Disclaimer: I am out of witty disclaimers (like I ever had any) so now, J.K. Rowling owns all HP characters, blah, blah, blah… you know the drill.

A/N: The plot thickens. This is not the major problem Hermione's going to be facing. This is just one of them. The rest are coming in due time. Sorry about the short chapters but I only have about thirty minutes to produce a chapter so I'm trying my best. I don't want to leave the chapter for more than a day because I'm afraid I might start to slack off. So tell me if anything's not making any sense and REVIEW!

Thanks to Violet Spark for her wonderful advice, MiKaYGiRl, Que Bonita, MauraderinglyMagical FOR REVIEWING!

Chapter 9: Mudbloods Equal Filth

A deatheater walks slowly and gravely across the threshold. He is bearing a message pertaining to recent events that needed to be personally delivered to his master, otherwise the consequence would be—at the thought of it he shivered. The consequence would be worse than death. He passes through a doorway and enters a room decorated with bizarre and grotesque objects. A chill shot up his spine but it quickly departed as he was used to having to bear in mind these kinds of things.

A statue of a man, however not Jesus, was nailed to a crucifix. A noose hung loosely from the ceiling. There was one in every room; his master wanted to make sure that all his "guests" would be comfortable during the night. Off to the left, an assortment of weapons were placed there—some of them already bloodied. There had been a feast probably for the new arriving demons or Master had felt the need to kill. Either way, it made him smirk, which grew to a snicker. Filthy muggles. They all needed to be tortured, killed, murdered—all of them.

He exited the room and came in place of a new one. Though it wasn't very decent, not that any part of the shackled house was, it suited his taste. This room was quite clean and not a single bloodstain could be spotted anywhere. He enjoyed seeing filthy blood as much as he liked his master, who he was very devotional too. However, he didn't live to see blood. That would have been considered psychopathic. He was almost, but not quite.

As he stood in the center of a shattered rug in the corner of the room, a loud swishing sound filled his ears. A tornado formed all around him and consumed him. Ten seconds later, he was standing on a hard stone floor, much different from the rotten wood a few seconds before. Darkness engulfed the surrounding areas and all he could see was straight ahead. He walked forward, not daring to look anywhere else but his destination—the throne.

A cloaked man sat on the throne. His face could not be seen, nor could the rest of his body. Darkness consumed everything in the man, if he was a man. The master extended an arm covered completely with the raiment.

"Why have you disturbed my peace? Of what significance is your presence at this moment? Speak or leave!" The man said, his tone full of authority.

"Master, I have come to bring you a report. It seems the plan is going accordingly. However, it is also suggested there is a leak in the ranks. The Order has managed to stop some of the massacres and not as many slayings have been able to be completed successfully."

"Silence! I don't want to hear a word pertaining the Order," he spat. "What I want to know is how many muggles have been killed. If you can't tell me what I've ordered you to, you might as well be deemed as worthless as the muggles." Here he drew his wand and pointed it at the trembling deatheater.

"M-Master, there is-is, I mean, ha-has been ma-many-"

The man at the throne interrupted him. "Compose yourself!"

"There have been many occurrences to your pleasure. The new demon, Ashkatar, has been very successful. The muggles are very distraught at the moment for they are as puzzled as ever. A total of twenty four people have died at the hands of Ashkatar for he has made sure that his "performers" would forget they ever sung or danced and soon enough, they would do it again, burning up into ashes. I have also made sure that Hogwarts would also be affected because I know how much you hate Dumbledore."

"Fool! How dare you act without my consent! You do realize that there are purebloods there and oh, my precious Slytherins! You could have reduced the number of new recruits! My loyal followers would be furious if they knew their children are being killed at this moment by their own leader! Out! Out with you! On the other hand… avada kedavra!"

A green light shot out of the tip of Voldemort's wand and hit the deatheater square in the chest. Immediately, two deatheaters entered and each taking a hold of an arm, dragged the cold man out. Voldemort rubbed his forehead in frustration and moaned. He needed to stop the demon; that was the only way to reverse the spell upon the students. But that would also mean that the surviving muggles would also be lucky,Voldemort thought. However, on second thought, there are always going to be other chances to deal with the dirtied.

Mudbloods—so gullible, so vulnerable. Oblivious they are. They are like puppets; us purebloods can maneuver their every move, manipulate their every thought. So easy. Too easy. It's always good to have competition in the game. Potter- he makes the game interesting. Always hanging around with his blood-traitor friend, Weasley, and the Mudblood girl, Granger. They're always saving the… the girl. The Mudblood. She's so gullible, she can be played into every trap I have. The blood-traitor has relations in the Ministry; it's best not to toy with him. Potter is too cautious; he blames everything on me, like the time the toilet erupted into his face, spilling out all the contents of that day, which was partly my fault, but I had Malfoy advise his son to do the decoy for me. The Mudblood it is then.

He clapped his hands and the double doors opened to let in two different deatheaters.

"I have a job for you. Find out as much as you can about Potter's Mudblood friend, Hermione Granger. She goes to Hogwarts and is in Gryffindor. It shouldn't be that hard to find her." The deatheaters were about to leave as they thought they were dismissed, but Voldemort held them back for more instructions. He wanted nothing to go wrong. Nothing.

"If you are incompetent enough to fail to bring me the required information, you will join your comrade Antoine in the fiery pits. I want everything there is to know about this Hermione Granger. Id est. parents, relations, siblings, age, birth date, hobbies, interests, classes, et cetera. If you have to pull a few strings, do it. If you have to kill yourself in the process, do it. You have sworn your loyalty to me and no retreat can be given at any time, no excuses. Now, leave me be! And I don't want to see your face anywhere near me until you have completely fulfilled your tasks!" he warned.

Voldemort leaned back into his chair and sighed. Deatheaters. They could be as dull-witted as muggles sometimes, but nonetheless, they were superior. He stood up and stamped his foot down hard on the ground and squished an imaginary "muggle bug" and proceeded to spit on the ground. He sat down again and swatted at invisible "filthy flies". His isolation in the chamber had driven him to almost insanity, but his sanity as a leader remained. He still could find himself thinking clearly at times, to the point where clever plans were created, but his thirst to cleanse the world caused troubles.

His mind went back on the topic of Hermione Granger. Hermione… that was a name in Greek mythology was it not? Didn't that mythological character die a murderous death? Interesting. A specific mudblood had better watch her back, or in this case, her life.