Author's notes: Sorry about ending my streak of updating every week. I've been really distracted lately (more TV, less reading), so shame on me. Nevertheless, I have updated. Enjoy! :D
2lazy2login: Here's a long chapter. At least long by my standards. Hope you like!
Warnings: A few bad words, violence, and sprinkles of lime.
Happy Reading! ^_^
Chapter 9: The Monopolist
July 6th; 8:02 AM
Lucius Malfoy woke up around 8 o'clock every morning. On the weekends, he would allow himself a few extra minutes to lie on his 1000-count Egyptian cotton sheets that stretched over his plush king-sized bed. He would rise up slowly, but when he finally did, he would pace over to his marble-tiled bathroom to wash up over his pristine porcelain sink and tie back his long white blond hair. Then he would proceed over to his extensive wardrobe filled with designer Italian silk suits. It was the only fabric that felt right on his delicate skin. Once he put one on, he would head down to his breakfast table which was situated perfectly by a large window that gave him a breath-taking view of his luscious botanical garden. His servant Dobby was always prompt with bringing him his coffee and muffin. He knew better than to keep his master waiting.
Only the best for the second richest man in all of Great Britain (the first being the great and powerful Minister). His grandfather Brutus Malfoy would be proud to see how well his family had recovered after nearly losing his fortune during the war. A proud follower of Grindelwald from the start, and had published the infamous "Wealthy at War" pamphlet to gain further support for the rising dictator.
"The fighting may have ceased, but the war is a far cry from over. Buildings have been reduced to mere pebbles, and as much as it pains me to say it, our economy has been reduced to much less. Gentle hands must be used to bring her up from her miserable condition. A job only the best and brightest of our nation are qualified for. Should the reckless or the unwise be placed with such a great responsibility, what is left of ailing Britain will be no more. Her care should be placed in the hands of experienced gentlemen. We should not gamble with "no-names", but rather, we should depend on the elite classes who have spawned generations and generations of worldly leaders. All the others should do their part, and become devoted followers of a strong voice. Only then can Great Britain rise again!"
-Brutus Malfoy, 1945
Malfoy Enterprises has done well abiding by this philosophy and would grow to become one of the largest firms in the world; a conglomeration of smaller businesses which include consumer electronics, beauty products, clothes, plastics, food, television, transportation, and the list just went on. Many citizens of Great Britain were under his control. However, anytime a position of power was open, Malfoy was very selective of who he chose to fill it. NEWT scores were pulled as well as personal record and a credit report. Should there be anything "unpleasant" found, one could kiss a promising future good-bye. Not much was accomplished being stuck in the assembly lines. The annual revenue of the Malfoy's "Beast" was usually around 14 billion pounds. Would they have done this well by having too many "mudbloods" employed in worthwhile positions?
Lucius had just begun reading the latest edition of The Daily Prophet when his son Draco would join him and his wife for breakfast. The boy looked positively ghastly! His blond hair was uncombed, grey eyes were puffy, and he just smelled unclean. Now the Malfoy home didn't come with a constitution or any form of written rules, but it had always been known that each of its members was to be ready for the day by the time they left their rooms. Draco typically followed this routine without an issue. For him to look like this reminded Lucius of "those" kind of people.
"Are you feeling ill, Draco?" Narcissa asked the boy. Her son was the most important to her. She stroked his pale hand with worry. People had always insisted he was the spitting image of his father, but his mother always insisted he looked like her. Honestly, who could tell? All the Malfoys were incredibly blond, light-skinned. Very blue-blooded.
"No, mother." He answered with a surly tone, pulling his hand away.
"Are you sure? I can send Dobby to the apothecary to get you some medicine."
"Yes, mother. I'm sure." He reassured, yet his tone didn't change.
Draco started to regret leaving his room, but he had to get out of there. It was so quiet and empty. Nothing there to distract him from his thoughts. His room was twice the size of a typical London flat, but throughout the night, he felt the walls closing in on him. Around three in the morning, he would put his headphones tightly over his ears and put his Walkman on blast. Didn't help. He tried to watch a movie at four. Didn't help either. Two nights had passed since he last had a good-night's rest. Were those nights over?
