Longer Summary: 1997 Great Britain; The 52nd year of Gellert Grindelwald's "Ideal Society". Welcome to a world where the elite "pureblodds" rule and poor "mudbloods" are brushed over to the side. Hermione luckily finds employment at Borgin & Burkes to make ends meet in the crumbling economy. There she meets the mysterious Tom Riddle, who introduces her into the underworld that was everything she was against. As the gap between rich and poor grows larger, she must decide what road to take to change the nation for the better.

Author's Note: What inspired me to write this story was a combination of Dystopian society films and anything written and directed by Quentin Tarantino. Every time I see Pulp Fiction or Kill Bill, I feel so amped up to write because of all of the punchy dialogue, and now I present you with Chapter 1 of The Longest Summer.

Sorry, no magic, but with plenty of landmarks along the way. Give it a chance fellow readers and tell me what you think. I look forward to any and all reviews. This fic is also dedicated to my favorite pairing, but it will take a while to get there.

Disclaimers: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters. Just borrowing.

Chapter 1: The Junk Dealer

Summer 1997

Hermione remembered the first time she had met Tom Riddle. It was her first day at Borgin & Burkes Pawn Shop, the only place that would hire her in the awful job market. She thought it was odd that someone as cute as him would ever work in such a seedy place like that. He was tall, skin was a delicate white, aristocratic features, but he had a bit of a tough guy appearance with the sides of his hair shaved nearly clean, the top part gelled and parted to the left. Tattoos adorned his toned arms. That morning, he was taking inventory of all the crap that rested on the strained shelves. Some junk even looked like they were manufactured in the '70's. She couldn't help but wonder if any of it still worked and how they didn't collapse on top of each other.

In a ruddy old shop located in one of the worst neighborhoods in London, she wasn't sure what to expect. She did, though, feel a little bit more comforted when she first saw Tom. It was refreshing to see somebody so beautiful in that filthy shop. That was until she first heard him speak.

"Go to the back and get one of the rags, and then start polishing the merchandise." He commanded even before she had a chance to introduce herself. She was so shocked at his rudeness that she remained still. "Move it. The place isn't going to clean itself."

Hermione, however, had too much pride to allow anybody to speak to her in that manner. He was easily at least a foot taller than her, yet she stood her ground as if she were nine feet tall.

"Who do you think you are speaking to me in that way? You've only known me for half a second." Her face began to glow red, filling with fury. "And when was the last time somebody cleaned this place? It looks like a place where cockroaches and spiders come for holiday."

"Hence, why you've been hired. But if it disgusts you so much, then quit. There are hundreds of unemployed bums that will take your position in a minute." Tom hadn't even turned to acknowledge her. His eyes remained focused on the old radios in front of him. Hermione was ready to grab one of them and smash it over his over-inflated head. She didn't need a job that bad to take such abuse. Before she had a chance to make that point clear, a hunched greasy man walked over to the scene.

"Your first day and you're already causing trouble, Granger?" He said in his raspy voice.

"But he-" Hermione began to argue, but the old man raised his thin, wrinkly hand.

"No need to explain to me. Just do as you're told. Time is money, so get to work." The greasy man turned away.

"You heard Mr. Burke, girl."

Hermione huffed as she stormed away. What a pair of chauvinist pigs! She was sure had she been a man, they would've treated her with a little more dignity. Instead, they made her feel like an overly-burdened housewife dealing with two unappreciative bastards.

What a hole that shop was! And they expected her to clean it all? Surely, it would take her almost a week of non-stop cleaning for the place to look good again. The whole area was unbelievably cluttered. Reaching in between all the junk was going to be a challenge on its own. Not to mention all the ground in dirt in the floor and walls. Seriously, how long had it been since someone cleaned it?

Indeed, it took a full work week of non-stop dusting, scrubbing, sweeping, and mopping for the place to look decent. Maybe not clean enough to eat of the floors, but at least to the point were a person could feel comfortable leaning back against the wall. Yet all that hard work came with a price. Under her fingernails was grime and her hair felt as disgusting as Mr. Burke looked. After her second day, she started pulling her bushy brown locks into a bun to keep it out of her face as she cleaned, but it still wasn't completely safe from the dirt. She wished the place would've just clean itself with just the snap of her fingers. She could snap them, but nothing would happen. Magic wasn't real. If something needed to get done, she would have to strain herself to get it done.

The last day of her first week had finally come and Mr. Burke had called her over to the front. It was really the only time he had bothered to acknowledge her. He didn't even pay her any mind when a scream from her filled the shop the second a giant cockroach crawled onto her arm while she was dusting the lamps. The place truly was an insects' paradise.

"It's the end of the week, Ms. Granger. I assume you're expecting your pay, correct?"

Hermione wasn't entirely sure how to answer that question. It was a rather unusual question, especially coming from Mr. Burke, a man not famous for his generosity. She cautiously nodded her head. Hopefully, his famous greed wouldn't rip her off after all the hard work she had done.

"I'll admit; this place looks better than when it first opened forty-some years ago." He smiled, revealing his crooked yellow teeth. "That, I greatly appreciate."

