The Gold Puppet

Disclaimer: *stares at blinking cursor* Nope, can't think of anything needing to be disclaimed. Nothing at all. After all, there is this "fair use" law, which, of course, only counts in the USA. Where I don't live. Darn. Shoot. I am sunk, and I already live on the bottom of the (former) sea; so yeah, I am definitely pushing my luck here.
*Wonders how copyright things work in Taiwan*
Oh well, JKR said it was okay to write fanfics, so... we will use that argument in any legal setting, since we make no money at all and don't own a thing of Potter. *sobs*
RDR Books, where are you? ;-)

By: Serpent In Red and Nerys

A/N: We'd like to thank everyone for reading, rating, and most of all reviewing: Lady Miya, Cosettex, The-Quiet-Girl.

---



The Gold Puppet

Chapter Nine

Harry closed his eyes and listened to the soft splattering of the rain against the window. A gentle knock on the door caused him to turn around.

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley opened the door slowly and peered inside. "You're up early."

"Yes ... I..."

The rest of his words remained unspoken.

He hadn't slept for most of the night. The past few weeks hadn't been really unbearable. He could always pretend that nothing had happened. Today, however...

"Happy birthday, dear," Mrs. Weasley said with a smile, as she strode into the room over to him and placed a kiss on his cheek.

Happy birthday, Harry.

A pain ripped through his heart as he recalled another familiar voice giving him the same well wishes.

He gave her a forced smile and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Thanks. I ... I'm not hungry yet, Mrs. Weasley."

Mrs. Weasley observed his face for a minute and pulled him into her embrace.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered. "Everything will be alright."

He fought back the tears, not wanting to worry her. "I'm alright," he lied.

She pulled away, her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes slightly red. "I'll leave some food for you, just in case you're hungry later," she said, patting him on the side of his head before leaving.

Harry looked out the window again, half of his heart wishing that he would see an unfamiliar owl, an owl from Hogwarts, carrying a package for him. A package from Hagrid.

Happy birthday, Harry.

He remembered it had been his eleventh birthday when he'd first met Hagrid. To him, it was a dream come true. He was finally going to leave the Dursleys. After years of wishing, it came true. Even while he was at Hogwarts, Hagrid acted like a guardian to him, taking care of him and watching out for him.

But now...

He shut his eyes tightly, hoping it was a nightmare. Hell, if it meant that Hagrid could be alive, he would willingly duel Lord Voldemort again. Even if it meant that he had to start, all the way from the beginning of his quest for the Horcruxes, he would do it.

But he knew. He knew it was a wish that would never come true.

A soft creak from the door alerted him, and he turned around. Hermione looked up and gave him a weak smile.

"Happy birthday, Harry," she said softly.

"Thanks, Hermione," he replied, returning her smile with one of his own.

They stared at one another. Hermione hadn't cried, not even once, since they'd learnt about Hagrid's death. But Harry knew that she was just as upset about the news, too. With a sigh, he looked away.

The rain continued to beat against the window; Harry remained sitting on his bed, and Hermione stayed next to the door, leaning against the wall. It was almost comforting to Harry, knowing that she was there, sharing the same emotions though with different memories.

"He's ... at a better place now," Harry spoke, his voice barely audible above the rain.

Hermione remained still for a while, before finally nodding.

"I've never doubted it," she replied. "He ... was a wonderful person."

Silence fell again, though the atmosphere felt even heavier than before, almost to the point that Harry couldn't breathe. He frantically reached towards the window and opened it. He inhaled deeply, wanting that stuffy feeling in his chest to go away, but to no avail.

A hand was placed on his shoulder. He turned his head and found that Hermione had moved closer to him. He placed his hand on hers, trying to reassure her that he was alright, though he couldn't even convince himself.

Suddenly, his vision blurred. No ... no, he couldn't cry. Hagrid wouldn't want him to cry. Hagrid would've wanted him to be happy, now that Voldemort was gone. Hagrid wouldn't want to see him upset.