He tried hard not to look at Peter after he had pulled the trigger, but it couldn't be avoided. It's not like those men rushed to clean up the scene as soon as it had happened. Blood stains were still on the concrete even after Tony and Greyback took the stiff away. It was official now; he was a murderer. They all patted him on the back for such an "achievement", but Draco couldn't feel any sense of pride for it. What good was there to ending somebody's life? Pettigrew now only existed in memory. If that. Once Tony and Grey back returned, all resumed their night as if they had simply gone out for a walk. There was still jokes and laughter. Murder was a part of their everyday lives, wasn't it?
"People die all the time. It's not a big deal." Draco reminded himself constantly. "I doubt anyone misses Peter anyways. He looked so pathetic."
"Hmm…tomorrow is the trial of Sirius Black." Lucius stated without taking his eyes off the newspaper. He hadn't forgotten his son's atrocious appearance, but overlooked it, disregarding it as "teenage behavior".
"What a disgrace to the Black family. First he runs away to live among the mudbloods and now he is a deranged murderer." Narcissa's nose scrunched up in distaste.
"Well soon he'll be hanged. I don't even see why the Ministry is wasting their time prosecuting him. We all know what decision the judge will make."
Draco's ears perked up for the small conversation between his parents.
"Sirius Black didn't kill them. Peter did." Draco said in his head.
He didn't know much about his second-cousin other he was the biggest embarrassment to the Black family ever. As such, his existence continued unacknowledged, as if he was never born. Draco could speak up, but that would just be stupid. Only the Death Eaters who were there at the tattoo parlor that night knew the truth. Not to mention he killed the real culprit. Nope…any confession was suicide.
As his parents continued speaking casually on the matter, he sat in his seat without saying a word whilst eating his blood pudding.
10:04 AM
"Why yer reading, Tom? Think yer ever gonna become something?" A copy of Wuthering Heights was torn from his hand by that heavy-set boy, Horton. Ignorant prick made no effort to speak English correctly. "Yer such a queer!"
"I'm not queer!" Tom yelled throwing a punch, but did nothing to this fat punk.
"Readin' a romance book. That's pretty queer." Horton reminded him.
"It's more than that, you twats!" Tom argued.
"Eww…and we share a room with him. I bet he wanks off while we're sleeping." David, Horton's thinner friend, said.
"Is that true, nancy boy? Ya like lookin' at us while we sleep?" Horton walked closer to him, the much smaller boy.
"No! I told you I'm not gay!" Tom was livid. He raised his hands over his face, well aware of what was coming next. This was becoming almost an everyday occurrence. Sometimes even twice a day.
Those two boys left him bleeding and bruised on the ground a few minutes later. Both made sure to leave a parting gift of thick yellow globs of mucus shot from their filthy mouths.
"Fuck." Tom exhaled as he sat up in his bed.
Why the hell did he still have these nightmares? Both Horton and David were long dead. Well, Horton might as well be dead. He became a heroin addict soon after leaving the orphanage and would become one of Tom's best customers. A walking corpse, he was nowadays.
Tom reached over to his bedside drawer and fished out one of his guns. His first and favorite gun. A Gregorivich manufactured .357 Magnum Glock pistol. A single shot from it can tear apart a bowling pin. The day he got it was one of the best days of his life. It sure changed everything for him. Puberty had been more than fair to him; he grew up to be over six feet tall and built muscle with little effort. He did well in fights. Broke a man's jaw once. Sadly, he wasn't always the winner. But then he found this gun. Terror flashed in peoples' eyes whenever they caught a glimpse of it. His fists never garnered such a reaction. Guns were deadlier and quite easy to master. With the Ollivander Sniper Rifle hidden beneath his bed, he could shoot a target 100 yards away.
What did he have to be afraid of anymore? He had grown to be the richest crime boss in all of Great Britain. It wasn't necessarily an open secret, but people knew enough about him to know he was to be approached with caution. A person seriously had to keep their nose squeaky clean not to even know his name. Someone like Granger. It was going to be massive fun taking her under his wing, showing her the ropes of the black market, and turning her into a Class A criminal. She was an empty vessel, ready to take in the teachings from the wisest man he knew; Him.
