A small brown rabbit was nibbling on a blade of grass in a small clearing of a wood just outside of the town of Little Hangleton. Its long, keen ears pricked up at the faint sound of crackling leaves and the snapping of a few twigs. As the sound got closer, the rabbit tensed and got ready to run for its life. Suddenly though, the sound ceased, but the rabbit held very still, its body still tensed, its ears still pricked, and its little heart pitter-pattering about a million miles a minute. After a minute of listening, the rabbit could not find anything wrong, so it returned to feasting on the grass, completely oblivious to the fox that was watching it from a bush, ready to pounce.

However, before the fox could claim its prey, there was a loud pop, and three teenagers, two boys and a girl, appeared in the middle of the clearing. Startled, the rabbit hopped away as fast as it possibly could, and the fox had lost its meal in a flash.

“Are you sure that this is the right place?� the boy with ginger hair and a gangly figure asked.

“Yes, of course it is, Ron,� answered the girl with bushy brown hair, exasperation evident in her bossy voice.

“Okay, just checking, Hermione. There’s no need to get snippy,� Ron said hastily, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Well, I’m not the one who made myself regurgitate slugs, so I am assuming that we are just outside of Little Hangleton,� snapped Hermione nastily.

“Hey! That’s not fair! My wand was—!� Ron started, clearly affronted.

“Don’t start this again! Don’t you two ever stop bickering! This is not the time to argue, especially when we need to work together in order to find the Horcrux!� the boy with untidy black hair and glasses interrupted, annoyed with the other two.

Both Ron and Hermione gaped at him, looking slightly offended and shocked by his outburst. Then Hermione said, “I’m sorry, Harry. You are right: we need to stick together, otherwise we will never defeat Voldemort.�

“Yeah, mate. Sorry, I guess we got a little carried away,� Ron apologized sheepishly.

“That’s quite all right,� said Harry.

And with that, the Golden Trio made their way through the wood and into the village under the Invisibility Cloak. Little Hangleton, it seemed, was a quaint, sleepy town in the British moors, and there was barely anyone in the streets. High up on a hill, overlooking the town, was a huge mansion. That mansion happened to be their destination, but they did not know which road led to it, so they wandered the streets, invisible to the few Muggles that they encountered, searching for the right road. Eventually, they turned on to a winding lane that went up the hill.

About ten minutes later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were standing in front of the Riddle House, panting and clutching their sides. The abandoned manor loomed eerily over them, vines of ivy creeping up the side of the house, and the once-white paint peeling off in large chunks. The garden and lawn were unkempt and overgrown with weeds, as its last caretaker had died three years previously. The shutters were hanging in a lopsided manner, and some were dangling so much that they seemed as if they were going to fall off. Some of the windows were broken from kids throwing stones at them, others were boarded up, and there were several shingles missing from the roof. Despite all of those drawbacks, one could tell that the Riddle House had been luxurious and grand in its day. Now, however, it just appeared to neglected and ominous.

Ron started to walk towards the Riddle House and Harry and Hermione screamed, “NO, RON!�

Puzzled, Ron wheeled around and gaped at them and asked, “Why ever not? It’s just a creepy old house!�

“Voldemort most likely put wards and deadly curses around this place to prevent anyone from breaking and entering or alert him if someone did just that. Just walking up to that house is suicide!� Hermione explained.

“Oh. Why didn’t I think of that?� Ron said, highly resembling Goyle when a professor asked him a question, in Hermione’s opinion.

“Because you obviously weren’t thinking,� Harry responded.

“Right. Well, how do you suppose we get in there if You-Know-Who put the wards up himself? I mean, he had to have made it nearly impossible to take them down,� Ron wondered.

“Voldemort is arrogant enough to think that only he could take them down, so there has to be a loop-hole or counter-curse somewhere. Firstly, we need to identify exactly which ward or wards he used. Then, we exploit the loop-hole, if there is one, or cast the counter-curse,� Hermione explained matter-of-factly.

Seeing the confused and amazed expressions on both Harry’s and Ron’s faces, she added, “I read a book on wards and their counter-curses recently.�

“Aperio,� Hermione cried, pointing her wand at the Riddle House determinedly.

At first it did not feel like it had worked, and Hermione felt a sharp pang of disappointment in her gut for a second, but then a blue-tinted, transparent bubble surrounding the house suddenly became visible.

“Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t walk into it, Ron,� Hermione said, “because that is a Death Ward: it kills anyone who touches it.�

“How do we get rid of it?� Harry asked.

“All we have to do is cast the counter-curse together; if you both help me, it will work more efficiently than if I cast it by myself,� Hermione answered.

“The counter-curse is ‘Nex Everto’,� Hermione said.

“Okay, point your wand at the house and we will all shout the incantation on the count of three,� Hermione ordered, and Harry and Ron acquiesced.

I really hope this works, Hermione thought.

“Alright…. One--Two--THREE—Nex Everto!� she bellowed.
Three jets of red light came out the end of their wands and collided with the bubble. The ward collapsed immediately, and Hermione felt like jumping for joy. It had worked. I had actually worked!

The Golden Trio then proceeded to walk cautiously up to the front porch. Hermione cast a quick spell to see if it was safe to touch the doorknob, and it was, so Hermione gripped the doorknob and opened the door. She was greeted with the stench of stale air, dust, and decay. “Lumos,� she muttered and Harry and Ron did the same.

Cobwebs and a layer of dust about an inch thick coated every surface, and the rotting floorboards creaked and groaned as Hermione walked. It was obvious that no one had cleaned the Riddle House in years.