Hagrid ... was gone.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, pulling him into her embrace.

Before he could stop them, tears escaped his eyes and fell down his cheeks, and he kept on talking, memories with Hagrid, promises he made to Hagrid, promises Hagrid made to him ... and he couldn't stop crying.

"I ... I didn't ... I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye ..."

He wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist, seeking for the comfort that he needed. The stress he had gone through for the last couple of months completely crashed down through the feeble barricade he had erected against it.

"I know, Harry. I know," Hermione replied, and Harry was surprised to hear her voice crack.

He lifted his head, and with a start, realised that Hermione was crying, too, though she had remained silent.

"Hermione ..."

"I'm alright," she immediately answered, brushing away the tears with the back of her hand. "I'm fine."

She smiled at him, but it didn't work. The smile was so sad that Harry felt the sorrow in his heart erupt again, and tears fell down again.

After a while, they started to calm down, and their sobs slowly turned into sniffles.

"Harry, Mum said—"

Both of them looked up and found Ron standing at the doorway, an expression of worry frozen on his face before it melted into one of coldness and distance.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Ron said, his voice as cold as his face.

"Thanks," Harry answered, pulling away from Hermione. He glanced at her and quickly looked back at Ron. "It's ... we were just upset about Hagrid's death ... that's all ..."

Ron's eyes dimmed at the mention of their half-giant friend, and his expression softened.

"Yeah ... I'll ... I'll go tell Mum that you're not hungry yet," he muttered.

He, then, turned around and walked out of the room. However, as he entered the hallway, Hermione could swear that she saw him shoot her a glare of loathing. Before she could ask why, the door closed with an audible click.

---

Walking into the Leaky Cauldron, she gave Tom the innkeeper a polite smile before making her way towards the entrance of Diagon Alley. The pub was half filled today; some witches chatted in the corner, while a couple of wizards were in the centre of the room, talking loudly about the latest Quidditch match.

The warm and cosy atmosphere, however, did not help Hermione at all. On top of the fact that Ron was still a prat to her, she was also worried about the lapses of memories she was still experiencing. Although they weren't as frequent as before (as Healer Lewis had assured her would happen), she was afraid that it might happen again. Therefore, she had been secretly visiting him for weeks now. She didn't want Harry to worry anymore than he already did, so she'd kept it to herself.

Besides, she saw a professional.

Lewis had told her it all came down to stress. Her mind and body were exhausted from the war, and she dealt with all the horrible things she had experienced in a manner that was best suited for her. He had claimed that the lapses were probably not real lapses. Her mind was deliberately pushing back memories she wasn't ready to deal with yet. If something triggered such an unwanted memory, it would cause her to black out; but it would only be temporarily, he'd reassured her, eventually the memories would resurface when she was ready. It sounded perfectly plausible and he had made her feel somewhat more at ease about them.

But there were also the voices; though, they had disappeared completely now. She still recalled how she had heard both her own and Riddle's voice in her head. Again, the Healer had said it was her mind's method of coping, using the voice of her enemy and herself as antagonists to voice both sides of what she felt herself. He'd mentioned that the more creative and intelligent someone was, the more chance there was of their minds using an unconventional method to heal. According to him, the voices hadn't been real; they only seemed real since the mind was the most powerful thing a person owned.

She'd wanted to believe him and the man was famous in this area of expertise. But still, there was this slight doubt in the back of her mind, whenever she recalled how much those voices seemed to sound real. How much they seemed to enter her mind, not originate from it. And occasionally, she would ponder if Ginny had been correct. Had she been possessed by Riddle? That thought alone made shivers go up and down her spine. However, Voldemort couldn't still be alive, could he? Harry would've known if that bastard was still alive. Harry had always known.

No, Healer Lewis had to be right.

Besides, he had no reason to lie to her and he was an incredibly kind and caring man. Hermione blushed as she remembered how she had been so upset with Ron's continuous jealous behaviour and how he had made her life miserable that when Lewis had been so understanding, she had grabbed him and kissed him. And not for a second, no, she had climbed into his arms and would have gone much further had the courteous Healer not stopped her from making a complete fool of herself. He had kindly let her down.

