SURPRISE! TO CELEBRATE 2000 VIEWS, HERE'S CHAPTER 21. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT AND I'LL UPDATE IN 3 DAYS!

Author's Note: Again, the dialogue between Tom and Hepzibah Smith is copied exactly from Half Blood Prince, so as to maintain accuracy. However, Tom's included thoughts are solely from my imagination.

PS. I had LOTS of fun writing this chapter! I think you'll enjoy it very much.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All rights and characters belong to J.K Rowling.

Thanks

...he carefully slid Marvolo's ring off of his finger, eyed it for a moment, and then placed it below the floorboard, sealing it with another flick of his wand.

He'd distinctly felt it vibrate before it parted from his touch...

CHAPTER 21: THE LOCKET AND THE CUP

Tom awoke early in the morning and lay in bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling. He was very excited for today—so excited that he could hardly contain himself. He could feel his diary vibrating slightly beneath the floorboard. His Horcruxes always seemed to feel what he felt, which made sense seeing as how they were alive.

It was late fall, 1950. Tom had been working at Borgin and Burke's for 6 years now. He had shown excellence in obtaining magical heirlooms from Borgin's and Burke's customers. It was virtually effortless for him, and so he spent a great deal of time searching for what would be his next Horcruxes. One of the customers, a fat old lady by the name of Hepzibah Smith, was a regular. On his last visit, Tom had listened to her rant about the founders of Hogwarts, and she let it slip that she owned some objects that would interest him. Today was the day he would find out more.

Finally getting up, Tom crept out of his room and knocked on Borgin's bedroom door. He cracked it open and peeked in. Borgin was sitting at the window ledge, muttering incoherently to himself.

"Are you alright, sir?" said Tom, opening the door wider now.

Borgin jumped up and stared at him.

"Y-yes, I'm fine, boy," he said, uncertainly. "Where have you come from?"

"I live here, sir," Tom reminded him, watching him with great fascination. Legiliments was really making Borgin lose his mind. How ironic. But Tom was not about to stop practicing on him now. He had grown to be so skilled at it and could definitely see it being useful in the future.

"Right," said Borgin, sitting back down on the window ledge.

"I am off to see Ms. Smith," Tom informed Burke after he'd left Borgin's room.

"Alright," grunted Burke. "Oy, where's Borgin?"

"H-he's feeling under the weather today, sir," said Tom, innocently.

"Damn," spat Burke. "He's getting old, him. I'm afraid he won't last much longer…been acting real funny lately…can't remember anything anymore."

"It's a shame," said Tom.

He returned to his bedroom and combed his slightly longer black hair now. He put on his best black suit and straightened up, carefully placing his wand in the pocket of his traveling cloak which he threw over himself seconds later. He looked away from the cracked mirror and thought long and hard. If Hepzibah was really telling the truth, then Tom would successfully secure two more Horcruxes now.

"Tom! I'm so happy you came!" exclaimed Hepzibah from her rocking chair. Tom closed the front door and approached her. She was wearing an elaborate ginger wig today and a brilliant pink set of robes that flowed all around her, giving her the look of a melting iced cake. Hokey, her stinking house elf, had just finished lacing her fleshy feet into tight satin slippers and she kicked her away impatiently and smiled brightly at Tom. "Come in, come in!"

Tom picked his way through the cramped room so full of worthless objects. He bowed low over Hepzibah's fat little hand, brushing it with his lips in a soft kiss.

"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere.

"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" squealed old Hepzibah.

She reached for the empty vase that had been standing ready on the nearest little table. How convenient, Tom thought.

"You do spoil this old lady, Tom," said Hepzibah as she placed the flowers into the vase and conjured up some water with her wand. "Sit down, sit down…where's Hokey? Ah…"

The house elf had come dashing back into the room carrying a tray of little cakes, which she set at her mistress's elbow.

"Help yourself, Tom," said Hepzibah. "I know you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop, I've said it a hundred times…"

Tom smiled mechanically and Hepzibah simpered.

"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" she asked, battering her lashes.

"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armor," lied Tom. "Five hundred Galleons, he feels it is a more than fair—"

"Now, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" pouted Hepzibah.

"I am ordered here because of them," said Tom, quietly. He had rehearsed this in his room just before he'd come there. It had to go well. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to inquire—"

"Oh, Mr. Burke, phooey!" said Hepzibah, waving a little hand. "I've something to show you that I've never shown Mr. Burke! It's that thing we talked about last week, do you remember? You can keep a secret, can't you Tom? Will you promise you won't tell Mr. Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone! But you, Tom, you'll appreciate it for its history, not how many Galleons you can get for it."

