Playlist/aesthetic for this chapter can be found on my profile page.
II. Purity Will Always Conquer
"This is an official address from your government. To ensure the protection and safety of all our citizens, we remind you that any affiliation with an undesirable individual is strictly prohibited under penalty of severe punishment. Any citizen caught aiding, abetting, concealing, or otherwise associating with a Mudblood or a Dissident will receive the death penalty."
Hermione hastened her steps as a commanding, familiar voice echoed along the deserted avenue. The avenue around her was quiet. No one had stopped what they were doing to listen to the message. Few passersby paid heed to the government announcements that emanated from the gargoyles, statues, and paintings strategically placed in public spaces. Several times a day, the authoritative voice of a Ministry official would repeat the government's endorsed decrees. There was no escaping it.
"All citizens are obliged to report the presence of Mudbloods and Dissidents to representatives of the Security Section," continued the voice, in a mechanical and lifeless tone.
Hermione approached an imposing gate. As she neared, two men stationed at the guard post eyed her warily.
"Victorious be his coming," she greeted politely.
"Identification," one of them gruffly demanded, not bothering to return her greeting.
Hermione handed over her wand to the man who scrutinised it carefully before stepping into the cabin. A few moments later, he returned and handed back her wand.
"Purpose of visit?" he inquired.
It was the same tedious routine every day. The guards, who saw her daily and knew full well she worked there, seemed intent on complicating her life.
"It's procedure," retorted the second man, his eyes narrowed. "Got a problem with that?"
Hermione hurriedly shook her head. She didn't want any trouble. Arguing with the likes of them was pointless.
"Badge?" the first man asked, holding her wand.
Hermione rummaged in the pocket of her witch's robe and handed him a copper pin, shaped like a stem with two leaves. It was the emblem her employer gave to its employees to grant them access to the site. The guard scrutinised the badge suspiciously, then, seeming to decide there was nothing amiss, handed it back to Hermione.
"Move along," he commanded, waving his wand before the gate, which animated to create an opening.
Hermione took back her pin and carefully fastened it to her robes, at chest level. She walked through the now partially open gate and headed for the building at a brisk pace. Once inside, the usual hustle and bustle greeted her. Dozens of wizards queued up near the fireplaces, clutching briefcases or trunks in their arms, ready to travel to their workplaces.
All travel was strictly regulated by the National Floo Network. Each fireplace allowed specific travel, as defined by the Ministry's Department of Transport. Public fireplaces, which were frequently used, generally connected travellers to other public locations like Diagon Alley, St. Mungo's Hospital, or the Ministry of Magic. Some fireplaces were semi-public and were commonly used to reach more restricted public places like businesses or shops. Private fireplaces only allowed travel to other residences—provided they had been connected in advance by their respective owners.
Hermione made her way to the only fireplace that had a grille. In front of her, another security member stood guard. Again, he inspected her wand and pin before vanishing the bars of the fireplace and granting her access. A few seconds later, Hermione emerged from a gigantic hearth adorned with refined ornaments. She dusted off her witch's robe, and after yet another check by a third guard stationed in front of the fireplace's exit, she was permitted to leave the grand hall.
Pushing open the brown French doors, Hermione found herself facing a massive library with a magnificent vaulted ceiling. Large shelves rose to meet the dome. As always, entering the place filled Hermione with indescribable joy. The inviting aroma of aged wood, fresh parchment, and newly applied ink delighted her senses.
"Granger," a voice suddenly sounded by her side, jolting her from her daydream.
Hermione turned to see a petite witch in her fifties with a stern expression. It was Patricia Clearwater, the Head Archivist. As usual, she peered down at Hermione haughtily through her rectangular glasses.
"You'll be assisting Mr Macmillan today," Patricia informed her with a vexed tone, her lips tightening in annoyance. "He's already in his office."
Hermione's eyes widened upon hearing her assignment for the day.
"Me? Assist Mr Macmillan?" she repeated, stunned.
"That's what I said. Penelope is under the weather and can't make it today," Patricia added, visibly irked before marching off down an aisle of books. "Don't keep him waiting."
"Ah, that makes sense now," Hermione thought. She had been working at Macmillan's Great Librarium for nearly a month. The private library held centuries' worth of books of every kind, some of which were incredibly rare.
