A/N: thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am so glad that you are enjoying this so far, as it has been quite fun to expand. I have been working on the plotting and I think this will be around 20 chapters. you can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions!

Please let me know what you thought of chapter three and be on the lookout for chapter four soon!

Hermione almost couldn't believe the turn that her life had made in just a few short days. Somehow she had gone from quiet shop girl that no one paid a second mind to, to associate to the Riddle criminal enterprise.

It wasn't as though she'd had much choice, especially not with Riddle's insistence that he would turn her into the police if she didn't comply, but the thought of attending classes at Tulane was far too much for her to pass up. That didn't mean that she hadn't spent that first night laying awake in her bed, agonizing over what she'd agreed to do. Make alcohol? It was something that she could say with certainty that she had never attempted to do, what with it being against the law and all. Still, she'd begun reviewing some books that described the process and she thought that she would be able to handle it just fine.

Riddle had stopped by earlier in the week and asked her to write down everything that she thought she might need to do her best work. They were going to be charging top dollar for the product, and so they weren't tolerant of any mistakes. He'd returned when Mr. Ollivander was in the shop, but approached her without missing a beat, requesting that she fill a prescription for aspirin and caffeine, to treat migraines.

Without indicating that they had ever interacted before, Hermione had gone through her task, meticulously counting the tablets, and filling in the book with the information, before returning it to a smirking Riddle, her list of necessities hidden under the prescription.

As soon as he'd left, Ollivander had pressed a hand to his chest. "Lord, don't you know who that was?" He asked, rounding on Hermione, who was doing her best to look unperturbed.

"The prescription was for a...Tom Riddle?" She said, consulting her book once again, and trying to act innocent. "Is that not who that was?"

"He's a mobster, Hermione." Ollivander had warned her, his eyes wide. "I can't imagine what he would be doing coming into my shop. He's very dangerous, so let me tell you, if he is darkening our door, it is not a good thing. Don't be fooled by charming smiles and good looks."

Hermione had smiled at Ollivander meekly. "Oh, you know that I'm rarely distracted from my work, Mr. Ollivander." She promised him. "I didn't pay him any more mind than any other customer. Besides, his prescription was for a migraine - I am sure that he was only ducking into the closest shop to ease his pain. But I will try to remember that that one is a dangerous one." It was true that she didn't have a sweetheart, or a gentleman caller, as it was, but she wasn't blind to her neighbor's longing looks in her general direction. Unfortunately, Hermione found that she and Neville Longbottom were better off as friends.

But Riddle's visit had been a week ago, and tonight was the first night that she was meant to return to the warehouse on Rosseau Street, to begin distilling the alcohol, and she was antsy to leave. She and Mr. Ollivander had worked through their entire inventory that day, making note of their lesser used chemicals that might have gone bad, seeing as they were so rarely used. It was important work, but she was entirely consumed with the promise of creating something on her own.

It was less than half an hour before the shop was meant to close for the weekend and unfortunately, there was nothing left to do. Knowing that she had never asked to leave early before, Hermione bit her lower lip before deciding to try asking Mr. Ollivander. "Sir, if it wasn't too much trouble, I was wondering if I might leave a bit early tonight?"

Ollivander looked up at her with surprise, before noticing the time on the clock. "Oh, look at the time. Do you have somewhere to be, Hermione? A date perhaps?" Her cheeks blossomed with color, but there was no way that she could tell him where she was actually expected. She tried to deny it, but Ollivander cut her off. "No need to explain, dear, I understand. Go, and enjoy yourself." He told her warmly.

Oh, that made her feel rather awful about what she was doing. Mr. Ollivander placed so much faith in her, and thought her to be a conscientious girl, but here she was running off to see Tom Riddle, the very man he'd warned her against! "Thank you sir. Have a good weekend."

"Oh, Hermione, before you leave." Ollivander called to her from behind the counter, just before she had walked out the front door. "A police man stopped by earlier today before you came in. Said that he had a few questions for you about a customer. I told him he could stop back again on Monday, when you were in next."

She swallowed thickly. It didn't take a university degree for her to know what that meant. Nerves prickled up her neck while she tried to keep an appropriate face of concern and confusion. "A policeman? I wonder what he could have to talk to me about?"

"He's likely just checking up on things. Dotting Is and crossing Ts." Ollivander said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Don't let it trouble you."

"I won't sir. Thank you for letting me know." With that, she did turn and leave the store. Her mind was a whirl of questions, and she wasn't entirely what she should do about the policeman, especially since she didn't actually know what he wanted. There was a possibility that it had nothing to do with Mrs. Smith or Mrs. Pucey. There was a very good chance that even if they knew about the arsenic, there was no way that they could prove that she knew anything about it. Briefly, she wondered if she should tell Riddle about this, seeing as he had boasted about paying people on the police force. Surely, he could make it go away?