"I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," said Tom quietly, covering the excitement that was building up in his chest now.

Hepzibah gave another girlish giggle.

"I had Hokey bring it out for me…Hokey, where are you? I want to show Mr. Riddle our finest treasure…in fact, bring both, while you're at it…"

"Here, madam," squeaked the house elf, clambering her way through the piles of tables and footstools, holding two small leather boxes one on top of the other.

"Now," said Hepzibah happily, taking the boxes from the elf and laying them on her lap. "I think you'll like this, Tom…oh, if my family knew I was showing you…They can't wait to get their hands on this!"

She opened the lid of the top box to reveal what looked like a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles.

"I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!" whispered Hepzibah, and Tom stretched out a long-fingered hand and lifted the cup by one handle out of its snug silken wrappings.

"A badger," Tom murmured, examining the engraving upon the cup. "Then this was…?"

"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you very well know, you clever boy!" said Hepzibah, leaning forward with a loud creaking of corsets and actually pinching his hollow cheek. He willed himself not to curse her there and then. "Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess too, but I haven't tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here…"

She hooked the cup back off Tom's long forefinger and restored it gently to its box, too intent upon settling it carefully back into position to notice the shadow that crossed Tom's face as the cup was taken away. It really was beautiful. And it was going to be his. He had thought many times before of taking one object per founder of Hogwarts… but they were very difficult to come by. This old hag was proving to be more useful than Tom had thought.

"Now then," said Hepzibah happily, "Where's Hokey? Oh yes, there you are—take that away now, Hokey."

The elf obediently took the boxed cup, and Hepzibah turned her attention to the much flatter box in her lap.

"I think you'll like this even more, Tom," she whispered. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see…Of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back when I'm gone…"

She slid back the fine filigree clasp and flipped open the box. There, upon the smooth crimson velvet lay a heavy golden locket. Tom reached out his hand, without invitation this time, and held it up to the light that was emitted from the window. He stared at it.

"Slytherin's mark," he said quietly, as the light played upon an ornate, serpentine S.

"That's right!" said Hepzibah, delighted apparently, at the sight of Tom gazing at her locket, transfixed. "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it but had no idea of its value—"

Tom's eyes flashed scarlet at the words and his knuckles whitened on the locket's chain. He knew exactly what woman she was talking about. Burke had told him a few years before that he'd had the privilege of meeting Salazar Slytherin's descendant, Merope Gaunt, shortly before her death…that she had had the habit of stealing things from home and selling them to him. What he did not know however was that he'd just so happened to have hired her son, who now lived under his roof for 6 years and counting.

"—I daresay Burke paid her a pittance but there you are…pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, though I just keep it nice and safe…"

She reached out to take the locket back. Tom let it slide through his fingers and watched it return back to its red velvet cushion. He would see it again very soon. He was sure of it.

"So there you are, Tom, dear, and I hope you enjoyed that!"

She looked him full in the face and, after a moment's hesitation, her foolish smile faltered.

"Are you alright, dear?"

"Oh yes," said Tom, quietly. "Yes, I'm very well…"

Little did Hepzibah know that at that moment, Tom was plotting her death carefully. He already knew which spells he would use to obtain the Slytherin Locket and the Hufflepuff Cup, but it was the damn house elf that was the problem. He would have to find a way to use her to take blame for Hepzibahs' death.

"Are you sure—" said Hepzibah, frowning at Tom. "I thought—but a trick of light, I suppose—"

Tom turned away from her. She had no doubt seen the momentary red gleam in his eyes.

"Here, Hokey," she said suddenly. "Take these away and lock them up again…the usual enchantments."

"Yes, madam," said the scrawny house elf.

For a split second, its bulging eyes met Tom's, and Tom was sure that the elf had seen the manic gleam in his own eyes.

It was easier than he thought it would be. Two days later, at a very late hour, Tom turned up at Hepzibah's house, surprising her. He stunned the house elf which froze and toppled to the floor. Then, he pointed his wand at the old hag, who stood in the corner of the room, looking pale and frightened, and muttered Avada Kedavra in between laughs. The flash of light threw Hepzibah against the window which shattered, its shards of glass cutting into her flesh. Tom paused, having a moment of inspiration. It would of course be better to dispose of the body completely . . . if only he had some kind of a snake on hand that could just eat her up there and then. Laughing to himself at his cunning humour, he turned to the house elf that lay frozen amidst a pile of books that had clattered onto the floor. Tom modified her memory and imperio'd her. Then, as she sat in the corner, muttering to herself, Tom broke through the enchantments that had been placed on the two leather boxes, and retrieved the cup and the locket.