“Yuck!� Harry exclaimed. Apparently, he had stepped on a huge cockroach.

“We need to search this place as quickly and as efficiently as possible, so I think that we should split up,� Hermione suggested.

“Are you mad? Voldemort could have hundreds of booby-traps set up in here! What if we need help or are in danger? Not to mention that this place is literally falling apart!� Harry objected.

“I know, Harry, but it’s the best way. Or would you prefer to spend days in here searching for Hufflepuff’s cup, constantly worrying that Voldemort or his Death Eaters will show up?� Hermione reasoned.

Harry shook his head, and Hermione said, “I thought not.�

“Anyway,� she continued, “Ron, you search the attic; Harry, you search the first floor and the basement; and I will search the second and third floors. Any objections?�
Neither Harry nor Ron said anything, so Hermione took that as a ‘yes’.

“Okay, good. Now, if anyone is in danger, send a Patronus. Actually, if you find anything at all also send a Patronus,� Hermione reflected.

“Good luck, Hermione,� Harry said.

“You too, Harry,� she replied, giving him a small, nervous smile.

“Yeah, and be careful, Hermione. Remember: constant vigilance,� Ron said.

“I will, and you need to be careful too,� Hermione said. And with that, they parted ways.

Hermione climbed the rickety, rotting, wood staircase cautiously with Ron in tow. She stopped at the second floor landing and turned into the hallway. There were eerie portraits on the wall, and she had the uncomfortable feeling of being watched as she made her way down the hall, wand in hand. The first room that she came upon was a bedroom, most likely one of the many guest bedrooms in the manor. She thoroughly combed the room for any signs of magic or magical concealment, but found none.

Then, Hermione searched the rest second floor, and still found nothing. She sighed heavily from disappointment and frustration, and headed to the third floor.

An hour and a half later, she only had one more room to search, and she was restraining herself from tugging out her hair in frustration. It’s highly suspicious that the wards around this house were so strong, and yet it seems like there isn’t anything here. Maybe Voldemort intended this house to be a red herring and nothing else. But that does not seem like something he would do. Then again, how do I know what he would do or not do? Hermione thought.

She had heard from neither Harry nor Ron, and she was getting slightly worried, but that also meant that they weren’t in danger and that they hadn’t found anything yet either. Hermione entered the room, which was the master bedroom from the looks of it, and suddenly felt a very faint tingle of magic. Excited, she located the source, and found that it was coming from a huge, mahogany bureau that was shoved up against the wall opposite of her.

Hermione went over to it and examined it further. After a minute or two of feeling around, she felt that the tingle of magic was the strongest when her fingers hovered over a wooden square that looked like it was just decoration.
It’s a secret drawer, she thought in amazement.

Remembering what Harry had told her about the cave, Hermione suddenly knew what she had to do. Hermione conjured a small, sharp, silver knife, and cut her palm with a hiss of pain. She then pressed her cut and bleeding palm to the square, and it popped open. Hermione muttered a healing spell, and peaked inside the secret compartment.
Inside, there was an ornate silver key and a small, black leather-bound book. She picked up the key and ran her fingers over the cool metal, trying to figure out what it unlocked. When she could not think of anything, Hermione proceeded to the book. It appeared be a journal or diary. She flipped through the pages of it, but found them all to be blank. A wave of déjà vu hit her, almost causing her to drop the journal. This looked just like Tom Riddle’s diary, but that was impossible because it had been destroyed, hadn’t it?

Hermione swiftly flipped to the front cover and did not see ‘T.M. Riddle’ written in the corner, much to her relief. However, that did not explain why Voldemort would want to hide this journal and the key, since it did not seem as if these objects were of importance or significance. Unless… they had hidden magical properties, although it did not seem likely.

She muttered a revealing spell, but nothing happened. Feeling slightly let down, Hermione whispered, “Expecto Patronum.�

A silvery otter burst forth from the tip of her wand, and she told it to go find Ron and Harry. The Patronus complied, and Hermione watched it go with a slight sense of sadness at seeing it leave. Now, all she had to do was wait. Hermione did not have to wait long until she heard footsteps coming from down the hall. The door opened a second later and the two Gryffindor boys stepped into the room, excitement evident in their faces.

“So, what’d you find, Hermione?� Harry asked.

“Just these,� she replied, holding up the key and the journal. “They aren’t magical, but I found them in a secret compartment that was sealed with magic in that bureau over there,� Hermione added, jerking her head in the direction of the bureau.

“Wait a second, Hermione. That’s Riddle’s diary!� Harry gasped, his almond-shaped, emerald eyes as round as saucers as he pointed to said book.

“No it’s not. That’s what I thought too, but I checked and it is not Riddle’s diary,� assured Hermione.

“I also found this key, but I have no idea what it goes to. Unfortunately, this is all I found,� Hermione continued.

“What I don’t get is why You-Know-Who would hide these things when they hardly seem important,� said Ron, who had been surprisingly quiet up until that point.

“I don’t know either, Ron, but I think that maybe this whole thing was just a red herring,� Hermione said, anxiously running a hand through her tangled, frizzy hair.

“I agree,� Harry said. “I think we should leave as soon as possible, since there isn’t anything else we can do here,� he proposed.

“Yeah, no hard feelings there. This place gives me the creeps,� Ron echoed, shuddering for effect.