She smiled.

George had really picked the right Healer for Ginny. She'd never met such a gentle, generous, considerate, professional man in her life. And he had really helped her. She felt much better these days, less memory lapses and no more voices. Hopefully, Ginny would recover soon, too. She'd hoped to go to Hogwarts together with her, but that seemed to be idle hope this year.

Well, maybe Ginny could go next year?

The sign of Flourish and Blotts swayed in the wind. A small crack through the H showed its age, and glancing at it with fondness, Hermione grabbed the door handle. She hadn't been here since the end of her sixth year and she'd missed it. The bell tinkled and she stepped inside, taking a basket from the pile next to the door and pulling her long list from her pocket. Taking a deep sniff of the musty air of books, she lingered for a moment before proceeding to the Charms' section on her left.

---

"It’s not going to be in there," the cup in his vest's breast pocket said cheerfully when he picked up ‘Norwegian Runes; the 105th edition, translated to modern English by Rhoswen Ellefsen’ at Flourish and Blotts.

Tom Riddle sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, while closing his eyes. Someday, sometime, somewhere, preferably in the most immediate future, he would have every part of Hermione Granger all to himself, and then, he would show her the true meaning of pain. To think he had thought her constant badmouthing him had been annoying.

At first, he'd been pleased when she suddenly started to converse normally. He'd thought it was a clear sign of her surrender; he'd thought she had come to understand that she was his, until he came to realise she just never seemed to stop babbling.

No, this—this was truly aggravating.

He felt a severe headache coming up from her constant and incessant chattering. Never, ever before in his entire lifetime had he encountered a girl this bossy. She was such an aggravating know-it-all. Always making comments about everything, always having a different opinion, always ridiculing his choices, always being just the most troublesome cup he ever had to carry around everywhere—on top of all that, he couldn't leave her alone for a second without her doing something unfavourable.

What was most infuriating was that the little chit disagreed with every minor decision he made and voiced said disagreement, loudly.

Now, seeing she was his enemy and a goody-two-shoes Gryffindor, that was to be expected; but she didn't question his morals or his goals or what he did. She questioned how he did something, and there had been times when she had even made him doubt himself if only for a brief moment.

This had never happened to him before. He was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the smartest student that Hogwarts had ever seen. He was Lord Voldemort, the greatest and most feared wizard of all, and Lord Voldemort bloody well knew how to do any and all things related to magic. Lord Voldemort did not need to be told how he should achieve his goals.

But this little slip of a girl would always, always have a rebuttal when he explained to her his methods of doing things were the only right way. It made him want to pull his hair out by its roots when she, in response, would go on, and on, and on, about how it could have been done far easier or more expediently or whatever other reason she would launch at him, thinking she was disproving his rightful point. And then, she would snort haughtily.

Yes, haughtily, as if he was mistaken, as if she won the argument.

He felt a sharp pain on his head and realised he'd pulled on his roots a bit too harshly. Letting go of his hair before it would really be in his hand instead of on his head, he glared at the cup, which just peeked over the rim of his pocket. Its rubies twinkled in the light, taunting him. Blasted woman.

Perhaps my other self had known her and that’s why he had turned bald?

For after he'd been in the company of this new and "improved" version of Hermione for mere moments, he had already considered destroying her Horcrux a zillion times. After a couple of weeks, he had begun to refer back to the times where she merely called him names as the good old days in his mind, because this happy, “helpful”, accommodating act was severely getting on his nerves.

Yes, it was an act.

He was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the master of deceit and facades; he recognised a performance when someone tried to pull one. And the Mudblood tried to pull one on him! It made him livid and drove him absolutely crazy.

"As if you weren't crazy before," the cup taunted in his mind. "Now, you do have this specialist tucked away underneath your sink; why don't you take advantage of the situation and get some free psychological advice?"