But, she didn't want to be beholden to Tom Riddle any more than she already was. It was bad enough that she was working for him, she didn't need him doing any favors for her either. She would find out what the police man wanted, and then make a decision once she was done with that.

Decision made, Hermione made her way through the winding streets towards the great Mississippi River, which she would walk along until she got to the wharf. It was a pleasant enough evening, not nearly as humid as it had been, and the breeze was lovely too, though she always found the way that it rustled the leaves to be a bit sinister. New Orleans was an odd city, she thought, not much like many of the cities up North. It always seemed a bit alive, as though there were hidden spirits and spectres hiding in every shade of Spanish moss, whispering their secrets to whoever cared to listen.

Before she realized it, she was back near the wharfs, and she turned up away from the river, her feet carrying her to the warehouse she had met Riddle at last time. It didn't look any less imposing in the dying sunlight than it did at night, but she was determined not to let her nerves show. Knocking on the door hesitantly, she heard movement on the other side, before the door was thrown open, Dolohov ushering her inside once he'd recognized their guest.

Hermione had no doubt that Dolohov was dangerous. With any imposing frame and permanent scowl, he looked like how she would describe a criminal. His jaw seemed to be clenched constantly, as though he was just barely keeping a handle on his anger. Still, that didn't mean that she wouldn't try to be polite to him. "Good afternoon, Dolohov."

"Granger," the man answered, though he did not smile at her. Gone were the teasing touches that he'd given her the week prior, and Hermione was not certain that he'd only done that to try and unnerve her.

She followed him down the echoing hallway to the open area of the warehouse, which was lit up this time, giving Hermione more time to look around. It was filled with boxes - contraband, she was sure, seeing as she knew that Riddle was a smuggler and bootlegger - marked with all kinds of innocuous labels. She highly doubted that Riddle would have this much flour and spices.

Her attention was quickly grabbed by an area that had obviously been cleared for her, a shiny new boiler glinting in the light. Quickly, leaving Dolohov behind, she walked over to observe the fermenter, a large mechanical engine connected to the pump, which would churn her mash until it's sugar level had dropped to an appropriate level. Wrinkling her nose, she wondered just how noisy it was going to be, though she was excited to see how it was all going to come together.

"How do you like the equipment?" A voice asked from behind her. Hermione turned around to see Tom Riddle standing behind her. She'd been so distracted that she hadn't even heard the click of his shoes against the concrete floor. He looked amused at having caught her off guard.

She looked past him, and noticed that Dolohov had been joined by Rosier, but none of the other men from before were there. Returning her attention to the intimidating man in front of her, she noticed that he seemed a bit annoyed at having been ignored, no matter how temporarily it had been. To her embarrassment, she found it quite difficult not to have her attention on Tom Riddle when he was in the room. He was incredibly handsome, his dark hair and piercing blue eyes making for an attractive coloring, and one that you did not typically see in New Orleans. His defined jaw and cheekbones made it quite obvious that he was a man, and Hermione was not accustomed to spending quite so much time in close proximity with any man other than Mr. Ollivander.

Realizing that he was still waiting for an answer, Hermione blushed, her eyes focused on the buttons in the collar of his shirt while she answered him. "Everything that I've asked for is here." She said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "I've never tried distilling alcohol before, though, so I have no idea how it will turn out. I am sure it will be adequate." Under promise, over deliver. When dealing with such dangerous men, she didn't want to make promises she couldn't keep.

"Adequate? Fucking adequate?" Rosier snarled from his place across the floor. "Does she have any idea how much this cost?" That was the second time that he'd spoken out of turn, and Hermione got the feeling that he was quite the hothead. She figured that she would have to keep her eye on him, just in case.

Tom waved his hand at his...friend? Associate? What was it that you called your fellow gangsters, Hermione wondered. "It's her first time." He said with a smirk, which earned a laugh from both Dolohov and Rosier, while it only caused Hermione to blush. "Well, Miss Granger, I suppose that we will let you get to work then. The dry goods are here," he pointed to where some sacks were waiting, "while the liquids can be found over here."

She nodded, wanting to get started on her very first batch, though she was also nervous. She so hoped that it turned out well, but she knew that there would be a fair amount of experimentation in the first batches. She knew that she was unlikely to distill two batches that were exactly the same. Deciding to get started, she got out her measuring instruments and the rye.

Tom stood near the window in his office, which gave him a vantage of the entire warehouse. He could keep a good eye on the intriguing Miss Granger quite easily. Antonin and Evan were sitting at the table, making wagers on if Hermione had actually experienced the touch of a man gleefully, unused to a girl who was more demure than fast. Bellatrix, Rodolphus's wife, had gotten the reputation of being quite easy, and not only in their circle.

