Author's notes: Sorry that I keep on changing the summary, but now that the plot is starting to form, I feel that I can give you a less vague one that gives you more detail as to what is going to go down in this story.

I understand that this is an unusual fancic, so any feedback is immensely appreciated. Even the tiny ones let me know that I'm doing alright. I'm happy to answer any questions you may have that won't spoil the story.

Also, I've noticed that anonymous reviews have changed in the last month, so you guys will just be named as "guest", so I will be answering your reviews in the order that I got them.

To Sammy: I always love hearing back from your reviews! They always make me laugh.

Guest 1: I normally think of Tom as a suave, aristocratic looking guy most of the time, but my imagination started going wild while I was coming up with this story. Now Tom is all tatted up, but I don't intend to make him all mushy and what not. I prefer my Tom cold and distant.

Guest 2: I'm glad you don't mind the change. Harry and Dumbledore will have parts in this story, but they won't be anything major. Now as far as the Death Eaters go, I'll explain them little by little as the story continues to progress. I'm just doing it that way because this story is told mainly from Hermione's point of view, and she still doesn't know much about them, but I will get into detail with them soon.

Warnings: A few bad words, violence, and sprinkles of lime.


Chapter 7: The Weasel

July 5th, 8:37 PM

add a constant to the end of the equation…

if given a limit you can solve for it…

now the fundamental theorem is very important…

Mr. Lupin was saying a lot of things, but Hermione wasn't paying attention to any of it. Every word that he spoke went in one ear and shot out the other. When they zipped past her brain, they just kept on going. Not a single bit of it was captured and stored away in her mental "cabinet of useful information". Was this information even useful anymore?

What did Tom do to her? He had pulled out of her "security bubble" and now made her question everything that she had ever believed in. For at least ten years, she had always thought that she would pass the NEWTs, go on to college, and then become someone who could make major reforms in the country. Then Tom had told her no such thing could ever happen. Non-elitists who made it in were silenced and never heard from again. Had the Ministry grown so bad that her only shot at a brighter future was to join a criminal organization? That was the dream Tom was selling her, but was it worth buying it?

This was a HUGE decision. ENORMOUS. Tom sure made it sound like the only alternative, but on what grounds was his claim valid? She barely even knew him to begin with. What could she say about him, honestly? His name was Tom Riddle. He was tall, heavily tattooed, and smoked a LOT. And that was it. If someone asked her when he was born or what his interests were, all she could do is shrug her shoulders in ignorance. Had she not been so screwed up from alcohol that one night, she could've scoped out his flat while she was there. For all she knew, he could've been hiding a severed head in is freezer.

What a horrible thought, but was it totally absurd? Well…he did have the chance to take advantage of her that night, but he didn't. Her vomiting all over herself may've been the reason for that. Yet he still behaved like a gentleman by carrying her up a flight of stairs and then cleaning her up. Now he was trying to give her a calculator? It baffled her to no end why all of a sudden he was being so nice. Was this what the Big Bad Wolf was like before he ate Little Red Riding Hood?

The whole day, she kept on weighing her options. There was no skipping the main question of whether or not she should agree to Tom's proposal. If she did, that would mean she was still on the road to joining the Ministry, and now thanks to him, that idea scared her. His reasoning sounded legitimate, but what made the Death Eaters any safer? Based on the skimpy amount of information she had on them from some news reports in the early '90s, they were a pretty dangerous lot. She was too young to remember most of it, but she did recall incidents of home invasions and robberies that were linked to them. Since then, they've been able to maintain a low profile. What they had been up to recently, she had no clue. She could kill Tom for being the cause of all her new stress, but could he actually be saving her?

"Woah…I've never seen your paper so clean before. Didn't feel like taking twenty pages worth of notes tonight?" Harry laughed as he walked over to her. Class must've been over for the night as the other students rose up and started moving around. Hermione felt like she had been awoken from some nightmare as she turned to look up to his viridian eyes. He was surprised to see her in such distress. Normally, she was the level-headed one while he was flipping out over something. All of a sudden, their typical roles were reversed.