“Okay, let’s get out of here. The sooner we leave the better,� Hermione agreed, pocketing the key and the diary.
The three Gryffindors hastily made their way out of the Riddle House. In fact, they were so determined to leave that they forgot to put the ward back up, so as not to alert Voldemort to the fact that they were hunting his Horcruxes.
They Apparated back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, where Kreacher was waiting for them with a hot meal.

Later that night, Hermione was lying on her stomach on her bed reading Hogwarts: A History for the umpteenth time, when the journal crossed her mind again. She couldn’t concentrate on her book, so she snapped it shut, and grabbed the diary off her nightstand. Hermione then fetched an eagle-feather quill and a bottle of ink from her beaded bag. She opened the diary to the first page, dipped her quill into the ink, and began to write.

August 6, 1997
Dear Diary,
I don’t usually write in diaries; actually, I detest them, but I feel that I have to record certain events. I found this diary in a secret compartment and a key, but I have no idea why they were in a Muggle house in a drawer sealed with magic. Well, actually I do. You see, the Muggle house was the Riddle house, and obviously, Voldemort himself enchanted the compartment in the bureau. Harry, Ron, and I thought that we would find a Horcrux, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, there. Apparently, the Riddle House never contained any Horcruxes, and now the three of us are back to square one with the cup. Oh, I forgot the niceties, silly me….

Anyway, my name is Hermione Jean Granger, and I am seventeen-years-old, although I’ll be eighteen in February. I am a Gryffindor, and I should be entering my seventh year. However, I am not going back to Hogwarts, unfortunately. I would except that I have to track down Voldemort’s Horcruxes and destroy them, so that that bastard can finally be defeated. I am also a Muggleborn, and a member of the so-called "Golden Trio". My two best friends are Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, the other members of the aforementioned "Trio". Harry and I are like siblings, but I think that my relationship with Ron is much more than that. If only he weren’t so tactless and clueless….
Oh, my! Look at the time! It’s just after midnight, so I have to go to sleep.
Hermione Jean Granger

Hermione shut the journal and turned out the lights so quickly that she failed to notice that the ink on the page of the diary had faded and disappeared.

Chapter 2: Battle of Wits

Morning arrived unreasonably quickly, or at least that is what it seemed like to Hermione when she was awakened by the sunlight that streamed in through the only window in the room. She rolled over on her side with her back to the window and tried to go back to sleep, but found that she couldn’t after about twenty minutes. When her stomach made a gurgling noise, Hermione gave up, knowing that she had to eat soon. She got out of bed with a reluctant groan, got dressed, and went downstairs to the kitchen.

When Hermione entered the kitchen, she saw that Harry and Ron were sitting around the table in the kitchen, eating breakfast and discussing how to get the locket from Umbridge. Both of them stopped talking and looked at Hermione when they noticed her presence in the doorway.

“Morning, ‘Mione,� said Ron and Harry at the same time.

“Good morning to you too,� Hermione responded.

“So do you have any ideas on how to snatch Slytherin’s locket right out from under that old toad’s nose?� Ron asked Hermione.

“Not any good ones yet, but I will try to think of something. You?�

“Not yet. However, I do think that if we go to the Ministry—outside of it and in disguise—and observe the habits of the employees, we might be able to formulate a plan,� Harry answered.

“Harry, are you sure that’s such a good idea? I mean, except for Hogwarts, the Ministry is probably the most dangerous place for you to go right now, since you do have a ten-thousand-galleon price on your head,� Hermione protested worriedly.

“Well, how else are we supposed to get to the locket? I don’t see either you or Ron coming up with any brilliant ideas, so why not try. What does it hurt, especially since the entire future of the Wizarding world is resting on our shoulders?� Harry argued.

“But we are walking straight into the hornet’s nest! Going to the Ministry is as dangerous and as stupid as walking up to Voldemort’s front door and letting him kill you on his doorstep! It is just too risky!� Hermione exclaimed.

“Some risks are worth taking. I, for one, am not going to sit idly by and watch Voldemort take over the world without a fight, even if that means my own death,� declared Harry.

“I am not saying that we shouldn’t do anything, but we—well, you—must not do anything rash. To reiterate, walking up to the Ministry, even invisible or in disguise, is suicide! Don’t you agree, Ron?� Hermione said.

“No, I don’t, Hermione,� Ron answered sheepishly. “I’m sorry, but I think that Harry is correct and it is at least worth trying.�

Hermione felt hot tears well up in her eyes, and she shrieked, “Of course you’re siding with Harry. You always do. Why did I think that you would agree with me for a change? But no, Hermione is always wrong and she over-thinks things! Just you wait, Ronald Weasley!�

And with that, Hermione ran from the kitchen, and stomped up the staircase to her bedroom, where she slammed the door childishly. ‘Why does Ron have to be such a prat sometimes,’ Hermione thought viciously as she collapsed onto her bed unceremoniously.

Hermione stared at the ceiling for a long while, seething with anger. ‘This is useless,’ Hermione thought. ‘What is the point of just staring at the ceiling doing nothing but thinking negative thoughts? It is just counterproductive.’

So Hermione got up and Summoned The Tales of Beedle the Bard, so she could study and decipher the runes within it. She eventually got so frustrated with the book and Dumbledore for giving it to her, for it was seemingly useless (it only contained children’s stories), that she slammed the book shut.

Hermione then decided that the best way to vent her anger and frustration was to write in the mysterious journal again. She grabbed the diary and retrieved her quill and inkwell furiously. Hermione opened up the diary, and found that all of the pages were blank, much to her surprise. Where was the entry that she had written? There was no possible, logical way that it could have just disappeared, so what had happened to it?

