Author's note: I just wanted to thank all of you for all of your reviews and alerts! I seriously did not think I would get this much awesome feedback for just the first chapter. Anyway, here's the next installment... I hope you like it!

Chapter 2

The Ring

Hermione's first inclination was to laugh. Looking to the front door, she expected Ron or George to burst inside and yell "gotcha!" And Harry would pull off his invisibility cloak and Hermione would scold them, because this was a rather twisted way to take advantage of her inebriation; but then they would all laugh it off because the hoax was put together nicely, after all.

After a few moments, though, her hopeful stare at the door became one of desperation and she turned once more to the stranger. He was looking at her curiously, as though intrigued by her reaction. There was no sign of smile anymore, and Hermione could see no laughter in his eyes.

My God, he's not joking.

Hermione's breathing became ragged as this realization dawned on her. Harry and Ron were not here; this was not some elaborate prank; and, even more disturbingly, this boy seriously had the nerve to believe his name was Tom Riddle.

What the hell was going on?

The boy coughed to break the silence and held out a hand for Hermione to shake. Instead of grasping it, though, she just eyed it accusingly, as though his long, slender fingers were to blame for this whole mess.

"Ah," he said awkwardly, closing his outstretched hand into a fist and letting it swing back to his side. "Well."

As he went through this motion, something caught Hermione's eye: he was wearing a ring. It was large and almost gaudy: a dull gold band adorned with an oversized black stone. And on the black stone itself she could almost make out... Her breath hitched. She had seen that ring before.

But it couldn't be. That was impossible; it must be a trick of the light, and she had only seen it for a split second anyway.

But it was so similar.

The boy kept looking at her, probably waiting for her to respond or introduce herself, but Hermione didn't know what to say. Her mind went blank, yet seemed to explode with thoughts at the same time. Ron and Harry... The Leaky Cauldron... the house... the boy... the ring... She didn't know what to do – what could she do? And all the while she still felt sick... and was feeling sicker by the minute... Oh, it was all too much.

So she ran.

Backing away as fast as she could past the end tables and the books and the trinkets, she bolted; not to the front door, but through the kitchen again, past the hall, and into the bathroom. She reached her destination in just enough time to skid onto the floor, pull back her hair, and vomit straight into the toilet.

Hermione sat heaving over the side of the bowl until all the alcohol had left her stomach. As her gags turned into a dry retch she wiped a clammy hand across her mouth and fell shaking to the floor.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, breathing deeply several times. Presently her shaking stopped and the nauseous feeling in her stomach receded and she was able to think more clearly about the situation.

What in Merlin's name was going on? She tried to put the pieces of evidence together, but nothing was matching up or making sense. Just a few hours ago she had been with her friends in London, having a good time... Okay, she had been drinking, and most probably passed out due to that... but that didn't explain how she ended up here... And where was 'here' anyway? She had the distinct feeling that she was nowhere near London anymore. But how could she have traveled so far without realizing it? And why had she traveled here? Had something bad happened at the Leaky Cauldron, or did it occur afterwards? Was everyone else left behind or were they lost somewhere too?

And who was this boy? Yes, he said his name was Tom Riddle... Hermione snorted in disbelief. That's impossible; Voldemort died two years ago. If anything, the boy was a lunatic, and obviously not to be trusted. However, Hermione could see that he had no idea about what happened to her; so, despite her misgivings, she didn't blame him for her arrival in this strange house.

But still, it was a strange situation. It could be a coincidence, Hermione tried to rationalize. Tom is a very common name, and Riddle... well, it's possible. Or he could be some crazy youth, obsessed with the darkest wizard of the twentieth century and bent on recreating his life.

But then there was the ring... Thinking about that made Hermione's stomach churn again. She could have sworn it looked exactly like the Resurrection Stone, Slytherin's ring... the horcrux. Admittedly, she had never seen it very close up. Every time she had laid eyes on the ring, it had graced Dumbledore's hand. Harry had carried it with him the entire time they were searching for Horcurxes but, of course, it had remained hidden in the golden snitch until the very end, when Harry was alone. He had then dropped it in the Forbidden Forest and no one, herself included, had seen it since.

Nonetheless, she knew its image. Her vague memory combined with Harry's description and the knowledge of the Deathly Hallow's symbol made this horcrux quite easy to spot. She should be able to recognize it instantly. In fact, if the circumstances here hadn't been so odd, she would have accepted the appearance of the ring without question. But what were the chances of this boy, claiming to be Voldemort himself, finding the ring in the Forbidden Forest and then crossing paths with Hermione?

This was all too weird.

As Hermione's head continue to pound from both the hangover and her extremely odd predicament, another thought crossed her mind.

What if we never really destroyed that Horcrux?