His eyes swerved over to his alarm clock. 10:09 AM; not a bad time to start the day.
The same as every morning, he started it with a cold shower. Sundays remained his "sacred" day of the week. Nothing religious; just the one day of the week where he took a break. Work was still done on this day, but more leisurely than usual. As a result, he simply slipped on a pair of gym shorts.
On his way to the common area of his flat, he caught a whiff of something delicious. Eggs and bacon? The first thing that came into his view was his couch. The green fleece blanket he had lent out was neatly folded and laid on the armrest. Two steps later, he saw Hermione standing over his stove in the shorts and tank top that he lent her. It was very late when they had finished talking, and he had told her it would be better if she stayed the night. No telling what wicked minds were roaming the streets at that hour, and quite frankly, he didn't have the energy to walk her home.
"Morning." He greeted impassively as he walked over to his coffee maker. Caffeine no longer had any effect on him, but he liked the sweet bitterness of the drink.
"Oh, hi." Hermione was a little surprise by his abrupt presence. For such a strapping man, he stepped very quietly. "I hope you don't mind me using your food, but I'm dreadfully hungry. And broke."
"Not at all." He filled the coffee filter with grounded beans. "You make some extra for me?"
"Of course. It would be rude if I didn't."
"Thanks. It would be a nice change eating home cooked food for once." Water was poured into the back of the machine.
"Eat out often?" She took the fried eggs from the pan and placed them on a small plate.
"Do you see me cooking? I only have that stuff in there just because." He pressed the 'Brew now' button.
"People are always surprising." She smiled. "Just look at us now. Two weeks ago, we didn't speak two words to each other, and now I'm here wearing your clothes."
Tom laughed internally. Oh yes, how things have changed dramatically. Never before had he had company in this manner. Much less would he lend them his clothes. Her small form pulled them off surprisingly well. He stole a few glances of his wife-beater tightly hugging her curves. The weird was that he didn't care to know her when she had first walked into the pawn shop. All the previous "extra-help" had been forgettable. His experiment of taking her out for drinks made her the contrary. He'd been around drunken girls before, but she was the first who didn't make sexual advances towards him. It was a neat change from that to just two "mates" having a good time.
Then came their first political debate. She was obviously well read, yet woefully ignorant on the real world. Not her fault. Every strand of her moral fiber appeared to be intact which meant that her parents worked very hard to keep her away from the overwhelmingly amount of crime that plagued the city. A good and bad decision at the same time. Reality would take a huge bite out of her without his guidance. This was the first time in his life that he had met someone that could match him intellectually. He looked forward to bringing her up close to his speed (making them even would be a real feat).
"I spend most of my time out anyways. Street food works better for me." He responded after his quick reflection.
Her food did look wildly appetizing. The eggs were neat and the bacon was neither burnt or fleshy looking. He poured his coffee into his "Stud Muffin" mug (a gag gift from Myrtle) and put some sprinkles of sugar into it. No milk. The two of them would take a seat on the couch and eat off the coffee table. No dining table in his flat.
Outside the kitchenette, away from the stove, was colder. Hermione hadn't noticed the chilly climate until now that she was dressed down. The blanket she used to cover herself was thick enough to protect her from the freezing air that blew from the vents, but now her skin was exposed. Once the goosebumps started popping up all over her pale skin, she began to wish she had put her bra back on as soon as she had woken up. Her chest area felt so exposed, but Tom wasn't staring. If anything, she was the one staring at him. His torso was so well-chiseled, as if Michael Angelo had a hand in his creation. He was so perfect, but the real eye-grabber was his many grey tattoos. They were all so gruesome (skulls, snakes, thorns, knives, the works) yet the amount of detail that went into them strangely made them appealing. Dark yet beautiful, much like the man who wore them.
Interesting how the cold climate didn't affect him. His skin looked as smooth as napa leather.