The growl escaped his mouth. His mental health state had always been a sore topic for him ever since he was a little boy, but he hadn't planned to show her he was unable to keep his cool. So, to keep some form of control over the situation, he, deliberately, tucked the book she'd discarded as the wrong one under his arm and turned on his heels to move to the counter.

"Okay, take that one. But I am telling you ‘Runes of the World’ is by far the more comprehensive volume on this subject. However, if you can't read the runes without someone handing you the translation," she said with a clear condescending emphasis on the last part of that sentence, "then I suppose Ellefsen's work is more suitable, for you."

He narrowed his eyes upon hearing her say that. Lord Voldemort didn't need a translated version.

How had this woman ever survived Hogwarts? Why hadn't any or all of her classmates ever cursed her into oblivion? Instead of forcing Draco Malfoy to fix that stupid Vanishing Cabinet, he probably should've told the boy to strangle the girl in her sleep. Though, it was possible that she might've babbled Draco to his death first. If she'd been around in his day and age, he would have sicced his pet on her, and then, resurrected her only so he could have the pleasure of killing her a second time, and a third, and maybe even a fourth.

For he couldn't shut the blasted cup up.

Well, technically he could. It wasn't that difficult to silence a Horcrux permanently without destroying the soul within, but the side effect of it would be that he would lose all insight into what went on around her real-life self.

He recalled how connected he had been to his first Horcrux before he made more than one of them and he knew that same connection existed for Hermione Granger, so he'd made good use of it. The influence he had on the unsuspecting woman already began to show the first signs of success. It had been even more apparent when they had met at the hospital how much influence he already had over the Mudblood. She'd been so pliable to his will, it had been astonishing.

However, the more success he had with Granger, the more her Horcrux freed itself from him. He should have thought of it beforehand. It was only logical after all, so logical that he had overlooked it. He had to choose whom he wanted to keep under control, Granger or her Horcrux.

Seeing how they weren't together, he couldn't punish them simultaneously. If he cast at the Horcrux to punish it for its insolence, he had to focus his magic, so it wouldn't travel to Granger and rouse suspicion among those in her environment. Her friends might find it odd if she was suddenly thrashing and writhing on the floor, screaming in agony.

And if he wanted to magically influence Granger, he had to focus so the Horcrux wouldn't take the blunt of the blow, or worse, usurp all of it, as it had quickly learnt to achieve.

No, the Mudblood proved to be a far more trying adversary than he had envisioned beforehand.

Of course, a simple Silencing Charm would also do the trick of stopping the noise of her babbling, but it would do only that—stop the noise not the actual babbling. And the blasted woman had somehow found a way to use their connection to sneak into his mind if she couldn't chat out loud. She really was too clever for her own good.

Also, when she didn't babble, she usual did something ill-advised; so, any silence on her end was grounds for extreme paranoia on his.

It was a catch-22 situation either way he looked at it. Suffer her babbling or suffer her silence and risk her doing something behind his back. He'd chosen the insolent babbling; at least then, he could keep some track of what her mind focused on.

However, he had to find a way to fix the situation soon, or else he might turn bald again like his other self, or cause irreparable damages to his plans.

"I should warn you that the explanation given to the Odin rune is obviously misguided," Hermione said, halting his forward motion. "It supports the theory that it's a resurrection rune when it clearly is the rune of death."

"Many have theorised the Odin rune is based on resurrection."

"Of course, you would think that," she said disparagingly. "The myth of Odin resurrecting by Mirmir's potion is legendary. It's why the faulty assumption that "unknowable" stood for this amazing feat had come to exist. However, in 1985, you know when you were mist in the woods," she added, mockery dripping all over her voice, "Thurston Odegaard proved that "unknowable" meant "death", since death is the next great unknown to us all."

"Spent too much time around the old coot, have we?"

"Odegaard didn't just theorise about his translation; he proved it in an experiment with the veil," Hermione said smugly. "You can read all about it in ‘Runes of the World’, the book you should be buying."