Going against her inquisitive nature, Hermione decided to dwell on this later, since she had too much on her mind as it was. She dipped her quill into the ink and held it over the page, poised to write. ‘Where to start,’ she thought.

As she was lost in thought, a drop of black ink fell from the tip of the quill, splattering the once-blank page. She instantly snapped out of her reverie when the ink splotch was absorbed into the page, leaving it blank once more. Hermione swiftly turned the page and found that it was blank as well. Puzzled and a little frightened, she turned the rest of the pages to see where the ink could have gone. She then flipped to the first page when she discovered that all of the pages were in pristine condition.

Hermione stared at the page for a minute or two, trying to figure out what was wrong with the diary. When she was about to give up, a neat script that was not her own appeared on the page.

'Very clever, Mudblood,' it read. 'I would have never thought that anyone would find this. Yes, this is the "bastard", as you so eloquently stated. How did you discover my greatest secret? I never told anyone that I created Horcruxes, not even my most loyal followers. So, how did you, an unworthy Mudblood Gryffindor, discover that I had made Horcruxes?

'Having to listen to you prattle on about your pitiful life was sheer torture. If I could come out of this diary, I would kill you, not only for destroying my Horcruxes and consorting with Potter, but for making me endure that. Let me assure you that your death would not be quick and painless.'

To say that Hermione was shocked, frightened, and very angry would be the understatement of the millennium. She gaped at the journal. Hermione Granger was rarely ever wrong about anything, so how could she be so wrong about this diary being a Horcrux? How could she be so stupid as to write that she was helping Harry Potter to kill him? Hermione, for once, did not know what to do. It was as if her brain had frozen, and she couldn’t thaw it.

Uncharacteristically, Hermione did something without thinking it through first; she wrote back.

'Do you honestly believe that I would tell you how I know about your Horcruxes? If you do, then your highly reputed intelligence is overrated. Do you have any idea how much of a hypocrite you are? You call me a Mudblood when you are just a half-blood yourself. You are half of what you despise so much. Muggle father, Muggle name. How does that make you feel, Tom Marvolo Riddle?

'I, unlike you, am not afraid to die, because I know that there are much worse things than death in this world. That is your greatest fear, isn’t it? Death. Is that not why you made seven Horcruxes? Yes, I know how many there are and what they are. Are you scared, Riddle? You should be, because the thing that you fear the most is not that far away, and you know it. Harry Potter will defeat you with my help, and there is nothing you can do about it.'

Not even waiting for a response, Hermione slammed the diary shut and flung it across the room as if it contained a highly deadly contagious disease. She sat on her bed for a minute a two, adrenaline coursing through her veins, making it impossible for her to think clearly and feel the gravity of the situation, before she got up, and made her way downstairs to find Harry and Ron. Hermione eventually found them in the sitting room playing wizard’s chess.

At first, they didn’t notice her, for they were too ensconced in their game, but Harry looked up and said, “Oh, sorry, Hermione. Didn’t see you there. Are you okay? No offense, but you look awful.�

“No, I am not okay, Harry,� Hermione uttered weakly.
“What’s wrong?� Ron asked.

“A lot,� Hermione said, crossing the room to flop down into one of the many armchairs scattered around the room.
Harry and Ron were both staring at her expectantly as they waited for her to continue.

“You know the diary that I found in the Riddle House?� Hermione asked wearily, and both of them nodded.

“Well, I was wrong. Horribly wrong, actually.� Hermione took a big breath before adding on, “It was Riddle’s diary. And that’s not the worst of it. Apparently, it is a Horcrux, as well.�

“How is that even possible? I destroyed it beyond magical repair. Besides, how would you even know this anyway?� Harry asked.

“Last night I was stupid enough to write in it as if it were a normal diary. Today, however, it came back to haunt me. When I opened it today, to write in it again, I found that my previous entry wasn’t there. I disregarded it because I was just so angry at the two of you, which was foolish. I was about to write, and a drop of ink fell into the diary, and it disappeared. I inspected the diary and didn’t find the ink anywhere. Then it responded.

“I was angry enough to write back. He knows that we are looking for his Horcruxes, because I told him. I didn’t mean to, of course. I wrote it when I thought that it was just a diary. I assume that Voldemort must have repaired it somehow, and put another piece of his soul into it,� Hermione said, ending her monologue.

“We have to destroy it as soon as possible,� said Harry after a long silence.

“I agree, Harry,� Hermione said solemnly.

“Please promise me that you won’t write in it again. Remember what it did to Ginny? She poured her heart into that thing and it possessed her,� Harry pleaded.

“Of course I remember what Riddle did to Ginny,� Hermione scoffed. “I have no intention of writing in that diary again. I never did. Besides, I will not let Voldemort possess me.�

“Blimey, I can’t believe that it’s a Horcrux again,� Ron said in slight disbelief.

“Neither can I,� Hermione responded.

They stayed in the sitting room until dinner, just staring at the fire. Hermione dwelled on the issue the whole time, and she was pretty sure that the other two were doing that as well.

Dinner was a quiet affair, which was quite unusual because they normally conversed with each other. No one spoke a word, for they were too wrapped up in their thoughts.

Hermione retired to her room early. She sat on her bed, glaring at the Horcrux on the floor in the opposite corner of the room. They didn’t have any basilisk venom at hand, and Fiendfyre, she thought, was too dangerous. She had no idea how they were supposed to destroy it without either of those two things. She took out Secrets of the Darkest Art, to see if she missed anything while reading the section on how to destroy Horcruxes.

