Prompt: Mudblood, Voodoo, Raspberry Jam, No Input Signal

A/N: I'm combining all the uncompleted prompts into one drabble. This one is going to be a continuation of the Ministry AU I started a few posts back. This is the third one. Modern + Ministry of Magic + Politics AU. Also, I made up some random party names and they probably sound pretentious and not British at all. I apologize. Tom is part of the British Unity Party, which is, of course, conservative (in American political terminology).

No Input Signal, the phone flashes.

Hermione looks incredulously at iPhone in her hand. Of all the times her former mentor, Albus Dumbledore, can't be reached. Dumbledore loves to explore Muggle technology for the last six months, and he has insisted on trying out his brand new sparkling phone. Last time she has seen him, he was sitting at his desk at Hogwarts and playing Angry Birds while chewing on lemon drops.

She groans. It would be really nice to have his advice. She and Dumbledore may have slight disagreements over the degree of how powerful the Ministry could be. Actually, it wasn't slight at all. They had a really bad fight over the rights of certain magical creatures, which led to their fallout. No one really knew that her mentorship with him was over. All they knew was what Dumbledore has told them in so many colorful words. It was, the gist of it at least, this: She was ready to go and strike out on her own.

What they did agree on was the subject of Tom Marvolo Riddle, a hotshot and rising figure in the political word under the British Unity Party. He was dangerous, and he would be a deadly opponent to face. He was charming, and he came from humble backgrounds. Abandoned by his Muggle father on the footsteps of an orphanage, he took at job as an intern within the party. He was then discovered by the previous chairman, Mr. Lestrange. He started in the Department of Law Enforcement but as an administrator instead of an officer. Skillful in management and manipulation, he quickly rose up all the way to be Fudge's very own senior secretary. The British wizards and witches voted him in five years ago, and his approval rating is always going higher than the previous year.

What they don't notice is his seemingly sleight-of-hand tricks. He has been slowly accumulating power from various departments here and there. National security, he claims.

Now, he has offered to work with her. Politics is not without unusual and bizarre alliances, but with Tom Riddle? Well, she has worked with Lucius Malfoy on the education crisis happening within the British's education system while she was Dumbledore's student, but Malfoy is nothing compared to Riddle. Malfoy is a practically a PTA Dad who is completely obsessive about the quality of his grandson's magical education. He even sets up bake sales and competitions to fund extracurricular programs. . . which he could easily and literally pay for out of his own pocket money.

Riddle is a whole new level. She herself may be chillingly questioned over methodology by Albus Dumbledore, but if Dumbledore and Riddle are in the same room, it's going to be hellishly cold. Riddle has employed far worse methods that she might have never even heard of.

She does not like it. He is far more experienced and more knowledgeable. In some other place and time, it would be welcomed but here. . . it's dangerous.

She swivels in her chair, staring at nothing. The re-vote for her own proposal is coming up tomorrow morning.

I.

He plants his pawn in front of the opposition's queen.

His secretary always makes herself toast with raspberry jam in the morning. Tom doesn't mind it. It hides away the smell of. . . other things. Like the sweat and blood and tears of his enemies. It's funny how a simple trick can fool eyes.

Re-vote. Calling for a re-vote is the easiest part. It only requires his approval and signature. Getting it passed is a whole different thing. It's easier said than done. His coalition of British Unity Party, Prophet Party, and Royal Scotland Party will not easy to convince. Prophet Party will be the easiest to convince, because they are a house of bleeding hearts oozing empathy and love. Some days, he stares at the wall and wonder how he managed to get them in his coalition, but then he remembers that the Environmental Party is far worse than the Prophets. They are too out of his ideology to the point that there is only 20 percent similarity.

Then there's the Laborer Party. They are on a similar level with the Prophet Party, but they only have few votes to swing the plan. It would be far easier to suggest pro-house elf rights into the liberal ears than it is to convince his own coalition. For those who are more influential. . . He supposes he could trade favors here and there. Or call out for payment. There is many men who owe debts to him.

He casually brings his pawns towards the other side. Towards promotion.

But is it worth it? Would it help in getting his own plan passed?

He grabs a red pawn. Then shaking his head to himself, he wandlessly and nonverbally transfigures it into a red queen. Hermione Granger. Student of Professor Albus Dumbledore, fighter for the poor, and a bigger bleeding but also crueler heart with a slight hint of darkness. More dark than her own political party would allow, but too light for his British Unity Party. Somewhere in between. He could trust her to vote for the house elves' rights.

He raises his voice, not quite yelling. "Bernadette, I need Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black, Percy Weasley, and Dolores Umbridge in the conference room in an hour!" He stands up and buttons up his robe.

Time to set up formations on the real board.

II.

Ron, probably as a joke, has sent her a voodoo doll of the Minister with needles sticking out of his chest. It's definitely not made by Ron, though. The lines are too clean, and the details are punctilious. He has his dark hair smoothed back, and his pitched-black eyes seemingly absorb all light. He is even wearing his grey and black Minister of Magic robes with all the snobbishness and ego in his jaw. Fred and George made this, she can tell.