"Did you just wake up?" He asked as he popped the yolk of his eggs.
"No. I woke up around 8. I took advantage of you enormous TV. How did you even get that behemoth up the stairs?" She asked, taking a bite of her bacon.
"Simple; I hired some muscle-bound fatheads to bring it up for me."
They both held any further comments as they continued to eat. It really was good.
"I know it's impolite to ask, but I just have to ask how much money you make doing what you do? I mean the 'secret' stuff you do." She took a break from her constant munching.
"More than enough to get by. It would be difficult to give you a number."
"Then take an educated guess. I'm going to be working for you, no? I want to see how much I'm entitled to."
The color in Tom's eyes further solidified. It peeved him to have someone question him, for any reason, but if she truly was what he thought her to be, then questions were an essential part to the learning process.
"I'm not as stingy as Burke. Don't worry about me skimping you on your cut. You'll get every cent you deserve." He kept his voice leveled.
"Whatever." She dismissed. "What I've really have been wondering is 'What are you going to do once the Ministry collapses?' Your plan makes sense, but what will happen to the Death Eaters afterwards?"
Tom placed his fork down and swallowed his food before he answered.
"The Death Eaters don't have me worried at all. I'll simply place them into my reformed police force and military. As for my plans for the government, I have no solid answer. We really do have a daunting task ahead of us. Not only do we have to make changes to the Ministry, but we need to change the people themselves; their way of thinking. As I said before, not everyone wants change, or at least have been trained not to want it."
"I guess we're lucky we're both young." She shrugged.
"You maybe. I've already have a few hard miles on me." He smirked.
"Yeah? Exactly how old are you? I've never had the chance to ask."
"Twenty-seven. I'll be twenty-eight in the winter."
Hermione studied his face for a while. She already guessed he was older, but something closer to her. He didn't look so bad (not at all), especially in the rare instances that he smiled. His face looked so soft and it was clear to her that he worked out. So yes, she did find him attractive, but after hearing his age, she felt even guiltier for feeling this way.
"You should cut down, or God forbid quit, smoking. You'll live longer." She advised. There was pack of cigarettes and ashtray (with two butts already laying in it) just inches away from her plate. She could just smell the dirty ash. Why he chose to voluntarily inhale poison, she couldn't imagine.
"I have no doubt that that's true. However, I enjoy the effect nicotine has on me. It soothes my nerves after stressful situations. Makes it easier for me to reflect and reorganize my thoughts. I'm sure you would see the benefits if you gave it a try." He bit into his last strip of bacon.
"I'll pass." She said coolly.
Tom put his fork down on his plate once he finished eating. He stood up, towering a few feet over her, who was still sitting.
"I hope you don't have any prior engagements for the day. I have something I would like to show you."
Hermione was still chewing on a piece of egg as she tilted her head to look up to his face. Her face was blank as she had no clue as to what he was speaking about. As for prior engagements, she normally spent her Sundays reading or studying. Things were different now. Supremely different. As she now saw it, her free time would be best spent with her new mentor.
After she swallowed her food, he led her to his bedroom. The whole, short walk there, she wasn't sure what to expect. Certainly, she didn't expect to walk into an apocalyptic nightmare where machines had taken over the world. Well, that was the impression she had gotten from his room. Yards and yards of multicolored cables lined the walls and heavy pieces of hardware took up most of the floor space. Many of them had blinking green and yellow lights to show they were in operation. Only a thin trail of carpet could be seen that led to his twin-sized (unmade) bed. Tom made it there with ease, but she took more precaution to avoid tripping over something. The goosebumps had receded back into her skin by the time she took a seat right next to him. This room had normal temperature. Her leg brushed up against his for a brief second. An interesting sensation ran up her body because of the contact, but he seemed not to notice it at all.
"So what do you think of my computer?" He asked casually.
"This is a computer?" She was stunned. Her knowledge on the subject was limited, but she had pretty much understood a computer as being a monitor, a keyboard, a mouse, and a big box called a CPU. His 'computer' was nowhere near as simple as that picture.