A week later, Tom was drinking mead down at the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley one afternoon, and skimming through the Daily Prophet newspaper in his hands, when he nearly choked on his drink. Wiping his chin from what had spilled, he brought the paper closer to a candle and read carefully:

"Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Order of Merlin 1st class, and who has recently been made Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has been announced the newly appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry late Thursday evening. Having taught at the school for many years now, he prepares to succeed Armando Dippet, who died last week, and carry on his legacy.

"Armando was a dear friend of mine and he will be dearly missed. I will therefore take extra care of his school and ensure that it remains the lovely home that it has been for generations of students to this day," Dumbledore told Daily Prophet reporters last night.

In an exclusive interview published last month, Minister for Magic Wilhelmina Tuft stated that she would be delighted to have Dumbledore succeed her when she retires next year. However, Dumbledore has already turned down the offer once before, and his opinion has not changed since.

"I'm afraid I have very little interest in a career in politics," said Dumbledore. "My heart has always been and will always be with Hogwarts."

In other news, an old witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith, who has many times before claimed to be a distant descendant of the legendary witch Helga Hufflepuff, was discovered dead in her home a few days ago. Authorities claim that the place seemed to look regular and that there had been no sign of a struggle. In fact, the only other person who knew about her death, at the time, was her house elf, Hokey. Authorities told the Daily Prophet that Hokey looked to be confused about why she was there and seemed to remember putting sugar in old Smith's cocoa, but it could have been poison. She wasn't sure. St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries has confirmed that Smith's death was in fact a result of poisoning. No prosecution has yet been confirmed for the house elf, but we will continue to monitor the situation as it progresses.

It is with great regret therefore, that today we say goodbye to Hepzibah Smith, who—"

Tom folded up the newspaper and got up from the bar table, throwing his cloak over himself. As he walked back to Knockturn Alley, he thought about old Hepzibah Smith and how, thanks to her, he had a beautiful horcrux back home. He had killed a muggle tramp for the other horcrux...one who surprisingly reminded him a lot of his mother, though he'd never seen her or pictures of her. Still, it felt appropriate to sacrifice someone who could represent his mother, seeing as how he'd already sacrificed his father.

He returned to Knockturn Alley and climbed up the stairs of Borgin and Burke's. He first tried Borgin's room and was pleased to find him sprawled on the floor, in a deep sleep. Burke was in the exact same condition when Tom visited his room next. Though, he did stir a bit in his sleep, and Tom had to jinx him again to strengthen the spell.

Back in his room, the Slytherin Locket vibrated quite a lot in his hands as Tom held it firmly. It was whispering at him…whispering his exact thoughts in Parseltongue. Tom disapparated and landed on the cliff on the seaside—at a place he had not been to since he was 11. He climbed into a boat and sailed into the dark cave where he'd once threatened Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop…and little Billy too. Tom climbed out of the boat and made his way deep into the dark cave, illuminating light from the tip of his wand as he slowly walked. Before long, he reached the perfect spot and pulled the locket from out of his cloak pocket. He placed it in the silvery bowl that was attached to rock. He then pulled out his wand and began to work.

It took several hours before the protective enchantments were complete, by which time Tom felt exhausted. The inferi were safe in the water in the cave and the locket was placed deep within the bowl which was filled with a kind of potion that would paralyse the drinker and perhaps make them go mad. Pleased with his night's work, Tom sailed out of the cave and disapparated again, this time landing on his bed in his room at Borgin and Burke's. He dived into a deep sleep and awoke the next day, feeling much better. He glanced at himself in the mirror and was positively pleased. The locket and the cup were certainly doing their job right. He no longer looked like his filthy muggle father at all. His facial features were more blurred and gaunt, and the whites of his eyes now had a bloodier look about them. The Hufflepuff Cup and the diary whispered from under the floorboard.

The following month, on a brisk cold November night, Tom journeyed far north, following the instructions in the letter he'd received by owl. He arrived on the doorstep of a large, black-bricked manor. The large windows were emitting light from within. He let himself in and climbed up the stairs confidently, as though he had been in the house many times before and knew his way around. He entered a room where there sat seven men in black cloaks, all of them with their hands on the table, waiting. They turned around just as he entered the room.

"Welcome back, my Death Eaters," Tom told Avery, Lestrange, Rosier, Davis, Nott, Rowle, and Selwynn.

They beamed at him.