Seeing how carefully Miss Granger was weighing the yeast, Tom wondered if his investment in her was the right choice. "What do you make of her?" He asked his two friends, unable to take his eyes off of her.

Evan snorted. "She's fucking naive, she is." He said with a roll of his eyes. "I think that she's a waste of time. She'll be easily spooked, and we don't want trouble." Ever since Tom first floated the idea of going outside of their usual source for alcohol, he'd been against it. When he heard it was to bring in a girl who was decidedly not a part of the criminal underground, he'd been even more against it.

"I don't know, she did kill two people." Antonin said with a shrug. He had been much more open to the idea of the girl, as he thought she was rather shrewd, and he recognized a bit of himself in her. He was also an orphan and had to spend his time figuring things out for himself as a child, eventually bringing himself all the way to America. He thought that she might have cultivated that same kind of ruthless spirit that he had.

Tom watched her drag the bag of yeast towards the contraptions that were needed with amusement. Just when he was about to send Antonin out there to help her, she finally got it to move, pushing it across the floor. He was surprised to find it most amusing.

"She only agreed to help because she thought they were battered women." Evan countered. "Daphne said that she wasn't going to sell her the stuff until she saw the bruise and Daph started playing up the husband angle. I still wish Daphne would have let me take care of that fucking idiot myself." Normally any kind of disputes would be held within the family, but Daphne was far too strong willed to be told what to do.

"Well, your cousin no longer has a husband, and it is thanks to that girl." Tom said, rounding on his two associates. "She is exact, precise, and smart. I say we give her a chance. Once she gets a taste of the money, I think she might be singing a different tune." Daphne had brought them a gift, after all. It would be wrong to throw it away. And well, if she didn't work out or if she decided to cross them, Tom was very well versed in how to deal with rats.

"I agree." Antonin said with a grin. "I am excited to taste what she comes up with. Slughorn's work has diminished to swill."

With that decided, he sat down at the table with the other two men, placing a cigarette between his lips. Patting himself down, he looked for his box of matches. "When did Rodolphus say he'd be returning from Angola?" Matches found, he lit the cigarette, taking a drag.

"I believe he said he'd be back in three days time, with Rabastan in tow." Evan replied, looking at the calendar that hung on the wall to confirm. "Rabastan isn't being released until tomorrow."

Tom nodded, glad to hear it. Having Rabastan up at the State prison for two years had been a major blow to their organization, seeing as they used his expertise in several different ventures. It was quite the opposite of Rodolphus, who was rather happy to reap the benefits of being a mobster, but he hated doing anything that might get his hands dirty. Rabastan was down for everything you could have asked of him, even if it meant he'd have to be locked up for a while. Still, the younger of the Lestrange brothers had done his bit without complaining, and Tom had seen to it that he was comfortable in the prison, supplying him with rum, cigarettes, and even a girl every now and again.

"That's wonderful news, boys." Tom smiled as his friends, very pleased with the news. "We have some big moves to make, and it will help having Rab for planning and execution. These cops have gotten far too complacent in New Orleans." With his hands behind his head, he leaned back into the chair. "I think it's time to show them just who's in charge here. They only work here because I let them work." He pounded his fist on the table, making Evan flinch.

"Of course you do, Tommy." Antonin assured him. "Whatever you want, you know I am game to help with. Are we talking a robbery or sending someone a message, maybe?" He asked patting at his waist, where a revolver was waiting.

Tom grinned at his eager friend, before shaking his head. "No, Tony, nothing like that - yet." He promised. "I am just planning the biggest take that this city has ever seen. But the details can wait until we get everyone involved. I mean everyone." He promised, knowing that he was probably going to need all of his best men involved.

Evan and Antonin were both very intrigued as to what the possible plan could be, but knew not to question Tom too much at that time. They knew that he would fill them in when he wanted to and not a moment before. "Say, Tom, don't you think that since Rab is finally out of Angola, and we should throw him a homecoming?"

Antonin perked right up at the sound of that. "Yeah, I mean, the guy's been locked up for two years, don't you think we should reward him for that? Champagne, good whiskey, girls, more girls than he fucking knows what to do with?"

It was clear that Antonin was describing the kind of party he might like for himself, but Tom could definitely see the appeal. It had been a rather long time since all of his men had gotten together for a real party. Still, he made it seem as though he was considering it, just so that he wasn't seen as giving too easily. "I think that might be a good way to welcome him back. Let me talk with Avery, and see if they will be available sometime next week for a private party."

Tom leaned back, feeling rather good about how things were working out. He had a new chemist, one of his most loyal men was on his way back to New Orleans, and he was running this city.