"I can tell you of all its capabilities, but I'm sure most of it would sound like a foreign language at this point. By the way, sorry about the icy weather in here. I have to keep these things at a stable temperature to maximize their performances."
He pushed a button on one of the large blinking boxes, causing the rest of the computer to hum a little more loudly and all six monitors switched on.
"What I can tell you is how reliant humans have become on these machines. Well, all electronics in general." He picked up the off-white keyboard and began punching in several of the buttons as he stared into one of the monitors. "Take the calculator I tried to give you the other day. It can do long division in less than a second while it would take you a few seconds."
That statement hurt. It was true, and she knew very well it was true, but for him to very blatantly point it out was like him kicking her in the knee. How fast can you do long division? She thought just as smugly.
"Bottom line is that electronics are more efficient and help people do their jobs much faster. Some electronics have made some jobs obsolete. If you go to any factory in Britain, you'll find several machines that are doing the work that previously was done by humans. As you already know, this has been a real blow to the working class in recent years."
Hermione thought about her father who worked in a factory. He was a security guard, but Mr. Granger had said good-bye to numerous coworkers because of the hundreds of new cameras Malfoy had installed in all of his factories. No more than five guards were to occupy the same shift. It had become a boring and tedious job with few to speak to, but it at least paid for the rent.
"Also, computers make it easier to maintain information. Imagine a row of tall filling cabinets, stuffed fat with thick files. All those files can be neatly stored into a database. Using a search engine, you can easily pull whatever file you need. No mess, no paper cuts."
"That all sounds simple enough. Why are you pressuring me to learn calculus?" She asked.
"I'm just easing you in." He smiled slyly. He did some more typing on the keyboard and reached for the mouse a few times before he went further. "Writing computer code, the DNA of a computer, uses a lot of math. A standard computer with the most basic capabilities still requires tens of millions, lines of code. I did start out with one of those, but I wanted to do so much more with it."
Hermione took another hard look at Tom's "computer". For it to be so large and complex, what was he planning on doing with it; start a nuclear war? At least that's what some evil geniuses have done in movies that she had seen with Harry at his flat.
"I'll give you a preview on just what I have equipped it to do. Maybe that will spark your interest in computer science and motivate you to work harder. Take a look." He pointed a long finger towards one of the screens. Her hazel eyes followed it.
What she saw was a bunch of pictures of men in uniform next to a bunch of words.
"Recognize any of these cunts?" He asked her, prompting her to look again.
"They're men from the State Police." She said as soon as she saw a picture of the buff cop that had slammed Sirius against his car the night before. Anger flared inside her once again.
"Yes, they are. I believe in the philosophy that you should keep your enemy's close." Tom said in a low voice. It was softly spoken, laced with poison. "I told you I work with some of these men to bring in American goods, and I learn a few things about them, but it's very vague.
"Mudbloods, the working class, whatever you want to call them, have limited access to technology, so here in South London, we haven't really noticed the new era. The era where humans are growing ever more dependent on technology. The Ministry, though, has been using computers extensively to maintain their databases. They have created many of them to keep tabs on every citizen in the country. Here, for example, is the one for the State Police. Everything I need to know about them is right here; who is an officer, what is their rank, their work schedule, routes, apprehension records, everything. Access to this database keeps me several steps ahead."
"And anyone with a computer could just look this up?" Hermione asked. What she and other "poor folk" could do if they knew all these things. Tom shook his head at this question.
"Oh no. This is one area where things become rather complicated. This is highly sensitive information. It would be detrimental if it was publically accessible. Their databases are stored on a network file so they can be accessed from many computers in different locations, but access to them is very restrictive. Only authorized personnel are given the credentials to view them. But there are ways around this. It isn't easy, but then again, it isn't impossible."
"And you used math to figure out?" She asked another question, her interest growing even more.
"Yes and no. Math does speed things along, but you see, once you've become familiar with computers, the internet, and how they work, messing with them becomes second nature. Like walking, you don't think about it much once you know how to do it. There are still databases that I have yet to hack into, but I'm not completely in the dark like I was ten years ago. I have an idea on how to approach them, but there isn't room for mistakes. If I'm caught snooping around, there's not a doubt in my mind that I'll be hanged."