Hermione suddenly felt sleepy, so she changed into her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and crawled into bed.
Despite how tired she was, Hermione could not fall asleep. She was too troubled to sleep. Sleep finally claimed her three hours later, and Hermione welcomed it, as she slipped into oblivion.

Chapter 3: Lucky Number Seven

Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Riddle, sat in his usual chair at the head of the Malfoys' dining room table listening to the reports of his Death Eaters or "bumbling imbeciles" as Voldemort liked to refer to them in his head. They weren't saying anything interesting, just the usual Muggle or Mudblood slaying or goings-on at the Ministry, so Voldemort decided to tune them out while absent-mindedly stroking Nagini's scales with one of his long, white spidery fingers.

Why hadn't the fools caught Potter or at least one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix yet? 'Because they are all incompetent imbeciles who probably could not tell one end of a broomstick from the other. Except for Severus, of course,' Voldemort answered his own unspoken question in his mind.

Yes, Severus Snape was his most loyal and most trusted Death Eater. Voldemort had entrusted in him tasks that not even Bella would be allowed to do. Bella had failed him too many times for her to be his most trusted Death Eater, even though her loyalty was unwavering. Severus, on the other hand, was the more competent of the two, although his loyalty has been called into question a number of times, but he had also proven his loyalty numerous times, as well.

Lucius Malfoy, like Bella, possessed unwavering loyalty to him, but had made too many mistakes in the past for Voldemort to trust him completely. However, Voldemort trusted Lucius enough to have Malfoy Manor be the Death Eater headquarters for the last few months. True, he didn't think that Lucius liked it very much, but he was Lord Voldemort so it didn't matter if Lucius wasn't in favor of the idea.

About a month ago, Voldemort had ordered Severus to retrieve his old school diary from Dumbledore's former office. Of course, Severus didn't know that it was Voldemort's diary and that it used to be a Horcrux. He also didn't know that Voldemort was planning to make it into a Horcrux again. But first, Voldemort would have to repair it before it could be of any use to him. When Severus handed Voldemort the diary, Voldemort did just that by using a few complicated potions and spells, one of which sucked the basilisk venom right out. Using a complex Dark Arts ritual and spell, Voldemort then split his soul yet again, and placed the soul fragment in the newly restored diary.

That night, he had traveled to Little Hangleton, a place that he thought that he would never visit again, and went to the Riddle House. Once there, he searched for the perfect spot to hide his new Horcrux, and after a half hour of searching, he had found the ideal place: an old bureau with a secret compartment. It was just too perfect! Voldemort placed the diary and an ornate silver key of great value to him inside of it, and charmed it so that it would only pop open if either someone spoke Parseltongue to it or if they made a blood payment. After that, he went outside and placed a Death Ward around the rickety mansion, and Apparated back to Malfoy Manor. Suddenly he was taken out of his reverie by a voice nervously saying, "My Lord?"

Voldemort searched around the room for the speaker who dared disrupt his thought processes with his crimson eyes, and they fell upon Yaxley. "Yes, Yaxley?" Voldemort hissed dangerously, as he ceased petting Nagini and folded his pale hands on the mahogany tabletop.

"I just asked you whether or not you would like Augusta Longbottom to be watched, my Lord," Yaxley replied.

"Yes, I would. Anyone who has ever had contact with either Potter or the Order needs to be watched like a hawk. However, since that method does not seem to be working as well as I had expected, I have devised a new way with which we can capture Potter and his friends," Voldemort said, and he looked around the table to see if everyone was listening intently before continuing.

"My name —my real name— is to have a Taboo placed on it. Anyone who seriously opposes me (Potter, for example) will be found out due to his or her own stupidity for saying my name," he said, grinning an awful, evil grin.

"That is brilliant, my Lord!" Bellatrix Lestrange exclaimed.

"Why thank you, Bella. That is such a compliment coming from you, whose own brilliance has clearly dwindled if you cannot even retrieve a tiny glass sphere from six teenagers," Voldemort remarked cruelly.

Bellatrix, whose face had been previously flushed with pleasure at being thanked by the Dark Lord, seemed speechless, and her face was now flushed with both anger and embarrassment.

"M—My Lord, that wasn't completely my fault. If Lucius hadn't—," Bellatrix stuttered when she had found the words.

"It matters not!" Voldemort screeched, interrupting Bellatrix and making everyone else in the room jump from the sudden outburst. Voldemort was starting to lose his temper, and he would lose it completely if he had to hear one more of his moronic Death Eaters' sniveling excuses. Everyone else in the room knew very well to tread carefully when the Dark Lord started to lose his temper, and they were all very afraid that they were going to be his next target.

"I—I am sorry, my Lord," Bellatrix whimpered, staring into Voldemort's snake-like face.

Voldemort ignored the apology and forced himself to calm down a little. It would do no good to give his Death Eaters a taste of the Cruciatus Curse when he still had business to discuss with them, however entertaining and satisfying it might be.

"Yaxley, tomorrow you will order Thicknesse to have a Taboo placed on my name. If, for any reason, you fail to have Thicknesse do this within a week's time you shall be punished. Severely, I might add," Voldemort ordered. All of the Death Eaters shuddered at the implications of the last two sentences, some visibly and others not so visibly.

"Of course, my Lord. It shall be done," Yaxley said.

"However, the existence of this new plan does not necessarily mean that I do not want people associated with Harry Potter or the Order to be watched or followed. Dolohov, I want you to trail Augusta Longbottom."

