III. Insubordination
When Caractacus Burke informed Ginny that they had been summoned to The Imperial Augurey—Narcissa Malfoy's hotel—to prepare potions on-site, she took great pains to conceal her frustration. Ruth, Caractacus Burke's main assistant, was still quarantined at home, suffering from a nasty case of Spattergroit. Burke wanted to avoid any contamination due to the disease's highly contagious nature. He had therefore insisted that Ruth not return to the shop until she had fully recovered.
Ginny caught on to the implications straight away. She would have to assist Burke in fulfilling the Malfoys' contract. After her visit to Malfoy Manor, she had left with her stomach in knots and her throat tight. Draco Malfoy's attitude towards her had made her uneasy, and the last thing she wanted was to find herself in a similar situation again. Ginny knew herself. When provoked and pushed into a corner, she felt a pressing need to defend herself. Bill often told her that her impulsive temperament would get her into serious trouble. For years, Ginny had brushed off his sermons. For the first time in her life, however, she had to concede that her eldest brother had a point.
Up until now, her insolence and lack of discipline hadn't been detrimental. This time, she was dealing with a different world—one quite distinct from the one she usually navigated. These individuals wielded enormous societal power. With a mere snap of their fingers, they could order her to be severely punished.
As Ginny stepped into the sumptuous grandeur of The Imperial Augurey, the Malfoys' palace, she was awestruck by the sheer decadence surrounding her. A grand marble staircase dominated the main hall, which was buzzing with palpable activity. Around her, house-elves and wizards bustled about, putting on the finishing touches with a wave of a wand or a flick of a finger—polishing the gleaming furniture, or hanging chandeliers from the ceiling.
"This place is an absolute marvel," Burke commented enthusiastically as they entered the hall.
They had followed a brunette woman with a discreet bun, wearing a formal grey witch's robe and sporting a preoccupied look. She had introduced herself as Allegra McGrath, Narcissa Malfoy's personal assistant. She was in charge of handling the logistical details for The Imperial Augurey's grand opening.
"The hotel was built in 1798," Allegra informed them. "The original concept was conceived by the artist Whilelmina Bagshot and her husband Janius, a renowned archmage at the time. The South Wing of the hotel was destroyed in flames during the Great Conflict and its ownership was ceded to the Ministry after Lord Voldemort's victory. The Malfoy family purchased it six years ago, and since then, Mrs Malfoy has ensured the place has been renovated and restored to its former glory."
Allegra led them through a door at the back of the hall, down a staircase into the basement.
"The hotel has 237 superior rooms, including 40 suites and 15 prestige suites," she continued. "It also boasts a theatre, thermal baths, and one of the best panoramic views over London."
She spoke these words in a monotonous tone, as if reciting a script prepared for a potential client.
"Follow me," she instructed.
They entered a spacious room filled with large cauldrons and shelves stocked with all the essential ingredients and instruments for potion-making.
"All the requested ingredients are at your disposal," announced Allegra, ticking off a line on her lengthy parchment list with a definitive stroke. "If you need anything, an elf will be at your disposal. He will assist you or contact me directly."
"Thank you, Miss McGrath. Is Mrs Malfoy around?" inquired Burke, hopefully. "I'd like to speak with her."
This man is so eager, thought Ginny, shaking her head. Burke was still looking for an opportunity to ingratiate himself with Narcissa Malfoy. The chance to work closely with the Malfoys presented a golden opportunity for both his shop and his career. It was clear that Burke would try to capitalise on it in every possible way.
It wasn't an everyday occurrence to deal with such influential individuals. Even though high-ranking Purebloods like Burke already had an excellent status in society, they aimed to climb the social ladder and reach the higher echelons, even if it was only by association. Allegra turned to Burke, giving him a sidelong look—as if he had asked a foolish question.
"You won't find Mrs Malfoy here. She has more important matters to attend to. Her son occasionally comes by to oversee the progress of the construction, however. But please, direct any queries to me, if you need anything," she said authoritatively.
"Of course," Burke hurriedly replied, a forced smile appearing on his pinched face.
Ginny didn't miss the disappointed expression on his face. Allegra finally left the room, leaving them alone in the makeshift potion lab. Burke turned to Ginny, irritation once again clouding his features.
"Get on with it," he urged impatiently. "And you best do things properly."