It was a remarkable stroke of luck and circumstance that had landed Hermione this position. Normally, people like her weren't accepted in such roles. Half-bloods were usually relegated to precarious jobs. It was even rarer for a Half-blood to interact with a sacred family like the Macmillans. Members of such families seemed elusive, living secluded lives in their gilded cages, away from society's prying eyes. Filled with trepidation, Hermione made her way to the spiral staircase that led to the first floor. Taking a deep breath, she gave a short knock on the imposing door to Mr Macmillan's personal office, her nerves tingling.
"Come in," she heard from the other side of the door.
She turned the handle and entered the room. It was an all-wooden office that matched the splendid theme of the rest of the library. Bookshelves plastered against the walls filled every nook and cranny. A large, solid wooden desk dominated the space. An elderly man with a long grey beard sat at the desk, engrossed in a parchment.
"Valour and virtue," Hermione greeted, her voice shaky. "I'm Hermione Granger; I'll be assisting you today, Mr Macmillan."
Aelius Macmillan looked up and carefully shook his quill into an inkwell, ridding it of any ink residue before placing it on the desk.
"Ah, yes. You're the Half-blood," he stated matter-of-factly. "Please, have a seat."
He gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs facing him.
It was Aelius Macmillan himself who had hired Hermione, impressed by her extensive knowledge, general culture, and love for books. Her profile was different from other Half-bloods. They weren't allowed to attend Hogwarts, the country's prestigious school of
Hermione had lived in a free territory until she was sixteen. Then, the area was invaded by the Purified British Empire in one of its many incursions to gain control. She had completed the majority of her magical schooling in a proper school of witchcraft. After the invasion, her life had been turned upside down. In the regime, her blood status made her a lesser person, and society's treatment of her reflected that. The transition had been harsh for Hermione, who lost all contact with her previous life and everything familiar. Communication with foreign lands was prohibited, and border crossings were not permitted for most of the population.
Quickly conforming to local customs for fear of reprisals, she followed the path of most wizards from recently colonised territories. The few unfortunate ones who had attempted to rebel had been publicly executed. The method had proved effective in deterring those unwilling to submit to the regime's laws.
Hermione's education, more advanced than most of her peers, had afforded her the opportunity for employment. First at Burke's, the apothecary, where she had worked for several years assisting in potion-making and organising the shop. Then at the Macmillan's Great Librarium.
Whenever people discovered her level of education, she was invariably greeted with a blend of astonishment and suspicion. Hermione had quickly learned to keep a low profile and not to display her skills in social settings. While an educated Half-blood could impress some, in most cases, she was viewed with suspicion.
"I regret not checking in on you more regularly since you've started working here," Aelius said in a pleasant tone that seemed genuine.
Hermione was taken aback by his statement. The Macmillans were the only sacred family she had ever encountered, and they defied all preconceptions she had about such dynasties.
"How do the other employees treat you?" he asked, studying her closely.
What exactly do you mean?" Hermione inquired; her voice tinged with a touch of uncertainty.
"Well, your blood status must be the talk of the office, I presume," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't it?"
The question made Hermione uncomfortable. The other employees at Macmillan's Great Librarium treated her with thinly veiled disdain—as if they couldn't understand how someone like her could have landed such a position. While she frequently encountered microaggressions, no one had yet dared to make an overtly derogatory remark towards her.
Hermione was hesitant to tell Aelius the truth. Was he asking out of mere politeness, or did he genuinely want an honest answer? She didn't want to seem like a complainer. After all, her colleagues' cold indifference was easier to manage on a daily basis compared to Caractacus Burke, the apothecary who incessantly maligned her over her blood status.
"I'm treated... adequately," she finally settled on the word, unable to find a better one. "I'm truly grateful for this opportunity, Mr. Macmillan."
She meant it. She loved her job. Working amidst ancient, rare books filled her with euphoria.
"Good to hear," he said, a satisfied smile appearing on his lips. "We've received a new collection—you can start indexing it. You may work in the adjoining room."