"Yes, my Lord," answered Dolohov.

Voldemort then turned to the man to his immediate right. "You are to keep track of all of the teachers at Hogwarts. That should not be too difficult as you are now the Headmaster, Severus," Voldemort said.

"My Lord, it shall be done," said Severus Snape, giving an awkward but respectful nod of his head.

"Everyone else that I have not given a specific task to do will be assigned a location that Potter or his friends might be hiding out in and will watch the area," Voldemort commanded. There was a chorus of "Yes, my Lord," and Voldemort looked at all of his Death Eaters, and said, "If you fail me, I will not be pleased. This meeting is adjourned."

With that, all of the Death Eaters left the room, respectfully, of course, leaving Voldemort alone in the Malfoys' dining room. Once alone, Voldemort muttered to himself, "I am surrounded by idiots."

Chapter 4: Manipulating the Manipulator

Hermione tossed and turned in her cot, trying to get some sleep, but to no avail, as the day’s events kept replaying in her head. She eventually gave up and stared at the ceiling of the tent that was her current residence, listening to Harry and Ron’s snores and contemplating what had happened earlier that day.

Their trip to the Ministry did not go as well as Hermione had hoped, but they had at least retrieved Slytherin’s locket from that evil hag, Umbridge. Unfortunately, the mission, however successful, cost the Trio their primary safe-haven, Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and a chunk of Ron’s upper arm when he had Splinched himself.

However, the most disturbing parts about the trip to the Ministry to Hermione were the trials (If you could call them that, Hermione mentally snorted) of the Muggle-borns and the way that awful toad callously smiled at the “accused�. The screams of one of the “accused� still haunted her hours later. “No, no, I’m a half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he was, look him up, Arkie Alderton, he’s a well-known broomstick designer, look him up, I tell you – get your hands off me, get your hands off –�* the man had bellowed.

Hermione had wanted to pull her wand out (which she had barely stopped herself in time from doing just that) and help the poor man as the dementors dragged him away, but she knew that she couldn’t without blowing her cover and risking hers and Harry and Ron’s lives.

Then there was the enigma of the Horcrux that they had managed to snag. Hermione had already gone down her mental list of things that would destroy a Horcrux, and none of them would work right now. They didn’t have access to basilisk venom, as the only source known to Hermione would be at Hogwarts, in the Chamber of Secrets, and going to back to Hogwarts was simply not an option, since it was crawling with Death Eaters.

The only other option that wasn’t really an option at all was to use Fiendfyre, but that was way too dangerous for Hermione to even attempt. So, they would just have to hang on to the locket and the diary until they found a means to destroy them.

But what of the other Horcruxes? How do we find them? That’s the million galleon question, isn’t it? Hermione thought.

Suddenly, like a light being turned on in a pitch-black room, a way to find the remaining Horcruxes occurred to her, nearly bowling her over with its brilliance and simplicity if it worked. No, it was too risky…, but it must be worth the risk….

Hermione muttered “Lumos� under her breath with wand in hand, and set the wand on the nightstand beside the cot. Then, Hermione silently crawled out of her cot and retrieved her small beaded bag. She dug through it and found what she was looking for.

Hermione opened the book, and poised her quill over the blank page to write, but then stopped herself just in the nick of time. She would have to compose a really good and very believable story in order for this to work; after all she was attempting to manipulate the master of manipulation, deceive the master of deceit.

After about ten minutes of thinking very hard and trying to find any possible loopholes in her story, Hermione set her quill to the diary, sighed and prayed to whatever entity might be listening to please let this work, and began to put her risky plan to work.


'Hello. My name is Emma Rose Sage,' Hermione wrote, her hand trembling slightly and she was anxious that he would not take the bait. A few seconds later, however, the response showed up in bold black letters.

'Hello, Emma. My name is Tom Riddle. May I ask how you acquired my journal?'

Hermione sucked in her breath. This was it. The moment of truth.

'I found it in an alley in Hogsmeade while I was shopping for a birthday present for my best friend, Daphne Greengrass. You see, I couldn’t give her present on her actual birthday because Hogsmeade was on lockdown that weekend. It was rumored that Harry Potter and his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were sighted in Hogsmeade by a shop owner. By the way, what are you? I mean, you can’t be a normal human if you live in a diary, that is, if you live in this diary at all.'

'No, I am not a “normal� human as you put it. I am but a mere memory that lives in this diary.'

Yeah, sure. A “mere memory�? More like one of the many Horcruxes of the most evil wizard in the last one hundred years that will possess me if I’m not careful enough, Hermione thought, but she couldn’t write that, of course, as that would give away her true identity.

Then she decided to write something that she truly hoped would catch him by surprise, although the thought of saying (or rather, writing) something like that to Lord Voldemort made her gag: 'I’m sorry. I truly am. Does it ever get lonely?'

'Sometimes, but I manage.'

He was lying, obviously. Voldemort had never been lonely in his whole miserable existence and never would be, but he did not know that “Emma� knew that, of course. 'That must be horrible, Tom. Living in a diary, I mean,' Hermione wrote.

'It is not that bad once you get used to it. So, what House and year are you in?'

'I’m a seventh year Ravenclaw. My best friend, though, is in Slytherin, but I don’t mind; I wish that I would have been in Slytherin instead of Ravenclaw.'

'Hmm… interesting. So you don’t mind Slytherins, eh? Well, that is good because I was in Slytherin when I attended Hogwarts many, many years ago.'