They spent the ensuing hours engrossed in potion preparation. With the help of an elf, Ginny was responsible for organising, cutting, kneading, pitting, and mincing the various ingredients to place them on Burke's workbench. This allowed him to optimise the time spent in preparing the potions in such large quantities. Normally, for ordinary customers, an order like this would have taken a week to complete. For the Malfoys, however, the job would be completed in a mere three days.
"Exactly what do the Malfoys do, Mr. Burke?" Ginny asked, making an effort to sound polite.
Burke glanced up at Ginny, a dahlia petal poised between his bony fingers, ready to be dropped into the brew.
"Clearly, you're woefully ignorant, poor girl," he sneered.
Ginny clenched her teeth at his insult but resolutely stayed silent. She knew she needed to maintain her politeness if she was to glean any information. If there was one thing Caractacus Burke relished more than demeaning Ginny, it was parading his intellect and refinement before an entranced audience. He believed himself to be among the most intelligent and sophisticated men in the country. This likely accounted for his eager pursuit of the Malfoys' attention.
"The Malfoys are one of the original sacred families," he explained in a haughty tone, waving his wand gracefully over one of the cauldrons after placing the petal inside.
"Original?" Ginny echoed, confused. "You mean some are not?"
"Following the death of our saviour Lord Voldemort, thirteen families of unparalleled blood purity were appointed to enhance the grandeur of our empire. Since then, some have maintained their status amongst the Sacred Thirteen. That includes the Malfoys, the Notts, the Macmillans, and the Blacks. Over the decades, some families have died out. For others, it was decided their lineage did not meet the expectations of a sacred family, so others have taken their place," Burke elaborated formally. "Of course, the mantle of a sacred family comes with weighty responsibilities. These dynasties uphold our traditions, while ensuring societal balance, protection, and prosperity. It's only fair that the expectations are high, and a certain standard is to be maintained."
As Burke added mandrake seeds to the cauldron, turquoise-green smoke billowed out, filling the room with a saltwater scent.
"The Malfoys have contributed to the greatness of our country through the centuries, and that's why the United Kingdom is today the best nation amongst the purified empires worldwide."
Ginny knew that other countries had similar regimes where blood purity reigned. She still remembered the Purity History lessons at Nereid. Countries like Austria, Brazil, Nigeria, the Danish Empire, and purified France were examples. Fleur, her sister-in-law, was from the latter.
Although travel abroad was restricted, the government sometimes permitted a controlled influx of immigration from these allied nations to expand the pool of Pure-Bloods and diversify unions. During one of these integration waves, Fleur Delacour had arrived in England for her final year at Hogwarts, thanks to a student exchange programme.
However, Fleur fell in love with Bill, and years later, her marriage to a blood traitor was not well received by her new acquaintances. Fleur explained that purified France had more lenient rules and wasn't as restrictive and extreme as the UK. The status of blood traitor, for instance, did not exist in France. That's why her marriage to Bill had scarcely raised eyebrows within her French family. By their view, Bill Weasley was a Pureblood. Fleur was a striking woman, instantly capturing attention in her early British social endeavours. The news of her union with a wizard of Bill's status had shocked many. Over time, these people drifted away from Fleur, reluctant to be linked with her.
"The Malfoys rank as the second wealthiest family in the United Kingdom," Burke explained with admiration. "They also hold a majority stake in Gringotts."
According to Burke, the Malfoy wealth was particularly concentrated in financial services. They owned multiple consultancy, brokerage, and insurance firms. They headed one of the largest corporations in the territory, known as Malforescent Machinations, estimated to be worth several billion galleons.
Burke lavished lengthy minutes singing the praises of Narcissa Malfoy's business acumen. Watching the stars in Burke's eyes as he talked about her, Ginny could almost believe he was in love with the woman. The apothecary further explained that their family was rather small. It consisted of the current Governor, Lucius Malfoy, his wife Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, and their only son, Draco. Lucius' father was still alive but had retired and left the full control of the operations to his son. Unlike other families, it was common for the Malfoys to have only a single heir. Inevitably, for the last ten generations, the heir had turned out to be male.