He picked up his quill again and turned his focus back to his parchment. Hermione nodded and headed to a table where six hefty tomes had been carefully arranged. As she looked up, she saw a large oil painting hanging on the wall. It depicted Aelius alongside a woman and two teenagers. Below it, in elegant calligraphy, were the words:
- United in the Quest for Knowledge -
It was the Macmillan family's motto. Hermione distinctly remembered reading it in her copy of the The Compendium of Pure Bloodlines. Each sacred family had its own motto, a reflection of their core values.
"That's Vivica, my late wife, and my children Ernie and Pippa," Aelius's voice called out from behind Hermione, startling her.
She instantly recognised Ernie's face. She had seen him twice in the librarium. Each time, he'd hurried through the library and ascended the spiral staircase to his father's office. Ernie was the current Macmillan Governor, an honorary and political title given to a member of each sacred family. It granted them the right to represent their family's interests and voice in significant decisions, like voting on Special Decrees or the election of the Minister for Magic.
"I know what you're wondering," Aelius continued, scrutinising Hermione intently behind his glasses.
Hermione turned to face him, puzzled.
"Why my son is the Governor while I'm still of age," Aelius said patiently. " Like all Macmillans, I have a deep-rooted love for books, knowledge, and education. Politics isn't my strong suit. Ernie seemed keener on the role, so I retired earlier than planned."
Hermione was surprised by his forthrightness.
"I'll leave you to it," he said, returning his attention to his parchment.
Hermione set to work without further ado.
/
Ginny rang the doorbell of Shell Cottage, her brother Bill's cosy home tucked away in a secluded, peaceful spot near a hill in Cornwall. A fine sandy beach with massive rocks was visible from the house, down the hill. Ginny had also lived there until last year before moving into the flat she now shared with Hermione. She had felt the pressing need to leave her brother's home when he and his wife had their first child, Victoire. She had felt like a third wheel among their small family and yearned for independence and privacy, prompting her to leave her brother's residence. However, she'd had to wait a few years to become financially independent without leaning on him.
Bill was exceptionally protective of Ginny and had been less than thrilled with her decision. Nevertheless, he had reluctantly accepted it, and Ginny was certain that Fleur had helped ease her husband's concerns about his little sister living alone in the big city. Bill insisted that Ginny visit them at least once a week—usually for a family dinner.
The teal-blue door swung open, unveiling a strikingly beautiful blonde. Her stomach had the slight roundness of early pregnancy. Her long silver hair was neatly plaited, and her large blue eyes sparkled at the sight of Ginny.
"Ah, Ginny, you're here!" Fleur beamed, planting two resounding kisses on her cheeks.
"Hey, Fleur. Where are Bill and Victoire?" Ginny asked, giving her a broad smile..
"In the garden. I'll go let them know you're here," Fleur said, her voice taking on a melodic quality as she swept her long plait behind her shoulder.
Ginny headed into the living room and slumped into one of the cosy armchairs. Moments later, a miniature blonde tornado burst in and leapt into her arms, squeezing her tightly.
"Aunt Ginny!" Victoire squealed, bouncing with excitement.
Ginny kissed the little girl's cheek, affectionately stroking her hair. Victoire proudly showed her what appeared to be a weeping toad.
"Dad and I found it near the pond," she announced contentedly, petting the amphibian.
"What are you going to name it?" Ginny asked.
"Don't be silly, Auntie... We can't keep a toad," Victoire responded, releasing a letting out a bell-like laugh that brightened her adorable face.
"And keep that toad out of the house, Vicky," Fleur interjected, eyeing the creature with mild disdain. "Go put it back where you found it and wash your hands. We're dining soon."
Victoire pouted but complied. As she passed her mother, she whispered something in French that Ginny didn't catch, and Fleur nodded patiently.
"Little sister," Bill's deep voice boomed as he burst into the living room.
Ginny stood to embrace her brother.
"Missed you last week," he chided, eyebrows furrowing.
Ginny knew her absence wouldn't go unnoticed. She was used to Bill's lectures, as he often acted more like a father than a brother. She knew, however, that his intentions were good. Bill pulled his long hair back into a low ponytail, revealing the prominent scar that marked the left side of his face. From his temple, past part of his ear to his chin, the skin now had a rosy hue. It was one of the injuries he had sustained during the fire that destroyed the Burrow, their childhood home. A burning beam had fallen violently onto his face, causing third-degree burns.
"I'm sorry, Bill, I had to do some overtime that day," Ginny lied.
