyone will know how utterly insane and ... dangerous you are to those around you."

"They won't believe you. They know me," Ginny said, panicking.

He tilted his head and sent her a condescending smile. "Still a silly little girl," he taunted. "By the time I am done, you will know yourself that you have a ... mental disorder." He chuckled lowly.

Ginny turned pale.

"You won't know who to trust; you won't even trust yourself. Your family will, forever, have to keep a close watch on you, so you won't hurt yourself... or another. I will destroy you, Ginny Weasley, and by doing so, I will destroy Potter."

The door swung open and Patrick entered with a tray in his hand, his face set in a scowl of disagreement. Voldemort's wand was gone in a flash, replaced by Healer Lewis's.

"Help me! Please," Ginny roared, taking advantage of the brief distraction by grabbing Healer Lewis's hand and forcing the wand away from her body, hitting him wherever she could with her other and kicking him with both her legs.

She was far more successful than she should have been, but she was in such a state of panic that she didn't realise it. Patrick's face turned to shock, and he placed the tray quickly on the side table and ran to Healer Lewis's aid. Ginny let out a desperate cry as her arms were forced on her back and she got pushed down on the mattress on her belly. Together, Healer Lewis and Patrick were finally able to subdue the rampaging, struggling girl in a stronghold, but they could not reach the tray without letting go.

"Now Ginny," Lewis said in a false soothing voice. "Let us help—"

Ginny let out a frustrated, furious growl and tried to raise her body; both men had to use their combined weight to keep her down. Realising that it would be impossible for her to move her body with both of them holding her down, she raised her head towards Healer Lewis, snapping her jaw and attempting to bite, to hurt him.

"I am going to kill you," she hissed. "I'll find a way."

"It's fine, Ginny," Healer Lewis whispered, merriment flashing through his eyes. He gave Ginny a small wink and an encouraging smile. "You're fine. Please do not worry. We're going to help you. No harm is going to be done to you."

Unfortunately, Patrick did not notice the mocking undertone in the words or saw the wink that was sent towards the girl, because he watched the back of Lewis's head, for the Healer had leaned toward Ginny to obscure his expression from the nurse.

When Ginny tried to hit his head with hers, Lewis rose out of range quickly and changed his facial features to express his "genuine" care and concern with the girl.

A frown appeared on Patrick's forehead when he noticed that there was a large bruise forming on the Healer's cheekbone, and there were a couple of red lines running from the temple all the way down to the jaw. Droplets of blood were already forming on the arm where Lewis was scratched. It seemed like the Healer clearly understood the dilemma they were in and didn't want to harm the girl unnecessarily with magic. Even when the girl was attacking him, he didn't even think about using magic to subdue the girl and protect himself. It made Patrick think a little bit better about the Healer. Maybe his initial judgement had been mistaken? He'd only used magic on her before to protect others, not himself. Patrick could understand that.

"Jude!" Patrick yelled. "Lorraine! We need help in here!"

Lorraine came running. Shocked, she looked at the situation she walked in on.

"The potions, hurry," Patrick said, not noticing the brief amusement this caused in Healer Lewis's face.

Lorraine grabbed the two vials and approached Ginny.

"No, no, get away from me!"

The redhead pushed her head in the mattress, but it was no use. Lorraine pulled her head back.

"Blissflower Extract first," Lewis ordered.

"No, no, he's hurting me. Help!" Ginny yelled, shaking her head trying to dislodge the nurse's grip.

Lorraine switched the vials.

"Someone help me!" And her words ended with a bloodcurdling scream that caused both Patrick and Lorraine to cringe.

"Use your wand or she will spit it out," Patrick warned Lorraine, who moved closer to Ginny with the potions in her hand.

"No, don't, you don't understand, please," Ginny begged, tears falling down her face. "Please."

Her words were spoken so desperately that Lorraine nearly wanted to nod to her, promising her that she wouldn't feed her the potions. However, she knew that she had to do what must be done; Healer Lewis was known for his work in the psychological area, and he clearly knew what he was doing. Why else would so many witches and wizards ask for his assistance? With renewed determination, Lorraine steadied Ginny's head with a wave of her wand and poured the two vials of potions into the redhead's mouth.