Ginny listened, astonished, to Burke's elaborate explanations. She had quickly realised that the Malfoys were powerful individuals but had never imagined the extent of their influence. In her few weeks at Burke's Bountiful Brews, Ginny had gained a staggering insight into the workings of the regime. Her previous lowly jobs had only allowed her to associate with wizards of lower ranks. In these humbler, less educated circles, such knowledge was scant or even non-existent.
Unlike Hermione, who was eager to educate herself on all imaginable subjects, Ginny had never sought to educate herself on these issues. After all, why would someone of her station bother delving into these complex issues? To Ginny, these people operated in a hidden and exclusive world that represented a threat to someone of her standing.
After spending long hours in the basement of the Imperial Augurey, tirelessly concocting the Sleep-Defying Elixir, Burke finally announced they were done for the day. The initial steps were completed, and the potions would need to rest at room temperature for thirty-seven hours before the preparation could be resumed. It was late; Burke had kept her for extra hours due to Ruth's absence, leaving her exhausted. Still, the extra hours meant more money in her pocket.
Securing the final lid onto a cauldron, Burke intoned sternly, ''Don't be late the day after tomorrow; we've much left to accomplish.''
When Ginny got back to her flat, she found Hermione clumsily pottering about the stove, trying to whip up some sort of meal. She seemed more lost than anything else. Ginny chuckled at her friend's overwhelmed look. Hermione was brilliant at many things, but cooking wasn't one of them. A look of relief washed over her face as Ginny offered to take the reins in the kitchen.
The next day, during her day off, Ginny met up with Neville Longbottom, one of her closest friends. They had formed their friendship at Nereid during their school years. Neville was a reserved and somewhat insecure young man, with a deep-rooted passion for botany—his true calling. He appeared to be forever jinxed. When Ginny arrived, Neville presented his bandaged hand with a sheepish grin.
"I've sprained my wrist, yet again," he announced, his voice tinged with embarrassment.
"What are you like, Nev?" Ginny asked, her tone a blend of teasing and affection.
As they walked along Diagon Alley, Ginny filled him in on her recent ups and downs at the apothecary and her meeting with members of a sacred family. Neville was gobsmacked as she described her visit to a Governor's manor. His face settled into its all-too-familiar look of fear.
"Gran's always said that people like us should steer clear of the Sacred Thirteen," he murmured, a shiver running through him, his brown eyes a flickering mix of unease and sorrow.
"People like us" referred to Ginny's status as a blood traitor, a status Neville shared. He had been raised by his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, a particularly unyielding old lady who had instilled deep anxieties in her grandson. She never let up on criticising Neville's clumsy ways and his overly gentle, impressionable nature. Mrs. Longbottom incessantly compared him to his parents, known Dissidents against the regime, who had been executed when Neville was just a toddler.
Arriving at a public fireplace station, they headed for the hearth farthest from the entrance. Ginny handed four knuts to the porter.
"The dragon enjoys extreme sports," Ginny whispered softly, making sure they weren't overheard.
The porter nodded, instantly understanding her coded language. He slipped the knuts into his pocket and handed back two coins.
At first glance, they looked like ordinary coins. Closer inspection revealed they were neither Galleons, Sickles, nor Knuts.
"Here's your change," said the porter clearly.
Ginny stepped into the fireplace's hearth and sprinkled a small amount of Floo Powder at her feet.
"Diagon Valley!" she announced, vanishing into harmless green flames.
Ginny landed on a poorly maintained vacant lot, with gaping holes stretching across several meters of ground. A few seconds later, Neville appeared beside her, nearly slipping into one of the craters. Ginny caught him just in time, preventing a dangerous fall. Neville gave her a look filled with gratitude.
The fake Galleon system was ingenious. It was actually a temporary Portkey, usable for a single round-trip to a specific destination. It activated only when one pronounced the name of the associated destination. The public fireplace served merely as a smokescreen. They had to employ this stratagem, set up by the organisers of the event they were going to attend, to avoid arousing suspicion.
Under the regime, travel and transportation were kept on a tight leash. Most of the country's land was subject to an Anti-Apparition spell, enforced by the Department of Magical Transportation. Lower-ranking wizards were not permitted to obtain a license, and most had never learned to Apparate—except for those coming from regions recently invaded by the purified empire. Even standard Portkeys were under tight regulation by the Ministry of Magic. The general population typically used the Floo Network for transportation, or broomsticks for shorter journeys.