She chose not to mention her chance encounter with ex-boyfriend Oliver Wood over drinks at a Diagon Alley pub. Bill had never liked any of the boys she'd dated. For some reason, he had a particular distaste for Oliver. Perhaps because he was older than Ginny. They had started dating when she was seventeen, and Oliver was six years her senior, which Bill had not approved of.
Bill seemed about to retort when Fleur burst back into the living room to summon them to the dinner table. Ginny took the seat next to Victoire, who was already seated, swinging her legs gleefully under the table. When Fleur placed a modest serving on her plate, Victoire eagerly poked her fork into the dish of gratin dauphinois, a speciality from her mother.
"Victoire, what do we say before we eat?" Fleur called out, shooting her daughter a knowing look.
"Bon appétit," Victoire responded enthusiastically.
A smirk appeared on Bill's face. Fleur, on the other hand, did not seem pleased with her daughter's answer.
"Victoire!" she insisted.
"I'm hungry?" Victoire tried, shrugging her shoulders innocently.
Bill and Ginny couldn't help but laugh at Victoire's response. Fleur slammed the dish down onto the table, her face flushed with anger and frustration. Her hand trembled, and the spoon she was holding threatened to fall. The other three ceased laughing and looked at her, puzzled. She seemed on the brink of tears.
"Fleur?" Bill questioned softly, placing a hand on his wife's arm.
"No, William!" Fleur exclaimed in a suddenly hysterical voice, violently pulling her arm away. "This is not funny! Not with everything that's happening outside!"
"You're right, Fleur, I'm sorry," Bill apologised calmly. "Victoire?"
"May the blood and hands that prepared this meal be pure," Victoire recited hastily, eyes darting fearfully toward her mother.
Satisfied with her daughter's words, Fleur began heaping potatoes onto Ginny's plate. The rest of the dinner went on in unusual silence. Fleur appeared agitated for the duration of the meal. At the end of dinner, Ginny suggested to her sister-in-law that she go and relax in the sitting room.
"I'll handle the cleaning up," she assured her.
Fleur nodded and headed towards the living room, a worried expression on her delicate features. Victoire followed her mother, looking apprehensive, while Bill and Ginny took care of clearing the table. When they were back in the kitchen, Ginny turned to her brother.
"What was that all about?" she questioned in a low voice, nodding toward the door leading to the sitting room.
Bill rubbed his neck, his face suddenly wearied.
"Fleur's anxious these days, especially with the pregnancy," he confessed. "She's doing everything she can to get Victoire into a proper school - you know how complicated that's likely to be."
He levitated the empty plates into the sink, and a sponge sprang to life in the air to begin washing the dirty dishes.
"We sent my application to the Ministry a few months ago, but it's still pending," he continued. "I'm not holding my breath, but Fleur is relentless."
The status of Blood Traitors was a peculiar one in the regime. They were named this because they were direct family members of individuals considered to be dissidents. This status was attached to the Weasley name because their father, Arthur, had been a strong opponent of Voldemort's regime when Northern England was still free. That's why their house had been targeted during the invasion sixteen years earlier. Bill and Ginny were minors at the time—and even though their blood was pure, being children of a Dissident automatically made them Blood Traitors.
It was, however, possible for Blood Traitors to obtain a Ministry Clemency—a reprieve granted by the regime for a family member's transgressions. It would erase the Traitor label from an individual's record. The conditions for receiving a Ministry Clemency were so numerous and stringent that it was almost impossible to meet them all. One of the conditions was providing proof of a complete break with the Dissident. By 'break', they unofficially meant the Dissident's death. In their case, it was impossible to prove. Their family members had survived the fire and probably taken refuge in another country.
"And you know how Fleur is when she gets something into her head. I don't have the heart to tell her the chances are slim to none. She really hopes Victoire can get a proper education," Bill continued, looking serious.
"A proper education?" Ginny repeated disdainfully. "You mean so she can become one of them?"
Victoire had recently turned six, which allowed her to receive primary education in preparation for her entry into a magical school at eleven. However, children's rank dictated the school they were allowed to attend. When they turned eleven, upper-rank children went to Hogwarts, which offered the highest level of education, excellent for integrating into magical society. Lessons were varied and complex—from Transfiguration to Potions to Spells.