'Really? That’s so cool! Did you fit in there? I don’t fit into Ravenclaw that well. My housemates are either really weird, like Loony Lovegood, or they act like they have encyclopedias shoved up their arses. Don’t get me wrong, learning is a good thing, but when you act so pompous about it, and are too self-righteous to expand your knowledge beyond the boundaries of light magic, it just isn’t right.'

'I think that you have a good and valid point there, Emma. There is only power and those who are too weak to seek it. Your housemates are too weak to seek that power. You, however, seem like you are both strong enough and capable enough to obtain that power. All you have to do is reach out and take it for yourself, and it is all yours. You are a Sage, one of the most noble pure-blood lines in the Wizarding World, and you have to admit that it would be fitting if you had all that power.'

'Secretly, I have always wanted that kind of power. That’s why I practice the Dark Arts. I don’t necessarily want to become one of the Dark Lord’s followers, but I might change my mind some day and want to become a Death Eater,' Hermione scrawled.

'And I’m sure that he would welcome you into his ranks.'

'How do you know?' replied Hermione.

'I just do.'

Suddenly, Ron snored rather loudly and stirred, which nearly caused her to upset her ink bottle because she had jumped violently at the sound. Thankfully, Ron turned over on his side and was fast asleep and snoring again.

'Listen, Tom, I need to go. I’ll talk (or write) to you soon, okay?' Hermione scrawled across the page swiftly.

'Okay. Goodbye, Emma, until we converse again.'

Hermione shut the diary softly and put it away, feeling oddly triumphant. He had fallen for it: hook, line, and sinker. However, despite feeling triumphant, she also felt shaky and her skin was crawling at the thought of talking to the Dark Lord again although it was necessary that she did so in order for her plan to succeed.

Hermione also felt uneasy that, for the second time in her life, she would be keeping something big from Harry and Ron. She knew that they would have a fit, especially Ron, if they knew what she was doing, and they would never understand her plan. No, it was best if they were kept out of the loop on this one.

Hermione sighed, crawled back under the covers of her cot, and grabbed her wand off of the nightstand. She then muttered “Nox�, and everything was almost pitch-dark again. Now is as a good of a time as any to try to go to sleep, she thought. It took her a while, but she finally managed to fall asleep as the sun started to rise, signaling the crack of dawn.

Chapter 5: Deceiving the Deceiver

Inside the diary, Tom was seething. 'So the girl wanted to play, huh? Well, she shall soon rue the day when she tried to deceive Lord Voldemort,' Tom thought viciously. Yes, he knew very well that it was Potter's Mudblood and not "Emma" who was writing to him. Honestly, the chit was supposed to be the smartest witch of her age, and she was stupid enough to attempt to hoodwink him, Lord Voldemort, and think that he would remain woefully ignorant to her trickery.

Surely, she didn't even consider the fact that he could tell her identity from her magical signature (which is not unlike a fingerprint and is unique to each witch or wizard). However, in order to teach her not to underestimate him ever again, he would play along for now, and turn her "brilliant" plan against her to his advantage. In fact, underestimating Tom Marvolo Riddle would probably be the last thing Hermione Jean Granger would ever do.

Yes, let her pour her heart and—quite literally—her soul into him. And then, before she could realize her huge error, he would possess her when he was strong enough, and finish the business that he had started long ago with that infernal Potter boy and the Order of the Chicken, and because they love and trust Granger, they would never suspect a thing until it was too late, the fools.

'But I must not get ahead of myself, once I have possessed her, I will lure the boy and his disgusting blood-traitor friend into a trap, and my older, more corporeal, counterpart will take care of them, including the vexing Hermione Granger,' schemed Tom. 'If I can just get the Mudblood to keep writing, this plan shall be foolproof. I have been far too careless, when it comes to Harry Potter, and have let other people do my dirty work for me in the past. Well, it just goes to show that if you want something done properly, you must do it yourself.'


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Hermione was off in a pleasant dream-land where there was no Dark Lord, and her, Harry, and Ron were together at Hogwarts and Ron was holding her hand. Suddenly, screams pierced the fantasy like a knife, and she awoke to harsh cold reality. The screams were coming from Harry, who was thrashing in his bunk and clutching his forehead in agony. Hermione quickly went over to him and comforted him until it seemed like the pain had subsided.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron asked, his face looking a little green, but with an expression of concern on it.

"Riddle," Harry responded shakily, as if that one word explained everything, and it did. "He is still looking for the blonde-haired thief, and he keeps torturing and killing people, including women and children, to get information about that boy."

"That's sick!" Ron exclaimed with disgust.

"Well, it's Volde—" Harry began, but was interrupted by Ron shouting, "Don't say his name! It's 'You-Know-Who'!"

Harry gave Ron an exasperated look and said irritably, "Fine, then. It's You-Know-Who we're talking about, though, so of course it is sick and twisted. Besides, that's all fine and dandy for you to say, but you didn't have to watch helplessly while these people died, and especially since I see though his eyes while he does this, it is even more unnerving because it feels like I am the one torturing and murdering them."

"Oh, Harry…," Hermione said, putting her hand in Harry's, and not seeing the jealous look that Ron had thrown their way.

"Look, I don't want your pity. I just want Riddle dead, so that everyone can live peacefully, and since I am the Chosen One, that might come at the price of my own life. No, Hermione, don't give me that look. I accepted the fact that I might die in the process of defeating him a while ago. It's worth dying for as long as I eventually bring him down with me."