"Let's go!" exclaimed Ginny excitedly as she made her way across the barren land, taking care not to stumble into one of the massive craters.
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the counterfeit Galleon into the air, where it was swallowed whole by the field and vanished. Ginny then took a step forward, walking through a thick, damp substance that sent a shiver down her spine. The barren land had vanished, replaced by imposing pillars stretching several metres high, forming greyish towers. They were constructed from makeshift materials, primarily scrap metal. The construction seemed unstable, swaying occasionally to one side or the other, causing a noisy creak. The pillars were connected by rusty metal structures, upon which hundreds of stands rose across multiple levels, forming an improvised stadium. Unlike a Quidditch pitch, usually oval-shaped, the field here consisted of winding lines, resembling a track.
The stands were already teeming, the crowd's roars reverberating from every direction. She enthusiastically grabbed Neville's good arm and led him toward one of the towers where a sign reading 'Ticket Sales' levitated in the sky.
"Two standard seats," Ginny cheerily requested as they reached a dilapidated hut serving as an impromptu ticket office.
A witch slapped two tickets onto the counter, nonchalantly chewing her gum. A dragon tattoo adorned her bald head.
"That'll be ten Galleons and four Knuts," she said, absentmindedly stroking a hunchbacked salamander caged on the table.
Ginny pitched in her half, and Neville took care of the rest.
"Enjoy the race," the saleswoman muttered, more interested in her salamander than them.
Ginny grabbed the tickets and handed one to Neville.
"Feels like it's been years since we've done anything like this," she exclaimed, a thrill in her voice as they headed towards the field entrance.
Ginny offered the tickets to the bouncer, a gruff-looking half-giant who stepped aside to let them pass. They climbed the stairs of the tower indicated on their tickets and wove through the narrow rows of stands to find empty seats. Ginny leaned forward, resting her forearms on the railing, eyeing the stadium with excitement.
Deathtrack was an illegal sport consisting of a fast-paced, frenetic race against a multitude of obstacles. A band of daredevil competitors struggled through thirteen hellish laps, dodging traps sprung from the enchanted track designed to thwart and bewilder. It was an exceptionally brutal and violent sport. It was not uncommon for competitors to end up severely injured at the end of a race. Deathtrack was not sanctioned by the Ministry of Magic, and races were conducted in complete illegality. A vast network of underground betting had grown around the game. It was considered a lowbrow, disreputable discipline, unlike the noble sport of Quidditch. Attending the races could result in fines and even imprisonment for players and organisers alike.
The sound of a powerful voice suddenly rose into the air, emanating from speakers scattered around the stands. The voice boomed from the central podium where the match commentator—a black wizard with flowing dreadlocks and a canary-yellow robe—pointed his wand at his neck.
"Devotees of danger and disciples of daring, welcome to a new edition of Deathtrack. My friends, you want violence, you want brutality, you want mayhem! Well, it looks like you've Flooed to the right place!" he exclaimed in his husky, powerful voice.
Roars erupted from the excited crowd following his words.
"Today, right before your very eyes, an unrelenting battle will unfold. Our heroes are hotter than ever. And it's just as well, because we're giving them a reception to match," continued the commentator.
He paused, basking in the crowd's vocal excitement.
"Let me remind you of the one rule of our game," said the commentator. "Direct use of magic is forbidden and immediately disqualifying."
Players could only tap into the magic already worked into the course. Carrying a wand or using direct magic during the race was forbidden.
"Today, we're going to start things off a bit differently," said the commentator, with a devilish grin. "Our players will have to begin the race on foot."
Perplexed murmurs could be heard in the stands.
"They always have to go overboard," Neville commented.
Neville had only agreed to attend the Deathtrack races under Ginny's insistent persuasion. He didn't like the violence and brutality of the sport. Before the young woman could reply, the crowd suddenly grew louder. She saw a dozen players burst onto the course, emerging from one of the towers. They greeted the delirious crowd.
The players were true celebrities in the community. Most of them were of lower social standing, as only Purebloods are allowed to play Quidditch professionally. Among them, Ginny recognized Oliver Wood, her ex-boyfriend. She crossed her arms, lips pursed, then looked away, focusing her attention back on the commentator. Their last conversation had left her furious, and Ginny now knew that the friendship they had managed to keep after their breakup was now a thing of the past. She ignored Neville's sidelong glance.