She rolls him around in her palm. She tugs at his black tie and smirks. Well, she might have not made it herself, but it'll do.

She pats the doll's head and slowly begins pulling the needles out of his chest. It's not like it is really him.

III.

The proposal is up for a vote.

At the center of the chamber, he glances around at the colors witches and wizards are beginning to show above their heads. Blobs of red and green shine brightly. Green for yes. Red for no. There is a total of a hundred and six voters, not including his own. He finds Hermione right behind him with a green swirl of her magic hovering over her head.

Lucius Malfoy, head of the Education Board at Hogwarts, unsurprisingly votes no. He swivels around, finding that it is falling into a similar pattern of fifty-fifty like the last time Granger's proposal was up for vote. In fact, it is going perfectly fifty-fifty. Twelve refuse to vote.

He raises his wand.

Yes.

He doesn't have to turn his head to know that Granger is smiling in victory.

IV.

She is completely unsurprised to find a lot of hateful letters. There are too many wizards and witches who are against her proposal. But this one. . .

Oh, how would she go on? How can she fight for other people? No, I'm going to be sobbing in the bathroom. Insults hurt me.

She snorts. That letter means nothing to her.

She tosses it into the hungry flames of her fireplace. On it is a single bold word in all caps. It is a word that used to haunt Hermione back in Hogwarts. Now, it is a word that makes no single difference to her. It is nothing, because she no longer cares. She is more than a slur.

She walks out of her office. It would be nice to send a personal thank-you visit to the Minister.

The letter turns brown, its single word glowing crimson.

MUDBLOOD.

V.

She has let herself into his office without his own secretary spotting her. There is nothing Dark or suspicious she can see upfront, which is probably why he doesn't bother putting on very powerful wards against intruders. She glances at the photos on his walls. They are of familiar Slytherins. Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy. . . There's more, and she could recognize a lot of them. Some of them are working for the Ministry itself. It's not a coincidence.

Tom Riddle would never carelessly choose his friends. No, he would select them and pick the connections that will prove to be the most fruitful.

The wards over his desk and its drawers are much more difficult to puzzle out, but she eventually breaks through using the tiniest flaw to manipulate the ward into a paradox. Sometimes, a ward that is created to both defend and attack someone could be quite. . . easy to get around. Not by much. But enough for her to make a difference in time.

She casually flips through his desk and glances through his files. Nothing she doesn't have clearance over. But the top most drawer contains. . .

Makeup. It's humorous to think Tom Riddle would need stage makeup to look good on the cameras. She knows very well that he doesn't actually need it. She also finds a comb and hair spray. Casually picking up a stray piece of dark hair hidden between the individual pieces of the drawer, she grins and smoothly pockets it into a vial.

She shuts away the drawer just in time before the Minister lays his eyes on her. She leans back in his seat, raising her eyebrow in challenge.

"I make that proposal into law and carve it into stone, and you choose to repay me by snooping through my desk?" He sits on the other side of his own desk, clearly blocking her way out through the fireplace or the door. "I could get you for treason, Director Granger. That is a violation of sticking your nose where it clearly doesn't belong."

She smirks at him. "As if you would keep anything incriminating here."

"Incriminating?" His lips form a smug grin. He reminds her of a cat that simply loves to play games, toy around with its victims until it swallows it whole. "What is it you're looking for?"

A lie smoothly falls from her tongue. "Inkwell."

The Minister makes no move to validate the inkwells sitting innocently on top of his desk. Instead, he slowly slips around and stands to Hermione's left. His pianist's fingers, long and pale, reach for the second to bottom drawer and pulls out a heavy inkwell. He sets it in front of her, and his voice low, he wonders, "Is that all you're looking for? Or are you looking for something else, Director Granger?"

She reaches out and tugs at his emerald green tie, surprised he doesn't even flinch. Then she flattens the knot and remarks, "I like your chair. Where did you get from?"

"I could order one for you."

"What's the price?"

He transfigures her chair into a long bench and quickly catches her before she falls backwards to his bookshelves. Tom's hands brush by her stomach and wrap around her waist. It takes her another moment to grab the back of his neck. The next, to force her mouth on his lips. She kisses him with purpose, her teeth biting onto his tongue. She draws blood, and he hisses at her. Vengefully, he clamps at her own lip.

Quid pro quo.

She bites him. He bites her. And vice versa.

VI.

After a day at the Ministry, Hermione enjoys winding down in her basement. It's where she does her research and keeps together her data.

An extract of his blood from her robes proves to be incredibly helpful. She twists a piece of his hair onto the voodoo doll's head. His blood stains the doll's straw-filled body. Tom Riddle's voodoo doll appears to be a miniature version of himself. A lifelike, dead version.

She holds it to her eyes. Then she carefully puts his tiny robes back on, precise in her manners. She holds him delicately by the body and places him on the shelf with many other voodoo dolls of different shapes, sizes, and appearances. Untouched. In pristine condition. Perfect as he is presently. At least, he is. . . as of now.

Funding for the Aurors. . . She is going to vote yes on that at the next meeting. Unlike the Minister himself, she never breaks promises.

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