"I guess you can say that. I've just been feeling so distracted lately." She sighed as she threw in her blank sheets of papers into her withered backpack.

She seriously was dying to speak to Tom again, but the bastard never came back from running his errands. For the first time since she started working there, she wondered what he did when he was on these "errands". Suspicious theories kept coming to mind. They ranged from him being a petty drug dealer to being a veteran contract killer. Which theory was closer to the bull's-eye?

She supposed she could've talked to Harry about her predicament. He was in the same boat as her after all. Both of them were taking Mr. Lupin's "special class" to better their futures. Not to mention, they were best friends.

"It must be pretty big if it's bothering you." Harry said as they were headed outside.

And just like any other night in South London, it was so dark that one could barely see across the street. The Ministry needed to take care of the several burnt out street lamps years ago, but they never did. In a peculiar way, it was like covering up the "nasty" part of London with a dark blanket to keep it the "elitists" from looking at it.

Hermione eyes were accustomed to this lack of light and led Harry to a block shy of Hogsmeade Park without saying more. She was supposed to meet Ron in a few minutes at the park, but she wasn't in the mood see him. He was a rich boy; his problems would never compare to hers. It wasn't his fault, but that was the way things were. She was really starting to like him, but was a future with him possible?

"You have no idea just how big, Harry." She sighed again as she took a seat on the stony curb.

"What do you mean?" Harry sat next to her.

"Do you just…just feel that all we're doing right now is for nothing?"

Harry looked at her more curiously. After all the work that they had put into their education, and now she was saying it was all pointless? He thought about what may have spurred this sudden skepticism in her.

"You know it's the only way were going to make it out of her 'Mione." Harry tried to reassure her, but it seemed like it fell on deaf ears.

"Maybe it's not. Maybe this is just what Grindelwald wants us to believe. How do we know once we join the Ministry that they won't just stick us with some meaningless work to keep us out of power? I mean, in all these years, you don't think there has been another mudblood that has tried what we're doing now?"

Beautiful. Now she sounded exactly like Tom. Harry then had the same look on his face that she had when Tom had shaken her of her last hopes. He couldn't find the answer and the two of them just listened to the buzzing sounds of the evening.

"Fuckin' Ministry bastards!" Harry cursed, breaking the silence. Never before had he felt like such an idiot. Why hadn't this possibility crossed his mind before? The Ministry had already been fucked up enough to pass such an unbelievably difficult University admissions exam that had way too small passing rate; why wouldn't they come up with even cruel more ideas to keep mudbloods down?

"Don't get too upset, Harry. I'm only hypothesizing."

"But it all makes so much sense. Remember that story Mr. Lupin had told us that the Ministry had restricted from the news; you know when Prime Minister Albus Dumbledore was assassinated in 1945? He led the country through World War II, yet Grindelwald still had the nerve to say he was a bad prime minister because he wasn't fixing the economy fast enough. Then all of a sudden, Dumbledore was shot twice in the back while he was out for an evening stroll. Grindelwald didn't hesitate to have him killed, so what's stopping him from killing anybody else that opposes his rule?"

Harry was fuming now. Whenever he had his mind set on something, he was always so passionate about. A stark contrast to Tom who would always speak in a calm manner regardless of the topic. That was until he really lost his temper.

"Fuck Grindelwald. Motherfuckin' Nazi prick!" Harry cursed even more.

"Quiet Harry. If the police hear you, they'll kill you." Hermione tried to ease her friend, but it wasn't working.

"Well what else are we supposed to do? The one way we had out of here is most likely a trap door!"

"There may be another way." She was getting ready to tell him what was really troubling her.

"Like what? Where stuck between a rock and a motherfucking hard place! There's just no way out!"

The possible solution was ready to come out of her mouth, but loud sirens had cut her off. It was a terrible sound, yet this was the way the Ministry captured the public's attention for something "important". The penalty for being caught intentionally ignoring them was a night in jail.

"Citizens of London, please tune in to your nearest radio or television set immediately! The Minister has an emergency state of union address!"