"Before even starting the race, our players will have to fetch their brooms in the middle of the course," the commentator excitedly announced. "Of course, it won't be... easy for them."
He chuckled slyly, as though hatching a particularly devious plan.
"All players, to the starting line! Three, two, one... Off you go!" he shouted vehemently.
Instantly, the players began to run toward the stand where the brooms were stored. At the same moment, the door of a tower flew open, and creatures emerged from the hole. They bore a feline appearance, their shiny jet-black fur contrasting with intensely blue, bulbous eyes.
"Matagots," said Neville, grimacing beside Ginny.
They leapt ferociously after the competitors, showing their rugged-looking fangs. One of the slower players was quickly caught by two Matagots who pounced on him, tearing his clothes to shreds. His blood-curdling screams pierced through the crowd's uproar.
"Yet another ill-prepared contender who doesn't know the meaning of a sprint!" the commentator mocked, with a hearty laugh. "Just twelve seconds into the game. By Voldemort, how pathetic!"
His biting remarks were met with roars of laughter from the frenzied crowd.
"Cho 'The Arrow' is the first to reach her broom and soar away at full speed," the commentator announced. "She is closely followed by Oliver and Angelina, who also manage to get their brooms."
Cho, the young Asian firebrand with her raven-black ponytail streaked in cyan blue, seized the lead. Other players were still lagging on the ground, trying to avoid the Matagots as best they could. Ginny saw one player trip another, who fell flat on his face. Immediately, a group of Matagots lunged in his direction.
"A clever strategy from Katie. That'll teach her opponent to watch where he's going," added the commentator with a mocking snicker.
The remaining players finally reached the broom stand and took to the air, ready to begin the race.
"Well, it looks like our culling has been effective! We've lost a quarter of the players before they even reached their brooms. What do we say, folks?"
"RUBBISH!" the crowd yelled in unison. "RUBBISH!"
"Couldn't have said it better myself!" jeered the commentator. "Cho is still in first place, completing her first lap without any difficulty."
As the laps wore on, the obstacles grew increasingly perilous. They had to face flaming arrows, ferocious Harpies, and even a hallucinogenic mist. The latter forced two players to land, screaming and panicking, running in all directions as if attacked by invisible creatures. It was an effect of the mist, which produced hallucinations so vivid that they led to an intense state of anxiety. Victims of the mist found themselves ensnared in a nightmarish blur, unable to separate reality from their feverish delusions.
"Looks like these losers inhaled too much mist," commented the man. "Ever heard of holding your breath, you daft mugs?"
As they reached the ninth lap, a mere six players remained in contention. It was usually the professionals who managed to reach the highest rounds of the race. As usual, Cho 'The Arrow' Chang dominated the game while Oliver and Angelina fought for second place.
In the penultimate lap, Ginny saw a dozen giant birds position themselves on the course, forming a perfect line in the air. In synchronised motion, they flapped their enormous wings, creating a wind so powerful that the players seemed unable to move forward. One of them was even propelled against a tower and fell several metres, crashing to the ground with a dry thud. His broom lodged itself between two girders of the nearest tower.
"It looks like all our heroes are stuck for the moment!" the commentator mocked. "How will they get out of this one?"
Ginny furrowed her brow as she watched Cho abruptly reverse direction on her broom.
"What's she up to, then?" someone yelled from the stands, just a few miles away. "She's going to lose her lead!"
Indeed, by reversing her course, Cho had allowed the other players to pull ahead. They, however, struggled to make headway against the powerful gust created by the giant birds. Ginny watched in disbelief as Cho dashed toward the tower where the last eliminated player had fallen. She grabbed the handle of the broom that had lodged itself into the tower. Cho pulled sharply to dislodge it. Then, with a graceful and skilful move, she positioned it between her legs, thus finding herself sitting on two brooms at once. She then resumed her flight in the correct direction, and this time, propelled by the force of the two brooms, she seemed to advance with greater ease, less hindered by the wind generated by the giant birds.
"ABSOLUTE BRILLIANCE!" yelled the commentator, his voice barely rising above the crowd that had started to roar even louder. "Now that's strategic brilliance! At last, someone who isn't a total numpty!"