Dumbledore said he had, but what if a piece of soul was still locked inside? What if it manifested another form of Tom Riddle, just as the diary had? Found by some innocent traveler, the ring could have sucked the life out of its wearer and begun to gather enough strength to produce a solid memory of a young Riddle.

She let out a short laugh. What a ridiculous idea! Honestly, a shadow-Riddle coming to haunt her from a horcrux; that made no sense whatsoever.

Or maybe, she thought to herself, I'm just going crazy. Perhaps I'm dreaming – or, probably, the alcohol is still messing with me. I could be hallucinating, or having an allergic reaction...

She shook her head. That explanation seemed almost as ludicrous as the horcrux theory. Although, she thought dimly, I have nothing better to go off of. Hermione sighed. Thinking in circles like this was getting her nowhere. Perhaps if she talked to the boy she could gather some clues as to what really happened.

Deciding that her stomach was settled enough to leave the bathroom floor, she stood up and crossed the room to where the small sink was located. Hermione winced as she caught her reflection in the mirror: she looked like hell. Her eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by large, puffy dark circles, which stood out in contrast to her otherwise pale face. Her lips were dry and cracked and her hair was sticking out in all directions. If the stench, the headache, and the puking were not strong enough to convince her, this certainly was: she was most definitely never going to drink ever again.

She gave a sigh and turned one of the taps. To her disgust, it let out a stream of brown water. Hermione recoiled and felt the remaining contents of her stomach surface to her throat.

"Oh, how disgusting..."

The brown water splashed against the sides of the washbasin and formed a small pool in the bottom by the drain. Completely repulsed, Hermione shut off the tap and rinsed her hands and face with water from her wand. When she was done she dried her hands on the side of her pants and ventured back out into the hallway.

The boy was standing in the threshold between the living room and the kitchen when she arrived, one hand gripping his wand, the other carrying the gas lamp. He took no notice of Hermione as she stood awkwardly at the end of the hall, and silently surveyed the room. Hermione wondered briefly if she had offended him by running off before.

Slowly and carefully, he placed the lamp on the table and eyed the same tea set Hermione had handled only a few minutes ago.

"It looks like he left in a hurry," he murmured, almost to himself.

So they were thinking on the same page. "That's what I thought," she said, taking a step further into the room.

He nodded and left the table. Moving about the room, he began to examine things Hermione hadn't dared to touch on her first encounter through the house. He moved from counter to counter with a sense of purpose, lifting this bowl, pushing aside that pot. She stood back a little awkwardly as he deftly fingered the plates in the sink, opened a cupboard door, shifted aside a stack of papers.

Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for.

"Ah-ha," he said softly, opening another cabinet with a creak. Almost instantly, the rancid smell that had plagued the room intensified to a horrible degree and Hermione began to feel lightheaded. Crouching down, he reached inside the cupboard and pulled out a sight grotesque enough to rival the water in the bathroom sink.

It was a piece of meat. Completely the wrong color, grizzled in spots, and host to a handful of maggots, it was a slab of rotten, decaying meat.

Hermione took an involuntary step backward and put a hand over her nose. "Oh how foul – who in the world would...?" But she couldn't finish her sentence. The boy had placed the platter on the table and the smell, if possible, seemed to get worse. She gagged. "What are you doing? Just get rid of it already..."

He eyed the meat and wrinkled his nose. "I don't know about you, but I'm starved..."

She stared at him at disbelief. There was no doubt in her mind now that he really was a lunatic.

"Are you insane? That meat is rotten, rancid, covered in maggots, for God's sake..."

He looked at her blankly and the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch. "Of course I'm not insane," he said. "You simply did not let me finish." As he spoke he lifted his wand and poked it into the side of the meat. A moment later the maggots had receded, the flesh turned a healthy brown, and the rotten smell in the air was replaced by one of a warm, savory roast.

Hermione felt her face grow hot and red. The boy rose an eyebrow, cocked his head, and, his eyes never leaving hers, twitched his wand. Smoke started trailing from spout of the teapot and the smell of sweet tea began to mix in the air. He then turned around and retrieved a stack of now-clean cutlery and placed it on the table. Sliding a chair aside, he smiled politely and said to Hermione, "after you."

She blushed again. Hesitating for a moment, Hermione moved when she saw that he was not going to sit down first. Just as she thought, the stranger waited until she was seated to sit at his spot across the table. Hermione gave him a small smile and looked down at the table. The roast had been cut. He indicated that she should take her share and, not wanting to be rude, Hermione served herself several pieces of meat.

"Bread?"

He offered her a plate of what she had previously assumed to be stale rolls. Muttering a word of thanks, Hermione took one and discovered that not only was it soft, but warm as well.

Okay – so he may be a lunatic, but he's a rather clever lunatic.