It was times like this that Hermione admired Harry for his bravery and nobility, although he definitely had a hero-complex. Although she was a Gryffindor, Hermione doubted that she could ever be as brave as Harry. To keep your head held high when facing possible death, now that was a quality that many people did not possess, but Harry was one of the precious few who did.

"But not without our help, of course," Hermione said, and Ron nodded his head in agreement. Harry gave them a small smile. Hermione knew that Harry had given up on trying to persuade them not to assist him with bringing down Voldemort. 'He can be so thick at times,' Hermione thought with an inward sigh, remembering how he had tried to tell them to not help in the search for Voldemort's Horcruxes. They were all in this together, and Harry had finally realized that, even though it had taken a little while for that to sink in.

"I'm going out to get some fresh air," Harry announced, getting up from the bed and marching for the tent flap.

Hermione and Ron watched him step out into the brisk September air without another word. They made eye contact, and, for a split second, it seemed as if they were the only two people who existed in the world (at least to Hermione), but Hermione was the first to look away, her face hot and more than a bit pink. Ron cleared his throat, the tips of his ears red, and stuttered, "Forgot to, er, to tell Harry something…be right back."

Hermione watched him leave with a sigh. "Boys," she muttered under her breath when she was alone.

Harry's nightmare had only fueled her fury to get rid of Voldemort. So, Hermione decided to do the only thing that she could do to exact her revenge against the Dark Lord: Write in the diary again. Hermione retrieved the diary and a quill, got back into her bunk, and drew the curtains around her bed, knowing that Harry and Ron would not disturb her if they thought she had gone back to sleep. She composed herself for a minute or two before setting her quill to the blank page to begin writing, for no one enjoyed talking to Lord Voldemort, and one had to keep one's wits about them in order to do so.

'Hello, Tom,' she wrote.

'Hello, Emma. How are you?'

'I'm well. What about you?'

'Excluding the fact that I am trapped inside of a diary, I am also well.'

Suddenly, an idea popped into Hermione's head. 'Oh, this should be good,' she thought, smiling to herself. 'What were your parents like? Were they nice or strict? I don't mean to pry, but I'm just curious.'

'I never knew my parents. My mother died just after I was born, and my father died many years ago.'

'Yeah, after you murdered him,' Hermione thought with disgust. What she wrote next practically made her gag. 'Oh, I didn't know. I'm so sorry. Gosh, how insensitive am I? You poor thing!' ('Poor thing, indeed,' she mentally snorted.)

'Don't be sorry. How could you have known?'

God, Riddle was good. Really, really good, Hermione realized. He used just the right amount of charm, and, of course, he played the "poor orphan boy" card flawlessly. No wonder everyone was so charmed by him during his school days. If Hermione didn't know who he truly was underneath the façade, she probably would have been put under his spell, as well, and that fact frightened her slightly.

'Are you there?'

'Oh, yes. Sorry, I was just thinking about what you had written. May I ask you a question'?

'I believe you just did,' was the sarcastic response.

'That's not what I meant and you know it.'

'Sure.'

'How old were you when your father died?'

'I was sixteen-years-old.'

'If you were sixteen when he passed away, how is it that you never knew him?'

'He abandoned my mother when she was pregnant, and she died just after giving birth to me, living just long enough to name me. I grew up in an orphanage before coming to Hogwarts, and I don't think my father even knew he had a son. Or maybe he did, but he just didn't care. Anyway, he was murdered by my uncle, my mother's brother, along with my grandparents. So you see, I never knew my father.'

Hermione's eyebrows shot up to her hairline as she read this. She had not expected him to tell her something so close to the truth, and it made her slightly suspicious. Tom Riddle was a very reserved person, who entrusted his secrets to no one else but himself, so by nearly revealing one of the things he has tried to conceal over the years—his Muggle heritage—to someone who was supposed to be almost a complete stranger was more than a bit out of character for him. Then again, he could have just been trying to win "Emma" over with a sob story, which seemed more like his style.

'I—,' she wrote, but she stopped as she heard footsteps and a pair of male voices approaching the tent. Hermione slammed the diary shut, and hastily hid it under her pillow.

"Hermione, are you awake?" asked Ron when both he and Harry had made it through the opening of the tent.

"Obviously," she replied as she opened the curtains around her bed.

"What were you doing that required the curtains to be closed?" Ron inquired with a suspicious tone in his voice.

"If you must know, Ronald, I was simply writing in my journal. Now, are you quite finished invading my privacy?" Hermione said in annoyance.

"Sorry, 'Mione," he responded apologetically.

"I think that we should try to go back to sleep," Harry suggested.

"That sounds like a good idea, but are you sure that you will be able to sleep?" Hermione said.

"Yeah. Pretty sure. I'm exhausted." And with that, the trio crawled back into bed and they all fell asleep instantly, with the exception of Hermione, who was laying awake, thinking about Riddle and the diary.


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Tom couldn't believe the nerve of the girl. She had had the audacity to ask him about his "family" when she knew very well what had happened; therefore, he had decided to knock her through a loop and tell her something that was disturbingly close to the truth. Although when he thought about it now, he wasn't sure that that was exactly the best idea, for she might get suspicious as to why he revealed that much information to her.

Knowing Granger, he knew that he should not make the mistake of underestimating her, but it was a little hard not to when she pulled a stunt like the on she did. At the same time, though, she underestimated him and his abilities, and it is not particularly smart to underestimate Lord Voldemort. Yes, he would definitely teach the filthy Mudblood a lesson.