"I know what you're trying to do here, Hermione Granger. You're trying to manipulate me in buying the wrong books in order to prevent me from regaining my immortality."

"Then buy them both and see for yourself. You know I am right as I always am," she said arrogantly. "Unless of course you can't afford—" she paused, freezing up when she heard a familiar voice speaking only an aisle away.

"Hermione Granger!" Ron called out shortly.

For a second, the Horcrux thought he meant her, neglecting how distant and cold the voice was. Confusion and fear washed over her. How had he found out? Had he gone insane? Surely, he wasn't considering taking Riddle on by himself?

But then, someone else replied, and the cup let out a sigh in relief.

"Ron," Hermione said cheerfully, putting down the book in her hand when she saw him walking up to her.

If he had come to see her, perhaps he wanted to make amends? She had no idea what had caused him to stop his jealous ranting and turn into a Popsicle overnight. But these last weeks had been a nightmare for everyone. And now, not that long after the incident at Harry's birthday... Well, for all concerned, including Harry, it would be more pleasurable if they, at least, could be on speaking terms again. So, she decided to act as normal as possible, like nothing was wrong.

"Did you se-"

"Mum wanted me to hand you this," Ron replied coolly, holding out a note.

"Oh," she said, somewhat disappointed, while accepting it. "What's it about?"

"Lost the ability to read?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows and opened the note. She read it quickly and looked back at Ron. It was a barely veiled attempt of Mrs. Weasley to get them somewhere together again. Ron's mother had tried to mend their relationship for weeks now with her dreadful, unsubtle matchmaking skills.

"Your mum wants us to meet her in the Leaky Cauldron after we're done shopping."

"I know, so how much longer do you have to be here?" Ron asked, glancing at her full basket. "Surely, you've put every book on the shelve in there by now. And I want this over and done with rather sooner than later."

Tom chuckled softly and pulled the cup from his pocket. "Now this is interesting, isn't it? What will I do with such a wonderful opportunity?" he whispered against the rim.

To his delight, the cup shivered as his breath blew over it. "What, no repartee? You disappoint me, Hermione. Aren't you going to tell me how I should handle this situation to the gain the best possible outcome?"

"No?" he said tauntingly after it stayed silent. "Fortunately, Lord Voldemort knows exactly how to take advantage of fortuitous occurrence. Silencio!" he cast at the Horcrux. Before he pocketed it again, he whispered, "Let us enjoy eavesdropping on the lovely couple, dear. It's so clear you two were meant to be," he said snidely. "Even the mother hen thinks so," he chuckled before disillusioning himself just to be on the safe side; Weaselbee had seen him before after all.

Ron had his arms crossed over his chest and his head turned to one side, while he glanced at her askew. Hermione faced him, her face filled with hurt and annoyance.

"Well, I am not done yet," Hermione snapped to Ron. "I haven't been inside a bookstore in ages, and there are tons of new books. Look at all the new Arithmancy volumes." Her excitement over her precious books made her forget they weren't really on speaking terms and Ron hadn't exactly met her halfway in her attempts to be civil. "I love Arithmancy. Here, look, Gobrin has solved the fifth dilemma of numerical sequencing last fall. It's unbelievable; people have been searching for that solution for centuries—and I missed it happening, the discovery of the century."

"So, someone learnt to add, big deal," Ron said deliberately dismissive.

However, she was so enthusiastic about what she was reading that she overlooked the undertone of his voice.

"Oh, you don't get it. You didn't take Arithmancy. It's like the first time men walked on the moon."

"Men walked on the moon?" asked Ron, wide-eyed, before recalling he wasn't supposed to be nice to Hermione and recapturing his cool.

Hermione rolled her eyes, not noticing he'd dismissed her already again, because her nose was in the Arithmancy volume.

"Yes, Ron, you really should have taken Muggle Studies." Behind her back, Ron re-enacted her words with a sneer and a mocking admonishing bossy Hermione-nod of his head. "Apollo 11 went to the moon in 1969. And people all over the world stayed up to watch it happening on their television—to see history being written before your eyes. Gobrin wrote history with this book and I missed the ability to obtain a first edition. Look, this is already a revised edition," she said, disappointed.