"It's probably nothing good. It never is." Harry scoffed. Hermione hadn't seen him so bent out of shape since his parents were murdered.

"It really isn't." She had said almost in a whisper. There was no need to get worked up in the bleak situation as well. Was the Death Eaters the only answer?

Somebody was running quickly near them, but a flash of red helped her identify the boy.

"Ron! What's going on?" She asked as she stood up. Ron stopped dead in his tracks to see who had just spoken to him.

"Haven't you heard? There's a murderer is on the loose!" The redhead was out of breath, noticeably panicked. "Three policemen have been shot to death at Godric's Hollow! I just heard the news on my Walkman!"

Three policemen killed? The Ministry was going to cause a storm with this kind of news. Policemen were the true "Untouchables" in the nation. It didn't matter how many laws they broke because they would never arrest each other, and if one was harmed, they would have the backing of the Ministry.

"Godric's Hollow! That's my street!" Harry jumped up and started running off. What were cops doing on his street and what had they done to get shot? Was Sirius still okay?

"Harry, wait!" Hermione shouted, bolting after him.

Ron was still spooked, but he didn't like it one bit that the girl he was crushing on had been alone with another boy, a shorter bespeckeled boy, and would let her know about it once he caught up to them.


9:34 PM

The room had a familiar dank, humid atmosphere that Draco had experienced just a few nights ago. This had to be the place where Tony and them had brought him to spook him a little. Interestingly, even with no blindfold, the room was still rather gloomy. It sure didn't help that most of the Death Eaters smoked like chimneys and the place was underneath a convenience store. A few neon signs gave the place an eerie green glow and there was a sturdy mahogany pool table in the center. In a corner by the only real lamp down there was where the esteemed tattoo artist did his work.

"So this is where Londoners get tattooed?" Draco asked in his head as he observed the 500 square-foot area from the top of a bar stool, a pool cue in hand. "And it's also where the Death Eaters hang out. I've always thought there were more of them?"

Because the place was so small, there was only four other occupants in the basement. Perhaps just the best of the best hung out here. That made Draco's thin mouth curl up a little. So was he on the right track?

"Your turn, Draco." Tony said.

He and Draco were playing as stripes while Barty and Greyback played solids. At this point, Barty and Greyback were winning. This was the first time Draco had ever played this game, so he wasn't too comfortable with the overly long stick. He needed to do good though. Little things like this could up his reputation in the gang. As he was adjusting himself for a shot, his eyes glanced over to Tom ever so slightly. He was smoking an oddly bumpy cigar with Myrtle, who was off tonight, in the corner. He was talking to her, but he couldn't make out was he was saying.

It sort of disappointed Draco that he didn't seem to hold his idol's attention, but if he wasn't any good at billiards, that was probably best.

Some droplets of sweat were starting to form at his brow as he prepared himself to dab the white ball across the green felt table. Then, he let his arm go, but the blasting sound towards the entrance caused him to shoot it in the wrong direction. The short and thick man running down the stairs ended up missing a stair and landed flat on his chest on the concrete floor.

"What the hell is the matter with you Pete, you fat bastard?" Tony walked over to Peter Pettigrew, the weakest member of the Death Eaters, with the cue stick in his hands.

"I-I-I-I…was just at G-Godric's Hollow." Peter struggled to pick himself up. "Th-th-eeese cops started g-giving me trouble." Peter was so out of breath he could barely speak. He wasn't use to running for twenty straight minutes. He could hardly make it a twelfth of a mile without gasping for air.

Tom rose from his chair and handed the funny cigar over to the half-naked girl. His tightly controlled walk was slightly off and he was somewhat slower. Nonetheless, Peter braced himself as if he was waiting to be stricken with the wrath of a god.

"What happened?" Tom asked in a raspy voice as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

"I met up with the guy who was going to buy the coke inside this parked car in a shady alleyway." Peter said with more air in his lungs. "Then all of a sudden, these pair of cops comes up to my window. I didn't have time to hide the stash of blow, so they started harassing me. Soon, I learned the bastard buying from me was a cop!"

"So what did you do?" Tom asked.