The two potions hit her bloodstream hard, and she slowly ceased her struggles, slipping into unconsciousness.

Patrick and Lewis let out a relieved sigh, simultaneously. The nurse looked at the Healer and let out a snort. "Close call."

Lewis smiled. "Yeah, close call."

"I—I—"

"No problem," Lewis interrupted. "You're not the first one to question my methods, and I find it's always the best nurses who do," he complimented slippery.

Lorraine raised her eyebrows and watched the exchange curiously.

"Thanks," Patrick said, shaking his head as he looked down at the girl and stroked her hair. "Poor kid."

"Her condition will improve," Lewis said to the surprise of both nurses, while he rose from the bed. He waved his wand around, clearing up the mess caused by what happened before.

"You think?" Lorraine blurted out disbelievingly.

"It will get worse first, but eventually, she will see what is true and what not," Lewis replied calmly.

Both Lorraine and Patrick fell silent, returning their sympathetic gazes back to Ginny.

"She will need constant supervision for the rest of her life though," Patrick added sadly.

"Yes," Lewis acknowledged. He gave a couple of more orders about Ginny's treatment before leaving for his office. He needed another dose of Polyjuice Potion and he needed it fast.

"If only they'd brought her in right after it happened to her," Lorraine said to Patrick as they positioned Ginny in a more comfortable position in bed.

Patrick nodded, straightening Ginny's sheets.

"So, what was that about, just now, between you and Lewis? Don't tell me you've managed to rub his feathers the wrong way, too?" Lorraine inquired nosily as they left Ginny's chamber, leaving the girl alone in her new world of nightmares.

---

The cold war at Grimmauld's Place officially began. Although Hermione still managed to fake happiness, Ron had been unbearable. George would Floo in from his flat in Diagon Alley for breakfast, because they had developed the habit of eating breakfast together at Harry's after the war and Molly insisted upon continuing this tradition. But nowadays, the Weasleys would often wolf down their breakfasts whenever they heard Ron's footsteps coming down the stairs. Therefore, the "habit" would often end with only Harry, Ron, and Hermione sitting at the table.

This morning, a couple of days after their row at the hospital, everything was quite similar to every other day, until the headline of the Daily Prophet caught Harry's eyes. He grabbed the papers from the table and began to read.

Former Death Eaters - Imperiused ... or NOT?

Today, fourteen alleged Death Eaters will be placed on trials, charged with murder and torture. Amongst them is the well-known, former school governor of Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy.

"I know for a fact," a witch who requested to remain anonymous, "that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. He had been waiting for You-Know-Who to return, and he was the one who led many of the raids last year!" (For full coverage, turn to page 8.)

A picture of Lucius Malfoy was placed directly beneath it, looking as haughty and dignified as usual. A frown creased Harry's forehead. Although he knew that Lucius very well might've committed the crimes, Narcissa Malfoy did save his life. He could only imagine how devastated she would be if her husband ended up serving a life sentence in Azkaban.

"Oho! Look at this!" Ron suddenly spoke up, giving Hermione a start. Apparently, she had been immersed in her own thoughts. He grabbed the papers from Harry's hand and read the headline out loud. "Former Death Eater, Imperiused or not." He flipped the Prophet around, so it faced Harry. "Lucius's famous, too. Perhaps someone we know would snog him, too."

Harry shot a glance at Hermione, who had stopped in her motions and glared at her plate of waffles. Her lips were set to a thin line, and her jaws hardened.

Mentally, Harry sighed. It had been going on for days already. Ever since Ginny's attack on Hermione, and he had chosen to stay behind with her, Ron had been impossible. Of course, for some strange reason (perhaps because she was also angered by the redhead's actions), Hermione had been randomly giving Ron a cold shoulder. Just two days ago, Ron, with a sheepish grin, had tried to approach Hermione—Harry assumed that he was trying to apologize for being an idiot. When Ron had tried to take a hold of her hand, she promptly flung his hand away and launched into a verbal attack. Although Harry knew that Hermione had been stressed with Ron's idiocy, he honestly didn't think it justified her words, which were too cruel for him to repeat, even in memory. This entire situation reminded him too much of their sixth year at Hogwarts, and he didn't want to take sides now either. They were both his friends.