"Well, then you didn't spend money on the wrong text," Ron stated, irritated he was being lectured to again, and he didn't understand what the fuss was all about. It was just a book, after all.

She sighed, shaking her head. Ron really could be daft at times.

Ron noticed her expression and bristled. "Maybe you'd rather someone else was here, being all understanding and so on," he paraphrased some of Hermione's words.

"Oh, subtle," Tom commented, leaning with his disillusioned shoulder against the shop's shelves.

"Harry broke down on his birthday, and this is how you act?" asked Hermione furiously, while trying to hold back the tears in her eyes. "This is all you can think of? That Harry and I mourned his loss together? We... I hadn't cried over Hagrid before, you know."

Somewhat embarrassed, Ron looked sideways. He hadn't been referring to Harry or the situations involving Hagrid's death. He hadn't thought about that. He'd meant Lewis. He'd seen Hermione enter that ... that polar bear's office more than once after that time he'd spotted them together, and it had infuriated him. It still did. Who was she to lecture him? He wasn't snogging another. Maybe he should, that would serve her right.

"You know what? I am going," Ron snapped, walking away abruptly.

"Are you sure you dare to stand your mummy up?" Hermione jeered behind his back.

"Ouch," Tom sniggered.

Ron froze. Without turning around, he said icily, "I don't understand why you spent any time searching for textbooks. It's not like you'll be needing them this year. They'll make you pass your N.E.W.T.'s with flying colours even if you stink at the subject. You might finally get that O for Defence now, friend of Harry Potter," he sneered. "Maybe that's why you're friends with him, so he can help boost your grades? Because we all know how much you suck at communicating normally with people, so it must be really important for you to keep him as a friend if you're making that much an effort."

Without looking back, Ron paced out the shop.

Tom clenched his teeth together; his hand was in his pocket, fingers curled around his wand. He suddenly felt the distinct need to curse the redhead into oblivion. He felt vaguely disloyal when he refrained from the urge, knowing he couldn't out himself over something so whimsical in nature. But when he heard the soft restraint sobs coming from the other aisle, he was sorry the dunderhead had already left the store for there was this one curse—his personal favourite—that he'd love to use on pumpkin brains right about now.

And what was the matter with him? Ugh... stupid Hufflepuff, he definitely had spent too much time in that cup if he felt the need to be loyal to any other being but him.

But still, when Weasley's time came, he'd make sure to take the time to explain to him that only he was allowed to hurt his property.

Yesss, he most definitely would.

He undid his Disillusionment Charm before the real Hermione would see him and wonder if he was trying to steal something. He hadn't forgotten she could look straight through his charm now. He waited for her to pay for her items before moving to the counter himself. On his way out of the aisle, he halted, took a couple of steps back, and grabbed ’Runes of the World’ from the shelf, too, ignoring the little triumphant twist the cup made in his pocket.

---

Leaving Flourish and Blotts, Hermione moved towards Magical Menagerie. She needed a new travel basket for Crookshanks since he had found a method to unlock the old one. On her way there, she passed Knockturn Alley. Out of habit, she glanced into the notorious street, and saw a tall, redhead move around a corner.

Was that ... Ron?

What was Ron doing in Knockturn Alley?

She stared in the direction where he had disappeared into. It was near the shop with the gigantic spiders. Not exactly the place you'd expect Ron Weasley to go to. Scratching her head in doubt, she contemplated moving on. It wasn't her business after all.

But her curiosity got the better of her and she walked into the unusually silent Knockturn Alley, wondering if she made the right choice. When she got to the shop with the spiders and looked around, she saw no sign of him. Hermione sighed and wanted to hit herself on her head. Now, instead of voices and lapses of memories, she began to see things?

She turned on her heels when she heard a groan, coming from a very familiar voice.