Lower-rank children who could afford it went to Nereid, where they learnt the basics of magic in a very regulated setting. They weren't taught any knowledge that could, according to the government, give them the tools to harm Purebloods. It was also a way of indoctrinating them. They were taught that Purebloods were superior in every way and that their long-term goal should be to purify their lineage.
"We could homeschool her," Ginny reminded him. "Like Amos did with me."
"It was risky and forbidden, Ginny. You know that," Bill said.
After the fire at the Burrow, Bill and Ginny found themselves alone. Their region had been newly invaded by Voldemort's supporters, so everyone had been forced to adhere to their new regime's rules and pledge allegiance. Their neighbour, Amos Diggory, had taken them in, sparing them the horror of being sent to one of the regime's orphanages—terrifying places, according to rumours.
The Diggorys were Purebloods, which made their integration into Voldemort's regime easier. Nonetheless, they didn't subscribe to the ideals of the purified British Empire. Still, to avoid trouble, they feigned compliance with the regime's rules.
Amos Diggory had given Ginny a proper magical education, supplementing the dubious instruction she received at Nereid. She was far from the level of witches and wizards who had studied at Hogwarts, but she was well ahead of wizards of her own station.
"Fleur's okay with our beliefs at home, but she's worried about Victoire slipping up at school," Bill said. "And with all the talk lately about increased executions and imprisonments, she's on edge."
Bill heaved a long sigh, wearing a resigned smile.
"I think the weight of who she married is finally sinking in," he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Maybe she would've made a different choice had she known it would turn out like this."
"Don't say that, William." said a soft voice, suddenly interrupting.
In sync, Bill and Ginny turned towards the kitchen door. Fleur stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame and the other on her rounded belly. Her eyes had softened, and she looked less troubled than a moment ago.
"I don't want to hear you talk like that," she continued as she walked up to Bill, shaking her head emphatically. "I married you because you are the love of my life, and I've never once regretted my choice."
She placed a hand on his chest and they locked eyes in a long, tender gaze.
"I know you want what's best for Victoire, Fleur. So do I," Bill assured her, his face etched with exhaustion.
"I just want to protect her… from all of this," Fleur said softly. "If anything were to happen to you…"
"Nothing will happen to us," Bill interrupted, his voice deep and comforting. "Everyone in this family will act cautiously and do absolutely nothing to put themselves in danger. Right?"
He looked towards Ginny, his gaze questioning, as if seeking her confirmation.
"Of course, big brother, I'll be on my best behaviour," she promised, with a hint of exaggeration.
She made a V sign with her hands, the regime's symbol.
"Pure be the blood. Victorious be his coming. May Voldemort guide us," she repeated in a formal tone, the sarcasm evident.
"Don't push it,' Bill warned, earning chuckles from both Ginny and Fleur.
Fleur seemed to find her smile again and wrapped her arms around Bill's waist. He leaned down and they shared a long, passionate kiss.
"Stop it, I'm going to throw up," Ginny declared dramatically, feigning nausea. "Fleur, need I remind you, you're already pregnant. No need for more."
"Yes, and my hormones are all over the place," Fleur asserted, a fiery glint in her big blue eyes as she looked lovingly at her husband.
Ginny cringed at the spectacle.
"I'll be on my way," she announced, heading into the living room.
She gave Victoire a long hug, followed by her brother and Fleur.
"See you next week — and be on time." Bill said.
"Yes, boss."
The next morning, when she walked into Burke's Bountiful Brews earlier than usual, Ginny found her boss in a frenzy, rummaging through the shelves of ingredients in the back room.
"Ah, there you are, finally! About time," he exclaimed as he caught sight of Ginny.
She wanted to remind him that she was actually early, but he'd probably have a snappy comeback as he always did. Arguing with him was pointless; she'd learned that the hard way.
"Come on, come on, sit down to take notes," he commanded.
Ginny complied.
"Mrs Malfoy has done us the honour of considering a substantial order from this shop," Burke announced, puffing out his chest with pride.
Malfoy, thought Ginny. That was the name of the man who'd come to pick up the package a few days earlier. Hermione had told her he was a royal of some sort. Ginny scribbled notes on a blank parchment in front of her. She tried to capture Burke's rapid-fire remarks, which he rattled off without pausing for breath.