"Ron ..." Harry began to say, trying to divert the attention to a different subject; but Hermione's voice came crashing in.

"Ronald Weasley, if you can't learn to grow up, I'm finding it extremely hard to even stay in the same room as you," she said in an eerily calm way.

It was the first time she had spoken to Ron after the incident at the hospital, and from the looks of things, it wasn't going to end pretty. Normally, Harry always tried to stay out of their arguments. This time, however, he was about to say something to stop them from launching into another verbal battle, but he was, of course, stopped from saying anything when Ron retorted with an unnecessarily loud voice.

"Of course! You would rather stay in the same room as ferret senior, wouldn't you? He's mighty famous and wealthy. And perhaps good-looking in your dictionary, seeing that you'd accepted Krum, too. Oh, let's not forget: he's blond like Lockhart. If you can convince him to put on some fat, he might get that same belly as Healer Lewis," Ron mouthed off. "And he's rich, too. Perhaps you've finally found someone who can satisfy all your needs."

Harry gawked at Ron; the redhead seemed to have totally lost any and all sense.

"Ron ..." he started to say, but Hermione had already risen from her chair.

She wiped off her mouth with a napkin before fixing Ron with a frosty stare. Placing both of her hands on the table, she leaned forward, so that she was closer to the git sitting in front of her, still holding on to that ridiculous newspaper. Though the way he clutched onto it now, seemed to resemble a pathetic attempt at raising some form of shield between him and Hermione.

"You know? Perhaps you are correct. And with each passing second, it's becoming clearer and clearer that maybe I was wrong in assuming, in the first place, that I had found that person in you," she hissed.

With that said, she ran up the stairs to her room, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

---

Calmly, Tom Riddle sat in a cosy, comfortable armchair. A cup of steaming hot coffee stood on the side table beside him with a biscuit on its saucer, and he flipped another page of today's Daily Prophet like any other person would before starting the day. It all seemed utterly normal, like it could have been any average family's home with the domestic atmosphere he portrayed, if it hadn't been for the hoarse screams of the cup's Horcrux on the ground.

Screams, he pretended not to hear, while he immersed in thought about the news he'd just read. Casually, without taking his wand off the target on the ground, he flipped back to the frontpage and smirked at the picture of Lucius Malfoy.

He'd not forgotten about the Malfoys, not at all. But even he could only do a certain amount of things at once, be that more than others. And Lucius had never been anywhere near the top of his priority list. Still, it might be entertaining and ... informing to go to the trial though—see what Malfoy had to say for himself.

He snorted.

He could so hear Lucius whine, snivel, moan, and complain to the Wizengamot about how he was "forced" to torture Mudbloods. How he "never" wanted to hurt anyone. How he'd been "tricked" by the Dark Lord.

Well, the latter was true, of course.

Tom sniggered softly; merriment danced on his face as he remembered how easy it had been to manipulate the Malfoy family to join his side. They were so vain, especially Abraxas. It had been child's play to get them to heel. By the time they realised what they had got into, it had been too late.

Once Lord Voldemort has you, he never lets go, never.

Soon, the little Mudblood chit would understand this, too, and stop her ridiculous opposition.

He glanced at the thrashing cup on the carpet. He'd never crucio-ed an item before and it was rather interesting to witness it bounce around, as if it jumped on a trampoline. Though, the pain-filled howls were the exact duplicate of his human victims. Those sounds had always delighted him, more so than any Beethoven symphony.

But right now, he revelled in them, though his impassioned facade did not show it. He picked up the biscuit and ate it slowly.

He hated her, hated her with a passion beyond recognition. He hated her ancestry, her stinking blood, her intelligence, her sneakiness, her fearlessness, her boldness, her opposition, her loyalty to Potter, that ragged, wild bush on her head allegedly called hair, which had a really nice herbal smell and had been real fun to pull on, and the way she had bitten him...