"Oh yes," moaned Ron.

Hermione froze. Slowly, she turned back and skulked on. First, she checked the narrow alley next to the spiders' shop; but an old tramp sat on the ground, inhaling Blissflower Potion through a waterpipe.

"Just a bit more," Ron groaned.

The sound came from behind the next building. Hermione moved along cautiously and slightly apprehensive. She pulled out her wand and disillusioned herself. She had a dreaded gut feeling about what she was about to witness, and she didn't want to be seen. When she came to the corner, she almost went back.

"Almost there."

Ron's restraint voice made her move on and when she peeked around the corner, it was what she feared she would see. For there stood her former boyfriend, pressing a hooker up against the filthy wall of the shrunken heads' shop, and fucking her for all he was worth. Hermione just stood there, watching, the truth not sinking in, until Ron screamed out his release, and she ran, crying.

Her vision blurry from her tears, she ran so hard that she didn't see where she was going. Hermione totally forgot that she had disillusioned herself, so that others could not see and avoid her as she went. So, she ran into him at full speed. They tumbled to the cobbles hard, and she cried out as her knee impacted on the solid stone, but the majority of her fall got cushioned by him, as she fell right on top of the sinewy stranger who let out an agonised grunt.

"I am sorry; I am so sorry," Hermione rushed out her apologies, while scrambling to her hand and knees rapidly, undoing the Disillusionment Charm with a flick of her wand. "I forgot about the charm."

"Clearly," a rasped male voice said, amused.

She looked into his face and almost stopped breathing, for he had the most beautiful dark brown eyes she had ever seen. Not to mention that the rest of him was quite as appealing as his eyes. And those eyes turned concerned when they took in her tear-stricken face.

"Are you alright, Miss?" his rasped voice asked.

Did he smoke? His voice sounded like it. She really hated it when people had that disgusting habit. But his clothes didn't smell of it. He actually smelled quite nice, an almost intoxicating musk swerved around him. She'd never smelled anything like it. It made her want to jump him, right here, right now.

A frown creased his flawless forehead. "Miss?"

"Yes, yes," she replied, shaking herself out of her ridiculous stare and thoughts. Merlin, he must think she was a moron. "I should be asking you that," she said, getting off of him reluctantly.

"Well, I am fine. I'd say it's my lucky day," he replied, scrambling to his feet and pulling her along with him.

He was quite a bit taller than her, she noted. Tall, dark and handsome, her mind automatically came up with—a deadly combination according to her mother.

"I don't often get run over by pretty ladies, never actually." And he gave her a charming smile that made her heart skip a beat. "You're bleeding," he pointed out.

Hermione looked down at her scraped knee. "Oh, it'll heal," she replied shrugging.

When, suddenly, she noticed movement around the corner she had run away from. Ron came out of there, his head still turned to the alley behind him.

"Oi," she gasped, turning the stranger around so his tall figure blocked her from view. "I—I—"

The dark-haired man looked over his shoulder and watched Ron arguing to the hooker, who had exited the alley also. Apparently, there was some disagreement about the amount of payment required. A broad fellow joined the hooker, and Ron's hand went to his pocket where his wand lay.

"—Don't want to be seen," the handsome stranger finished understandingly. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders (blocking her from view), and quickly, guided her into the pub's hallway across the street.

Hermione sighed in relief when they made it there without being seen. "Thank you. I owe you one."

"Why don't you buy me a drink and we'll call it even," he said in his rasped voice, smiling broadly at her.

She looked through the glass doors into the questionable establishment doubtfully. "Here?"

"Sure," he replied, leaning towards her ear. "I know the proprietor, so you don't have to worry about filthy glasses or watered-down drinks."

Smiling, she shrugged, ignoring the tingles that went from her ear to the bottom of her spine. "Okay, since it's your choice."

"Follow me," he ordered, resting his hand on her back to guide her along.

Hermione had no idea what she was getting into as Tom Riddle opened the door for her and let her inside the shabby, dubious place.

-