Cho easily overtook the other players, and soon she was charging toward the giant birds, breaking their perfect formation. The birds scattered, disappearing into the air. Cho forcefully dropped the second broom, which flew straight into two players, hitting them full on. One of them fell off his broom and executed a long tumble toward the massive rocks below. The other managed to keep his balance on the broom, but was considerably slowed down.
"She's absolutely brilliant," Ginny gushed, her eyes shining with admiration as she watched Cho surge ahead.
She relished watching Cho. Not only were her flying skills extraordinary, but she was also a clever strategist. The creativity she displayed each time never ceased to impress Ginny. Unsurprisingly, Cho won the race, followed at a distance by Oliver and then Angelina, as well as a final player whose name Ginny did not know. All the rest had either taken a fall or bowed out. The crowd erupted in enthusiastic cheers as Cho took a victory lap around the field, raising a victorious fist to the spectators, her long ponytail joyfully whipping around as she passed.
"Once again, our national star, Cho the Arrow, takes the race and stands out from the competition, giving us yet another display of her unparalleled talent," declared the commentator with delight.
Ginny and Neville joined the crowd in hearty applause, chanting 'Cho! Cho! Cho!' in unison.
After the match ended, Neville and Ginny decided to head to the Leaky Cauldron, a popular pub located on Diagon Alley. It was a popular haunt for Unbloodeds. Tom, the owner and a known blood traitor, had turned his pub into a highly profitable business. He was wealthy, which was uncommon for wizards of his standing. That also meant that Tom was the target of numerous intimidation attempts, notably by certain Death Eaters or competitors who didn't like to see a tavern owned by an inferior wizard prosper so much.
The spacious interior of the Leaky Cauldron was bustling with activity. Neville and Ginny still managed to find a narrow table under the stairs leading to the second floor, near the toilets. On the pub's stage, a banshee was belting out an upbeat tune, to the admiring glances of some male patrons.
While chatting with Neville, Ginny caught sight of Oliver Wood out of the corner of her eye. He was leaning against a pillar not far from the bar, surrounded by a gaggle of groupies trying to get his autograph. Ginny's expression soured. Neville followed her gaze and grinned upon seeing who had caught her attention. As if sensing eyes on him, Oliver suddenly turned in their direction. Their eyes locked for a moment, before Ginny swiftly averted her gaze, muttering a curse under her breath. Moments later, Oliver approached them, holding two pints of alcoholic Butterbeer.
"Hey, Nev," he greeted, focusing on Neville. "Hey, Gin."
In response, he received a particularly hostile glare from the young woman.
"I'm off for another drink," Neville said abruptly, picking up on Oliver's not-so-subtle hints.
Seizing his brimming Butterbeer, Neville hurriedly walked away. Ginny rolled her eyes. Oliver took his seat on the stool and placed one of the pints in front of Ginny.
"Your favourite. With a slice of lemon, just the way you like it," he added, his face lit up with a captivating smile.
Oliver was easy on the eyes—and fully aware of it. His local celebrity status also attracted a slew of groupies, and he wasn't one to turn them away. Ginny pushed the pint back towards him and shot him a scathing look.
"I want nothing from you," she said, her voice icy.
"Come on, Ginny. Are you going to hold a grudge forever? I was just being honest, isn't that what you wanted?" Oliver said, visibly frustrated by her hostility.
Ginny shot him a stunned look, floored by his sheer audacity. They'd had a turbulent on-and-off relationship for four years. She had lost count of the number of times they'd broken up only to get back together again. Finally, tired of their tumultuous relationship, Oliver's groupies, and his lack of commitment, Ginny had decided to end things the previous year. Despite this, they had remained friends and even saw each other frequently. Occasionally, these encounters ended up in either of their beds.
Two weeks earlier, they had met up for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron. After they'd had a bit too much to drink, Ginny had dared Oliver to spill the beans about any relationship slip-ups. He had then dropped the bombshell: he'd cheated on her multiple times with Katie Bell, another Deathtrack racer. Oliver had probably thought she'd appreciate his honesty. However, on hearing this, Ginny had gone apoplectic, and it took two other punters to keep her from tearing him limb from limb.