Mr. Burke reached into his faded black blazer and pulled out two, 50 pound notes and a 20, then placed them down in front of her.

"I'll go ahead and tell you this now. I pay based on the quality of your work, not the number of hours you spend here. Maybe next week you'll get paid more, maybe less." He said.

"And what will I be doing next week since the cleaning is done?" Hermione asked as she took her money. It was rather meager pay for forty hours of back-breaking work, but at least it was tax-free and it was enough to keep her from going hungry.

"Ask Tom. See what he needs help with. He's in the back fixing a few old things we plan to put in stock later."

Her heart sank. Ever since her first meeting with him, she had done her best to avoid him. She crept quietly into the back and slowly opened the door where she heard rock music playing in the background. Sex Pistols, perhaps?

"Hello?" She asked warily, half her body still hiding behind the heavy door.

"What do you want, Granger?" Tom didn't even look up from his work area where she saw a bunch of wires and a whole bunch of electronic components. She saw even more of his tattoos now that he was wearing only a wife-beater. One in particular caught her eye; a skull with a snake tongue, all black, rested under his left forearm.

"Mr. Burke sent me back here, in case you need any help." She answered.

"Do you know anything at all about electronics?" He snidely said, knowing the correct answer to his question.

"Well no, but…" She didn't want him to send her away.

"But what?" He asked, still not looking up at her.

I pay based on the quality of your work, not the number of hours you spend here.

"I can help you in any other way. There has to be something I can do."

Tom looked up at her for a quick minute. His cold, steely grey eyes met with her hazel ones. It was like he was evaluating her to estimate her worth.

"Pull up that chair, and take a seat by me. Just watch me work. Perhaps you can learn a thing or two to make yourself more useful in the future."

He still was quite rude, but she did as she was told. This could be a good learning experience after all. She had always wondered how certain things worked and she was sure it would be useful to learn how to fix things. Money was a scarce thing in southern London, and it would be more economical than buying new stuff over and over again.

She hated having to pinch every penny. It's what made her excited, as well as fear for her final year of secondary school. Next year, she would be taking the National Evaluative Workers' Tests, or NEWTs. Her scores would determine her future. They did for every citizen in Great Britain since 1946. Scored high, and you could go on to University, then qualify for whatever job you wanted. On the down side, if you scored low, you were barred from going on to university and would just have to work in whatever mediocre job you could find. The most common position "failures" had was factory worker. As time went on, even those positions were hard to get. Too many "failures" nowadays.

Hermione always believed that these exams were designed to keep the elite families in power and the poor "mudbloods" in the slums. She knew it was no coincidence that rich continued on running the country since they could afford to send their children to the best private schools where they were groomed for success. Even if their children did poorly on their NEWTs, their parents could give the Admission's Board some money under the table and their futures remained bright.

State-runned public schools, on the other hand, did no such thing for children who had nothing. They were actually more like preparatory schools for criminals. When Hermione was 15, a boy in her class was beaten half to death just because he refused to hand over his shoes to this bully. Two weeks later, this same bully was stabbed by an even bigger bully just for looking at him the wrong way. Nobody really learned at these schools. How could they when classes had almost forty students each, most of whom spent the entire period talking? Most teachers had just lost all hope of getting through to their students. That was except for Remus Lupin.

Mr. Lupin came from a rich family and went to Hogwarts University, but he was one of the rare few that actually tried to help the less fortunate. He taught Advance Math, so his class was one of the smaller ones; still about thirty students. But what made him unique was that he would approach students that were serious about school and invite them to a secret class every night to prepare them for the NEWTs in every subject, a highly dangerous act. If the State Police ever found out, he'd surely be killed. His family had already disowned him for teaching at a public school, but he didn't seem to mind. Students that he believed had the most potential, he would lend out his books for them to study even more. Some university level. Hermione already had spent a year under his tutelage and read a dozen of his books. She wanted to make sure she'd pass the NEWTs. Once she had the proper education, she could enter the government and begin to make changes. Should she do badly one the exams and wound up stuck at Borgin & Burkes, she would certainly kill herself.

Her hazel eyes looked over at Riddle. His face showed no emotion as he was soldering thin pieces of metal onto a circuit board. She wasn't sure how much time had gone by, but her bottom started to feel sore against the sturdy wooden chair. She wondered how he may've done on his NEWTs, if he had taken them at all. There were quite a few people who didn't bother. Hardly anyone south of Diagon Alley ever passed. But she would pass. If anyone could make it out of poverty, it would be her; Hermione Jean Granger.

A/N: This first chapter was mostly introductory, so I kept it short. It sort of introduces you on how unfair society has become since Grindelwald gained power after the Second World War ended. Future chapters should be much longer.

I've been wanting to write a dystopian society story for a while, and I've finally came up with plot. It'll go even deeper than just Hermione studying for her NEWTs. Trust me.

As for who the "elite" are, that would be all the pureblood families mentioned in the Harry Potter universe. So yes, that would include the Weasley's.

For you American folk, Hermione's pay (120 pounds), is roughly about 180 dollars.

Good? Bad? Ugly? Please let me know what you think.

Muchas Gracias ^_^

-Pinta15