Apparently, Mrs Malfoy had asked Burke for ideas on original and rare potions. She planned to buy them in bulk. Burke had chosen a Sleep-Defying Elixir, a rare potion due to one of its ingredients: bullfrog saliva. The creature rarely ever slept and could stay awake for months. It was elusive and renowned for its aggressive behaviour. The potion was also tricky to make; it needed precise heating, varying by the degree throughout its preparation.
"I have a contact who can probably supply the saliva needed for such a large batch," Burke continued.
He turned to Ginny.
"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy needs to approve. We'll send her samples," he added, adopting a serious expression. "I have a few vials stored."
He mumbled inaudibly while putting on his apron.
"I'm invited to the Manor to discuss the details of the order, and you'll assist me on this visit," he said.
"Me?" repeated Ginny, taken aback. "What about Ruth?"
Ruth was the shop's other employee—a second-rank Pureblood.
"Ruth's down with spattergroit. It's the season. She'll be quarantined for a week," Burke explained, scrunching up his nose in apparent annoyance.
He turned to Ginny.
"This is a massive deal for my shop, and great publicity to boot. You'd best keep your gob shut and don't do anything I haven't authorised, understand?"
"Understood," Ginny assured, trying to hide her boredom.
Two days on, Ginny watched apprehensively as two Death Eaters entered the apothecary. They wore long dark cloaks, and the letter V was inscribed on the back of their garb.
"Power and purity," one of them intoned, casting a dark glance at Burke and Ginny through his mask.
"Valour and virtue," Burke responded.
Ginny remained silent.
"We will escort you to the Malfoy residence," warned the second Death Eater in a raspy voice.
He motioned for them to follow, leading the way to the shop's exit. Ginny tightly gripped the small chest she was holding; it contained the instruments and samples necessary for the visit. As they approached the carriage, she noticed it was pulled by a skeletal creature with imposing wings.
A Thestral, she immediately recognised. Ginny still remembered the first time she'd seen these creatures. Before that day, she'd always assumed the carriages seen sometimes in the sky moved by themselves. Her eyes had widened the first time she'd seen a Thestral. That was also the day Ginny witnessed her first public execution. She had been only nine years old when she had first witnessed a human die.
"Get in," commanded a Death Eater in a hoarse voice, flinging the carriage door open abruptly.
Ginny followed Burke into the carriage, casting a curious look inside. She'd never travelled in a carriage before. She jolted when it suddenly lurched into motion. Across from her, through a clear window, Ginny saw the Thestral's large wings unfurl. In an instant, the carriage jerked, lifting off the ground and soaring quickly into the sky. Moments later, the motion steadied. Ginny turned her focus back to the Death Eaters, who were sitting on the bench opposite Burke and herself.
Their masked faces made her uneasy. Any citizen under the regime quickly learned to fear the Death Eaters. Unlike Aurors, who dealt with a variety of crimes within the community, Death Eaters focused solely on blood purity offences. Their faction, called the Security Section, relentlessly hunted Unbloodeds and Dissidents. One of them caught Ginny's eye; the malevolence she saw unnerved her deeply. She hastily looked away. All her life, she had heard grim stories about these individuals and their actions. They were ruthless and capable of barbaric deeds.
The journey took nearly an hour, which felt like an eternity to her. She had no idea what to expect at the Malfoys', and the uncertainty made her nervous. Soon, she felt the carriage begin to descend, and the wheels touched down. They rolled on for a seemingly endless five minutes before finally coming to a stop. The door flung open, revealing another hooded Death Eater who demanded they verify their identities before proceeding.
"Keep hold of her wand," he ordered the two Death Eaters in the carriage, nodding towards Ginny. "Lower status."
"What are you waiting for?" murmured Burke beside Ginny.
Ginny extended her wand towards one of the Death Eaters. She couldn't fathom why they wanted it. Like those of all lower-ranking wizards, her wand had limited capabilities.