"Listen, Ginny... You know I still love you. I want us to get back together and start anew. That's why I told you the truth the other day. So that we could start off on the right foot, you and me. I know I've made mistakes but—"
"Mistakes?" Ginny laughed scornfully. "A mistake is mixing up earthworms and caterpillars in a Shrinking Potion, not this. When your wand finds its way between another woman's legs, multiple times, that's no longer a mistake, Oliver."
"Darling..." he started, obviously trying to sweet-talk her.
"Shut it," she snapped, her anger rising another notch at his attempts to placate her. "I don't ever want to hear from you again. Erase me from your memory, got it? Try contacting me again, and you'll have my brother to answer to."
The threat seemed to have its desired effect. Oliver was particularly wary of Bill, who had never made his life easy during their relationship.
"He doesn't know what you did yet, and if you want it to stay that way, you'd best leave me alone, Wood," she added before walking away, throwing him one last look full of disdain.
It was a seething Ginny who rejoined Neville at the bar. He was staring at the banshee, mouth agape and eyes dreamy. Banshees had a particular power over men. When they sang, they caused excessive reactions in males, who seemed ready to do anything to please and impress them. Unlike Veelas, however, they were physically repugnant, and it was only their voice that enabled them to enchant their prey.
"That bloke is a right arsehole," Ginny complained, flabbergasted, her cheeks flushed with irritation. "I can't believe I dated him for all these years. What a waste of time."
"He's a decent guy, if you overlook the fact that he can't keep his wand in his trousers," Neville remarked with a sigh.
Ginny conceded with a nod; Neville had a point. Oliver was funny and incredibly cute. She had never been bored with him during their years together. Dating an older, more experienced guy had been incredibly thrilling, especially when she was seventeen. But she no longer had the energy or patience for his immaturity.
"I've no more breath to waste on that utter pillock," Ginny declared, downing her glass in a single swig.
She spent a pleasant evening with Neville as they reminisced about particularly amusing moments from their school years. As the hours passed, as usual, the atmosphere in the Leaky Cauldron grew rowdier. Ginny spotted Seamus Finnigan, a chap who had also attended Nereid with them, climbing onto a table. He looked completely sloshed and almost tripped, to the amusement of his group of mates.
"Here he goes again," Ginny remarked.
In a horribly off-key voice, Seamus started belting out a bawdy song mocking the regime, quickly joined by other inebriated patrons. Ginny and Neville exchanged uncertain glances. Speaking so candidly in public was a perilous game. Even though the pub was filled exclusively with Unbloodeds who didn't hold the regime in high regard, you never truly knew who was listening. Openly professing dissent in public was never a good idea.
At the end of his song, Seamus received some applause, which seemed to embolden him. He downed his drink in one go and slammed the glass on the table, letting out a loud belch. He jumped to his feet and began performing a traditional Irish dance, his shoes clacking on the table's worn wood. He was so drunk that his attempts looked like a clumsy escape from invisible, winged threats. Suddenly, in a booming voice, Seamus exclaimed:
"You know what I'd do to your 'purity'?" he jeered. "I'd offer her my big, impure python! That'll shut up 'purity', I guarantee you!"
Lewd laughter erupted in the pub.
"Purity be deep! The Python will conquer!" he announced, raising his fist in the air. "Mark my words, when I'm done with her, purity will be begg—"
His rant was cut short as two men rose from a nearby table. With stern faces, they approached Seamus and yanked him violently off the table. He fell face-first to the ground, groaning in pain. One of the men unceremoniously grabbed him by the collar of his jumper and began dragging him out of the pub, under the fearful gazes of the other patrons.
A deathly silence had fallen over the Leaky Cauldron. Then, as the men disappeared from the pub, taking Seamus with them, conversations resumed as if nothing had happened. Ginny saw Seamus's mates exchange uncertain glances. Moments later, they left in a hurry, probably fearing the return of the two Death Eaters.
"Undercover Death Eaters, those were," muttered an old-timer near Ginny. "They've been hanging around here more and more lately. That fool's in for a rough time, but I've no sympathy for him. How can anyone be so stupid? The youth of today, honestly..."
Death Eaters always wore masks to conceal their true identities. Sometimes, they'd use Polyjuice Potion or other methods to alter their appearance and covertly mingle with the populace, investigating offences related to blood purity.