As soon as Hermione had poured herself a cup of tea (into a now-clean china saucer) the boy served himself and made a little sandwich out of one of the rolls and a piece of meat.

They sat in silence, the boy chewing slowly on his sandwich and Hermione pushing her food around on her plate with her fork. She had to admit, considering its state only a few minutes ago, the meat certainly looked and smelled delicious. She really was tempted to try some; however, her stomach was still feeling a bit queasy and she did not want to risk having another episode in the bathroom. So, resigned to this limitation, Hermione only nibbled at a piece of the bread and sipped some tea. It was a rather unsatisfying dinner – or breakfast – but it would have to do.

As she broke off small chucks of bread her eyes wandered over to the strange boy sitting a few feet across the table. He ate in silence, chewing his food carefully and never looking at Hermione. She watched as his long, slender fingers held his fork and lifted his food to his thin lips; the way he took small bites, dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin... He seemed so careful, so polite; Hermione marveled at his behavior.

Could this really be a version of Voldemort? Dumbledore had said that Riddle had been polite and charming as a young man. Hermione squinted at him in the darkness, without trying to seem too conspicuous. He could fit the part, she mused. It's not like this boy had red hair and freckles. Dark hair and eyes; a pale, thin face; sharp features that stood out in the dim candlelight... If anything, that is how she would picture a young, handsome Riddle.

Stirring her tea around, Hermione averted her eyes from his face and instead trained them on his hand. There was the ring. It looked just as it had before, with its gold band and large black stone... but was there something written on the stone? It did look as though something had been scratched onto the ring's surface, but it was too dark in the room for Hermione to tell for sure. Her heart skipped a beat; if the sign of the Deathly Hallows really was embossed onto the top of the stone, she knew she was in big trouble.

The boy looked up from his meal and saw Hermione staring at him. She turned away and focused on the piece of half-eaten bread still sitting on her plate. A few awkward moments went by before she was able to bring herself to look at him again. He was sipping his tea slowly, gazing at her from across the table.

"So tell me..." He raised an eyebrow, as though inviting Hermione to introduce herself.

"Hermione," she said. "You can call me Hermione."

He nodded. "Hermione." There was a pause during which he set the cup gently on its china saucer. "Hermione, why are you visiting the Professor this evening?"

"We're related," she lied easily, without thinking. "He's my great-uncle or something of the sorts. I haven't seen him in a while so we decided it was time for a visit."

"How nice." His lips twitched up into a half-smile, though Hermione could see no amusement in his eyes. "So you've been here before?"

"Well, yes, but not for a long time. I was very young the last time I was here."

"But he's visited you before."

"Once or twice, yes."

He nodded again and the two fell into silence. Hermione could still hear the wind howling relentlessly against the side of the house.

In an attempt to get the conversation away from herself she asked, "so what about you? What brings you to...?" She trailed off, hoping to get a clue as to where she was.

"To Professor Nopcsa's house?" he suggested, to her great annoyance. "Oh, I'm just a wandering traveler, passing through the area. He graciously offered me a place to stay and I accepted."

"Oh?"

He nodded lightly, and said nothing.

Hermione inwardly groaned. Getting information from this boy was like pulling teeth.

"So where have your travels taken you so far?"

He blinked, as though surprised by her question, but his smile never left his face. He folded his hands on the table and seemed to consider Hermione. "Oh, here and there," he said simply.

Hermione sighed. This conversation was going nowhere.

"That's fascinating," she said, prying some more. "I've never been much of a traveler myself, but you must have been just about everywhere.

He frowned. "Well, I wouldn't say everywhere," he said slowly. "I haven't really extended my travels outside of Europe."

Okay, so I'm still in Europe... that narrows things down a bit.

"Have you ever visited, er, here before?" She crossed her fingers under the table.

Oh please say where we are; please say where we are...

But he just shook his head. "No; this is my first time. Actually, I was hoping for the Professor to show me around, but..." He gestured around to the empty house.

Hermione made a noise of sympathy and glanced down at her plate miserably. Whoever this was, she decided, he was awfully good at concealing information. In a last-ditch effort to learn something of her situation, she asked one more question: "Do you think you'll be staying for long, then?"

That mechanical smiled snapped back on his face. "You know I would love to answer you, but – " he paused to stifle a yawn, "I've had a long day and I'm just exhausted. If you like we can continue this conversation another time."

"Oh," Hermione said, taken aback by this abrupt halt to the conversation. "Sure. Of course."

He stood up from the table and carefully pushed in his chair. With a flick of his wand the leftover food on the table vanished. The perfect image of a gentleman, he inclined his head charmingly and said "sleep well," before taking his small bag and heading down the corridor.

Hermione just sat in her chair, dumbfounded.