Ginny heard the sound of a gate moving, and the carriage resumed its journey. Ten minutes later, they stopped once more, and they were invited to disembark. Ginny's jaw dropped at the sight before her. It was the grandest, most imposing building she had ever seen. A tall yew hedge lined a path to a colossal manor. As they moved down the path, Ginny noticed a fountain. Majestic white peacocks sauntered on its perfectly manicured lawns. Soon, they stood before an immense door, upon which a regal bird had been carved into the stone. Below it, she made out the engraved words:
- Purity Will Always Conquer -
Probably their motto, she thought. Hermione had explained that each of the Sacred Thirteen families had a specific motto that represented its dynasty. Gears creaked, and the door slowly opened. A house-elf greeted them. His eyes were bulging, and he was clad in a tattered tunic that hung loosely on his frail frame.
"Mrs Malfoy awaits Mr Burke in the drawing room. Please follow Dobby, sir," he said in his squeaky voice before bowing deeply to Burke.
Only pure-blood families—usually the wealthiest among them—owned house-elves. The elf turned and hopped away, closely followed by Burke and Ginny. Behind them, the two Death Eaters who had escorted them also followed closely.
The interior was even more grandiose than its façade. Ginny had never seen such opulence in her life. Her eyes widened at the ornate draperies, lavish furniture, and what were probably priceless paintings and sculptures. The drawing room was filled with armchairs of imperial green. It exuded an imposing atmosphere, clearly designed to impress.
"Mrs Malfoy will be here in a moment, sir," announced the elf, bowing once more before vanishing.
The Death Eaters stood near the door, arms crossed, gripping their wands tightly. They seemed on high alert, ready to act at the slightest hint of trouble. Moments later, the door opened, and a woman entered the room, Dobby trotting behind her.
She was a beautiful woman in her fifties. Her blonde hair was styled in a flawless, sophisticated bun. She wore a sage blue dress, accentuating her perfect figure. As she approached, the clack of her high heels echoed on the room's polished floor. Ginny couldn't help but admire the woman's grace and poise. Mrs Malfoy radiated power, wealth, and success.
"Valour and vigour," she greeted them in a firm voice that commanded attention.
"Valour and virtue," replied Burke in a formal tone, bowing deeply before the woman.
Beside him, he shot Ginny a knowing glance, and she followed suit. She hesitated to speak. She had been told to speak only when given permission. Mrs Malfoy cast a brief glance towards Ginny, before taking a seat. She gestured for them to do the same. On her perfectly manicured hand, Ginny noticed that she wore a signet ring on her little finger, similar to the one she had seen on her son when he had entered Burke's shop.
"Thank you for your promptness, Mr Burke. As I've told you, my hotel, the Grand Augurey, is officially reopening after nearly five years of renovation. I'm hosting an opening ball for the occasion and would like to prepare an original gift basket for my guests," Mrs Malfoy explained, picking up her cup of tea from the low table beside the sofa.
Dobby then proceeded to serve Burke and Ginny.
"I intend to incorporate a rare and unexpected brew into it. So, I require your expertise to advise me on that matter," Mrs Malfoy continued.
"Of course, Mrs Malfoy. Please know that I'm tremendously honoured that you thought of me for such a significant occasion," Burke said, his tone dripping with flattery as he made an exaggerated bow.
Ginny had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at her boss's theatrics. Mrs Malfoy, however, appeared entirely unmoved by Burke's fawning. Her face remained impassive as she observed him speak.
"I've brought several options that might catch your fancy," he said, gesturing for Ginny to present the chest she was holding.
Burke showcased three potential potions—each as rare and unique as the next, and all requiring such advanced preparation that only a Master Potioneer could perfect them on the first try. As Burke had suspected, Mrs Malfoy seemed taken with the idea of the Sleep-Defying Elixir. She studied the vial with keen interest.
"I've sent samples to your assistant in advance so you can experience its effects practically," he said, clearly quite pleased with himself.
"Indeed. My assistant informed me she hasn't slept for two days and doesn't feel the least bit tired. How long can the effect last?" Mrs Malfoy inquired.
"Seven to ten days, depending on the individual's age and build, Mrs Malfoy," Burke explained.
"Perfect. Well, I believe we have a winner," said Mrs Malfoy, sounding pleased as she took another sip of her tea. "I'll order two hundred vials."
Burke looked like he was about to faint from delight at the request. Ginny cast a puzzled glance at the woman. Had they travelled all this way for such a brief meeting? Couldn't this have been sorted by owl post? The assistant Mrs Malfoy mentioned could probably have handled such a mundane matter. It struck Ginny as odd that a sacred family would allow strangers into their home for such a trivial reason.