A painfully icy sensation ran through Hermione's spine as she heard the word "hang". She knew getting involved in Tom's world be risky, yet realizing that a public execution was very possible if they were caught scared her stiff. Again, her eyes met with Tom's. As usual, they were cold and flooded with confidence. Not shaken at all.
"I've been a career criminal for many many years. Granted, that alone doesn't matter much in this hell pit we've been living in, but I've managed to get by without a single bullet wound or a stint in Azkaban." He smiled arrogantly, but Hermione knew he was trying to calm her down. It did work a tad. "Besides, I plan on divulging my greatest guarded secrets to you. I wouldn't dream of letting you fall in harm's way."
"By why me? If you're so confident that you already have all the answers to bringing down the Ministry, why bring me along?" She backed up a few inches. Still, he had to look down at her to look at her face.
"Why did Mr. Burke hire me to be a shop boy over a decade ago? He is a great salesman and I knew very little about the business, but I learned. I expanded his clientele and profits tenfold. Now I want to teach you about computer hacking. I can do all this work on my own, but I can get more done faster with a partner. If I'm right about you, you should catch on quickly. I trust that you're still interested?"
How can she say 'no' now? She already felt he shared too much already. Tom sure didn't seem the type who looked the other way. But did she really want to anymore? At that moment, she couldn't tell what she was feeling. It was almost like she was lost in a dark cave. Tom was offering to guide her out, and now, he was the only one doing so. Where she would end up, there was no telling. But then again, what else was she supposed to do? She had no ideas of her own. Where even to begin? Tom had made it clear that he had been working on his scheme for several years. Whatever went through his mind as he came up with all these convoluted schemes, she could never guess. However, fifty-two years under a psychopathic ruler was long enough. She needed to act now.
"Yes, I'm still interested." She mustered up what was left of her spunk to show him she was ready to learn. He didn't return the gesture with one of his signature smirks like she was expecting. Instead, he looked at her oddly. Blankly, but not quite.
"Good." He nodded in approval. He stood up and walked over to his closet. The door could barely be opened thanks to the many machines in front of it. Still, his hand was able to go in. He pulled out three textbooks. All of them still looked much lighter than that mammoth book Mr. Lupin had lent her to study calculus. He walked back over to her and placed them right by her lap.
"Take a look at these books. I don't expect you to become a computer whizz overnight, but perhaps you'll get a better picture. Forgive all my chicken-scratch inside, but maybe it'll break a few things down for you. Study well." He winked, making her blush lightly.
"Thanks." She picked one of them up. Skimming through its pages, she saw what he meant about "chicken-scratch". He wrote many things on the margins. It was neatly written, but cluttered.
"Oh, yeah…I have somewhere I needed to be an hour ago, so if you want, I'll walk you home now."
For some reason she couldn't understand, it made her blue to hear that. She was unconsciously beginning to enjoy being in his presence. Then again, her father was probably home worried sick about her not being there. His graveyard shift ended at five in the morning. No reasonable excuse came to mind about her being out and about that time of day. Telling him that she was at the house of a man she hardly knew was out of the question.
"That'll be great." She smiled weakly. A few more minutes of being around him no longer sounded so bad anymore.
And there's Chapter 9
Notes from me, The Author: Yes, my dear readers, I have made Tom into a computer nerd. I haven't decided yet on how much detail I will be going into about computers in future chapters. I'm no computer science major, or tech savvy really, but I have learned a thing or two from friends that are. And I learned even more working in an IT department. I'll try to be as clear as possible on the subject. I know when I first started learning networking stuff; I was like, "What?" If any of you have questions, please ask. I will answer your questions to the best of my ability.
And for some reason as I wrote the second half of this story, I couldn't help but think of The Matrix. Not for the obvious reason, but for that scene where Morpheus gives Neo the choice between the red pill and the blue pill. I've now gained the sudden urge to see that movie again…
Anyways, I just want to say "I look forward to your feedback".
Until Chapter 10! ^_^