He felt himself grow cold, realising what he'd just thought of. Fortunately, she didn't know, for he had always been able to hide his true emotions, even as a child.

With a vengeance, he placed some more force behind the Cruciatus Curse. She'd pay for sending messages to herself and for ... for that.

One last cry sounded, and it turned silent in the room. The cup no longer moved.

Perhaps a bit too much force?

Oh well, he had to go anyway. And her punishment wasn't over. No, one round of crucios wouldn't cut it with her. He had to be a bit more creative. And Hermione's Horcrux would find out just how creative Lord Voldemort could get.

He smiled happily and drank the rest of his coffee before rising from his chair. He watched the still Horcrux and pocketed it with a sigh. She obviously could not be trusted to be left in his flat by herself. Changing his appearance, he walked out the door—he had a trial to attend.

---

"Harry, do you know what you're doing?" Ron asked out of disbelief, as the three of them strode away from the Floo channel they had just arrived from.

They were currently inside the Ministry of Magic, because somehow, Harry had managed to convince both Hermione and Ron to come with him for his eyewitness testimony. When they'd heard what he planned to say to the Wizengamot, they'd forgotten about their ongoing disagreements and had launched into a verbal assault on him. A few other people who had just Flooed in shot them curious stares—after all, it wasn't everyday that one got to see the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

"Yes," Harry replied, pushing his glasses back into place and patting away the dirt that had fallen on his shoulders.

"No, you don't know," Hermione refuted his words. "This is Lucius Malfoy we're talking about. I can understand you trying to help Draco Malfoy since, at least, he was cleared of any murders or tortures, but Lucius Malfoy?" She snorted.

"Harry, Hermione is..."

"We have to," Harry said firmly, breaking off Ron's words. "Narcissa Malfoy saved my life."

They were so immersed in their conversation that they did not notice that one of the passersby—a rather ordinary-looking man—stopped in his footsteps and listened keenly to what they said, as he started trailing along after them at a seemingly discrete distance.

"So what?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes.

"If she hadn't told them that I was dead, I wouldn't be standing here in front of you today, Lord Voldemort wouldn't have been vanquished, and the world would've fallen into his hands," Harry answered, stopping in his stride and turning around to face his friends. "Is that what you would have wanted to happen?"

"Of course not," Hermione shook her head. "But it was Narcissa Malfoy who saved you, not Lucius Malfoy."

The ordinary-looking man clenched his hand into a fist, causing his knuckles to turn white. This was ... enlightening news, indeed. Out of all things, Tom had not expected to hear this at the Ministry. It appeared that the Malfoys were far more traitorous than he had previously believed.

"Can you imagine how devastated Narcissa will be if she finds out that Lucius Malfoy's been sentenced to Azkaban for life?" Harry asked.

Oh no. That would not be a fitting ... punishment for a family of traitors. Not fitting at all.

"At least he's not dead," Ron answered stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest.

Hmmm... finally a suggestion of cotton-wool for brains that made some sense to him. But no, dying would not cut it either. Lord Voldemort was far too angry, and letting the Malfoys die would not appease his anger. No, they needed to suffer some more before he allowed them to shrivel up and die in front of him. If he allowed them to die. A lifetime of torture seemed like a fitting sentence for the family of ferrets.

"No, and being at Azkaban is even worse than death itself," Harry answered grimly.

Tom's eyes flickered over to the trio and caught the glances pumpkin brains sent towards the Mudblood. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he recalled how he had been spoiling their relationship. It was quite easy, really, and Weasley had been the one who handed him the weapons—his jealousy and his bad temper. If poor, little Ronald hadn't been so jealous about every human being Granger talked to, Tom wouldn't have had the chance to ruin their relationship. Not to mention the fact that simple putdowns were enough to get Ron's temper going.

And now ... it seemed like the redhead wanted to make amends. Well, it was just too bad they had to run into Lord Voldemort, wasn't it?