"I was scared, so I shot them all." Peter admitted.

"You idiot! Do you know what the Ministry is going to do when they find out about this?" Tony yelled. "Did anyone see you?"

"No! No one saw me! I didn't see anyone else on my way down here."

In hearing all this, Tom wasn't fazed at all. This was pretty bad news, but he no sign of anger showed on his face.

"I don't hear any police sirens, so I believe we're okay for the moment."

"Woo…" Peter exhaled, relieved. The last thing he wanted was a one way ticket to Azkaban Federal Prison.

"However," Tom continued, "this kind of reckless behavior cannot be overlooked."

"But Tom, it wasn't my fault." Peter's eyes grew.

"There were other ways out and you just chose the easiest one, which in the long run will prove to be the most detrimental."

Tom pulled out his .9mm. He loaded it up, but he didn't point it to Peter's temple.

"I'm sorry Tom. Pleeeese don't kill me." Peter begged.

"Draco, come here." Tom ordered.

Draco did as he was ordered, but deeply fearing what he was about to be asked. Tom placed the cold piece of steel in his hands.

"Shoot him." He ordered Draco while lightly pointing to Peter. "Shoot him, or I'll have Barty shoot you."


9:41 PM

Godric's Hollow was a long run away. Several cop cars crowded the streets. Their flashing red and blue lights illuminated the dark neighborhood.

"What were you doing outside, sir? Did you hear the gunshots earlier?" A stocky blond cop asked. His uniform was the reminiscent of the Gestapo ones of Nazi Germany; same shade of grey, but with a more modern and practical twist. He pressed Sirius's face onto the hood of one of the police cars with four other cops surrounding him.

"It's not even 10 yet and it's a bloody Saturday. What's so suspicious about me being out right now?" Sirius had trouble speaking in this position.

"It was you who did it, wasn't it?" A thinner cop accused him.

"No! How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Let's just take him. We've already looked around, and there's no one else."

"Sirius!" Harry ran up to the scene. Another burly cop grabbed him before he could get any closer to his godfather.

"Stay back boy or we'll take you down to Scotland Yard as well."

"He's innocent! My godfather would never hurt anybody. Not even you good-for-nothing cops!" Harry tried to break free from the big man's hold, but it was just as futile as a fly trying to pull itself off of a spider's web.

"What evidence do you have to prove he's guilty?" Hermione questioned once she caught up.

"We're the law. We just know." The thin cop answered.

"You have to play just as dirty as them to get what you want." Hermione remembered one of Tom's quotes.

Justice wasn't blind. It was the people who administered it that were. In that case, these cops were just a couple of blind men shooting several rounds of bullets randomly into the streets. The saddest part was that they didn't care who they hurt, and the Ministry didn't care to correct them. Anytime there was a murder, someone was arrested right away. The media spinned it as the police doing their job in a timely manner, but in reality, they just pegged the crime on the first person they find. More specifically, the first mudblood they could find. They never cared to find the real culprit. They weren't going to waste their time helping the people they were taught to hate. Ironically, most cops came from humble beginnings, but as soon as they passed their physical examinations, they became even more prejudiced than purebloods. Now Sirius was going to suffer from their warped morals.

"Go home, Harry. You too, Hermione. I'll figure a way out of this." Sirius tried to reassure all of them. It was good to see in this nasty situation, he was still maintained his confidence.


The barrel of Tom's gun was pointed at Peter's face. Every second that ticked by, the atmosphere got thicker. Draco could barely breathe. How was he expected to kill someone? Just last night, he witnessed his first murder, and he was still learning to cope with it. Tom stood there just inches away, waiting for Draco to make the shot. He was getting annoyed that the latest prospect was proving to be quite worthless.

"If I do it in one quick motion like pulling off a band-aid, it may not be so bad." Draco told himself as he closed his eyes.

"And Go!"

No shot.

"Now!"

Still on shot.

"BLAM!"


A/N: Well there's a little cliffhanger for ya, but you regular readers know I've been doing good on updating, so you won't be waiting long. ;)

Catch you later.