"I have another request," Mrs Malfoy suddenly said, putting down her teacup and fixing her gaze intently on Burke. "Let's discuss it in the library, if you don't mind."
Burke nodded and immediately stood up, turning to Ginny.
"Wait here. And don't touch anything," he muttered through gritted teeth.
With his awkward stride, Burke followed Mrs Malfoy through a door opposite from where the Death Eaters were standing guard. Ginny waited until they were completely out of sight before leaning over the coffee table to snatch one of the cream cakes on the tray. She popped it into her mouth in one go and her taste buds melted at the marvellous flavour of the pastry. She then looked around curiously. Hermione would be shocked to learn she had entered a Governor's home. However, Ginny would keep mum about it to Bill. He'd probably have a coronary if he knew she'd been so close to such high-ranking individuals in the regime. Anyway, Ginny didn't have a choice. Her job had required her to come here.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Ginny's eyes landed on a young blond man. Her stomach churned as she recognised him—the man who had come into the shop to collect the mysterious package. He cast a cursory glance around the room, seemingly in search of someone. His gaze eventually settled on Ginny, and for a fleeting moment, she caught a flicker of irritation mixed with surprise in his grey eyes, but it vanished so quickly she couldn't be sure she'd actually seen it. With deliberate yet confident strides, akin to a predatory creature closing in on a defenceless prey, he walked towards the sofa and appraised her at length. Ginny stiffened. Had he recognised her?
"Pure be the blood," she offered hesitantly.
"Where's my mother?" he drawled, disregarding her greeting.
"She's in the library, talking to Mr. Burke," Ginny informed him after a moment's pause.
Burke had told her not to touch anything when he left the room. He'd said nothing about speaking. And it would've been rude not to answer the man's questions.
"Discussing what?" he pressed.
"I… I don't know, sir," Ginny replied.
He circled the sofa where Mrs Malfoy had sat and settled in himself, an arm resting against the arm of the chair, his ankle crossed over his knee, looking down on Ginny with a sense of superiority.
"You were chattier during my visit to your shop," he observed, scanning her up and down.
"Talking to customers is part of my job, sir," Ginny retorted.
The words came out more defiantly than she had intended. Malfoy bristled.
"What's your name?" he inquired.
"Ginevra Weasley," she answered.
"Blood status?"
"Blood traitor, sir."
A cold sneer emerged in his eyes as he looked at her like she was some kind of offensive stain on his polished shoes.
"I might need to remind Burke about his employees' attitudes," he said silkily.
Immediately, Ginny tensed, anxiety gripping her. She couldn't afford to lose this job. She had been fortunate to secure an opportunity with Burke, especially after Hermione had left.
"I meant no disrespect, sir. My apologies," she reluctantly uttered, the words burning her lips as they came out.
"Exactly, Weasley," he said frostily. "Exercise restraint, especially when you're unaware of whom you're dealing with. It could land you in hot water."
His threat sent a chill down Ginny's spine, catching her off guard. Malfoy seemed satisfied with her reaction. Moments later, the library door swung open again, and Mrs Malfoy re-entered the room, Burke in tow.
"Ah, Draco, there you are," she said, breaking into a slight smile at the sight of her son.
The aforementioned Draco stood up as his mother approached, completely ignoring Ginny. He gave Burke a curt nod. Ginny also stood, catching Burke's subtle signal directed her way.
"Thank you again for your hospitality, Mrs Malfoy," Burke gushed.
"The pleasure's mine. I trust you'll do what's necessary," she said, giving him a knowing look before moving away. "Draco, would you show our guest out?"
The aforementioned Draco nodded, adopting a polite expression in front of his mother that came across as horribly fake. They headed towards the door through which they had initially entered, and Malfoy led them to the Manor's exit. Before Ginny could follow Burke onto the front steps, Malfoy stopped her. He leaned in close and whispered in her ear.
"Know your place, Weasley, or you'll end up like the traitors in your family—regardless of who they were," he drawled before walking away.
As Ginny climbed back into the carriage, her heart pounding, she fought to hold back tears threatening to spill in her eyes—a mixture of frustration, fear, and humiliation.
Feel free to leave reviews - they are much appreciated!