Sniggering silently to himself, he moved backwards into a dark corner before fully possessing Hermione Granger once more.

"I hope you do remember the pain Lucius caused others, Harry," Tom spoke through Hermione's mouth. He nearly laughed—the memories from the Mudblood's Horcrux were quite useful after all. "Don't you remember how he almost caused Buckbeak to die in the hands of Macnair? Or the way he treated Dobby, who gave his life to save ours. And remember how Ginny nearly died in Riddle's hands and the state she is in now... It is all because of Lucius Malfoy's actions."

"You tell him, Hermione," Ron grinned at her.

"Hermione" icily glanced at him askew and returned "her" attention back to Harry. A fleeting frown appeared on Ron's face, and he tried to cover it up with a nervous smile, as he scratched the back of his head.

"You'll dishonour the memories of those who died in the war if you save him, Harry."

Harry stared at her, not knowing what to say for the moment.

"Hermione's right, you know?" Ron asked, shooting Hermione another lopsided smile. He was taken aback when she narrowed her eyes at him.

"I know she is, but ... I'm sorry. I can't watch a family being broken apart like this ... and Narcissa did save me."

With determined steps, he walked towards the elevators with Hermione and Ron closely following him.

"What should we do now, Hermione?" Ron asked, moving a bit closer to her.

"Perhaps if you used your brains a bit more, Ronald, you would think of a plan that could be useful," she answered, "instead of always asking for suggestions."

She stared at him from the corner of her eye and was thoroughly satisfied to find him flustered. Just a prod or two more and thoughts of talking to Hermione would fly out of the dunderhead's brains.

"Well ... I ..."

By now, the three of them had stopped in their steps. Harry watched the two of them apprehensively, worried it was going to spin out of control once more.

"You know, Ronald, I'm completely baffled in regards to how you've done anything in your life. And I will probably never understand why Harry chose you as his best mate, because frankly speaking,"—she moved another step closer to Ron—, "what have you ever done for him?"

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words came out—he was overly shocked by the confrontation.

"The times when you could've stood by him, you didn't. The times when you could've supported him, you left. You remember that, don't you, Harry? What he did to us, while we were hunting for Voldemort's Horcruxes," Hermione asked, her eyes sliding over to the Boy-Who-Should-Drop-Dead.

Harry sighed and looked away, not wanting to lie or hurt his friend.

"It's ... It doesn't really matter, Hermione," he said quietly. "Ron did come back."

"Yes, but the point is, he left when we needed him the most," she answered. She looked back at Ron, "And you still call yourself a Gryffindor? I'm starting to believe that perhaps you begged the Sorting Hat to put you in Gryffindor." She laughed. "Afraid that people would laugh at you for being the only coward in a family of Gryffindors?"

Without waiting for Ron's answer, Hermione walked over to where Harry stood. Maybe Harry was frightened by the coldness she had displayed when she spoke to Ron, because once she neared him, he immediately walked into the elevator—he didn't want that kind of Hermione badgering him and stopping him from going to the trial. He couldn't let her talk him out of helping Narcissa.

Observing the whole situation, Tom left Hermione's body, knowing that his job here was finished. In fact, he didn't need to go to the trial any longer. It was quite clear that Harry Potter was determined to save Lucius Malfoy from Azkaban, and with his influence on the wizarding world right now, the Wizengamot would definitely listen to him. It was useless, of course, saving the Malfoys from the prison, because sooner or later, they would fall into Tom's hands, and Azkaban might just seem a bit more merciful.

He narrowed his eyes at where the trio still stood. Harry tried to pull Ron into the elevator so that the doors could close, while Hermione leaned against the wall of the elevator, still dazed from previously being possessed. His lips curved into a smirk when his eyes landed on the Mudblood.

The girl gave a sudden start and pushed herself away from the elevator. Tom raised an eyebrow, surprised at her reaction. Was it because he had the cup? Or was it because her mind was already subconsciously detecting his presence? Whatever the reason was, it made him quite satisfied to see her so shaken.

Hermione's eyes darted around, stubbornly trying to find the source that caused her to shudder. However, the doors closed before she could, and even if the doors hadn't closed, she wouldn't have found him.

For he had already Apparated himself out of the Ministry.

---

Once Tom returned to his apartment, he took out the cup and placed it on the table again. He swirled into the chair in front of it and stared at the Horcrux, contemplating what methods to use on the wench. He rested his chin on his left hand, which was propped up on the armrest, never taking his eyes off of the cup.

The girl needed to be taught a lesson, but what?

He frowned, recalling what had happened right before he Apparated to the Ministry of Magic. He wondered if the Horcrux was still unconscious—could soul pieces actually faint? It never happened to him before ... but it could be different for each person. She couldn't have been faking it, since she could never stop herself from screaming, let alone shaking when he held the Cruciatus on her.

With a flick of his wand, he sent the Cruciatus at the cup again and was delighted to hear her familiar screams. It appeared that soul pieces could faint.

"Good day, Miss Granger," he greeted her amiably, not even bothering to lift the curse off her.

Her answer was, naturally, her screams.

He rubbed his chin, wondering what else would be torturous enough for the Horcrux, letting her understand who was in charge here.

His eyes roved around the room, until they landed on the cauldron of boiling water. He'd been planning to brew something special for Ginny Weasley, which required a preheated cauldron, but he supposed freckle-face could wait. A wicked smile appeared on his face, and with a fluid motion, he was out of the seat and the cup was in his hand again. Once the Cruciatus was lifted off her, she started her ranting again, telling him her thoughts about what had happened at the Ministry. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he stalked over to the cauldron.

As if he really cared about her opinion.

She must have guessed his intentions, halfway to the cauldron, since she suddenly quieted down—she was really quite intelligent for guessing correctly this quickly. Most of his victims hardly knew what hit them before he was kind enough to tell them.

"As you can tell, Mudblood, I really do not care for your thoughts," Tom told the cup when they reached the boiling pot of liquid. "What matters right now, however ..." He purposely stopped in his words, relishing in her anticipation. He ran his thumb over the base of the cup, laughing gently when she shuddered again at his touch. In a low voice, he continued speaking, "What matters right now is that you learn where your rightful place is."

With a plop, he dropped the cup into the water.

Her screams immediately filled the room again, and he closed his eyes, letting it wash over him.

But no. This was not enough yet.

Casually, he walked over to his cabinet, while the Horcrux thrashed and cried, attempting to jump out of the pot, but to no avail.

"Your disgusting parents should've taught you simple little things such as obedience and respect, Granger," Tom drawled as he looked over the ingredients, determining which potion he wanted to brew at the moment.

He grinned when inspiration struck. He knew just the potion to brew. It would definitely get the Mudblood to squirm—literally.

With a flick of his wand, the fire became slightly smaller, though the pain inflicted upon the Horcrux was hardly decreased. The screams were quite entertaining, but the wailing started to get on his nerves. He swirled around and flicked his wand again, levitating the Horcrux directly above the cauldron. To his dismay, the screams—the enjoyable part—stopped, but the sobbing continued, though at a lower volume.

He contemplated his options. The cup didn't necessarily have to be in the cauldron the whole time he brewed the potion—one that would directly trigger the Reality Distortion Curse he had used on the real life Hermione. All he had to do was immerse the cup in it when the potion was finished. However ...

"If you've finally learned your lesson, Mudblood, then perhaps I can be a merciful Lord and stop the torture—for now," he said, twirling his wand between his fingers idly.

He slightly frowned, wondering what had gone over him. Why should he give her choices? He should be the one making the decisions. Nevertheless, he had already spoken, and he was never one to go back on his own words.

Her answer would determine her fate.

Therefore, being the idiotic, annoying, disgusting, irritating, retarded, filthy, little imbecile that she was, of course she would choose the wrong answer.

His eyes flashed with anger as she started ranting and throwing insults at him again. He ceased his levitation spell and immediately howls resounded through the room once more.

She would pay for her disobedience, and no matter how much she begged him, he would not stop until he was finished with the potion.

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