When Ginny and Neville left the pub an hour later, they took the sinuous alleyway leading to Knockturn Quarter's main stretch. Along the way, they encountered Seamus Finnigan's group of friends. They were huddled in a shadowy alcove, whispering anxiously. As they approached, Ginny made out a slumped figure on the ground, uttering guttural sounds, clearly in agonising pain. She recognised Seamus, who was sprawled on the grimy cobblestones. His face was hideously swollen and marred with streaks of fresh blood.
"Oh no..." groaned Neville in horror. "What happened?"
"Gave him a proper thrashing, they did," explained a young man in a gravelly voice. "And they've cut his tongue out."
As Ginny slid into her bed an hour later, she couldn't shake the image of Seamus's bloodied face from her mind. His flippant remarks had come at a steep price. Mentioning Voldemort and the regime in an insulting or disrespectful manner was forbidden. Blasphemy carried severe penalties. The Death Eaters had seen to it that Seamus wouldn't blaspheme again anytime soon.
That night, Ginny dreamt of Oliver Wood, insistent on rekindling their old flame. But as he leaned in to kiss her, Ginny realised he no longer had a tongue. Where his mouth should have been was only a gaping, bloody hole. She jolted awake, shuddering in revulsion at the memory of the bizarre dream. The young woman glanced at the clock and swore as she realised she'd be late if she didn't start getting ready for the day.
First stop was Burke's shop, then on to the Imperial Augurey for the final touches on the Sleep-Defying Elixir. The hotel's grand opening was tomorrow, and the potions had to be ready by the day's end. When she walked into the grand lobby of the hotel, Ginny was surprised to see how much had been done on her day off. Everything seemed to be finalised this time. Once again, she was blown away by the beauty of the place. As they walked past the banquet hall, where the grand opening party was to take place, she noticed they had started decorating the room.
Suddenly, Ginny's gaze fell on Draco Malfoy, who was deeply engaged in conversation with his mother's assistant. Her grin vanished instantly. Bloody hell, she thought in frustration, quickly averting her eyes. She hadn't expected to see him again. Ginny's mind flashed back to Allegra's words from two days ago: Draco was overseeing the event's preparations. She needed to stay on her best behaviour, she thought, resolving to ignore him for the rest of the day.
But that was without taking into account her usual bad luck. Apparently, Malfoy had insisted on taking a final tour of operations to make sure everything was in order for tomorrow. He therefore showed up in the makeshift potions laboratory at the end of the day, with Allegra McGrath trailing behind him. His piercing grey eyes immediately landed on Ginny, who pretended to focus on the cauldron in front of her.
Burke hurried to greet them and give a full update on the preparations. He took the opportunity to gush about the Malfoys' grandiose taste and the hotel's impressive renovations.
"Professional arse-kisser," Ginny thought in disgust.
Burke invited Draco to walk around the cauldrons to show off the progress of the potions, praising the premium quality of his work.
"Rest assured that your guests will be delighted to receive a gift of such rarity," the apothecary said smugly.
Draco sauntered over to a cauldron to peer inside, eyeing the greenish substance with palpable disdain. Suddenly, the potion bubbled up, and several droplets of the earthy liquid splashed out of the cauldron, landing on his white shirt, leaving an unsightly stain on the delicate fabric. Immediately, Burke rushed over to Malfoy, full of apologies, and handed him a pristine handkerchief. Draco snatched it with an annoyed gesture and began cleaning the stain, which only spread further across the garment. He pointed his wand at the shirt, whispering a near-silent incantation. The greenish liquid vanished instantly, yet a stubborn outline of the stain remained. Before she could stop herself, Ginny let out a mocking laugh. She hurriedly disguised it with a violent cough when the eyes in the room turned her way.
"Apologies, nagging cough," she offered, a flush creeping up her cheeks as she touched her chest.
Allegra McGrath and Burke seemed to believe her as they shifted their attention back to Draco. He, however, kept his piercing gaze fixed on Ginny. She saw his jaw tighten in irritation and she swallowed. She hastily looked away, pretending to be busy with her ingredients.
"Grindylow venom is capricious and hard to remove. Is there any knotgrass oil available somewhere?" Burke inquired, turning to Allegra, beads of sweat dotting his receding hairline. "Preferably undiluted."
"Perhaps in the kitchens," the assistant pointed out. "Can you show me what it looks like, exactly?"
Burke nodded and quickly followed Allegra out of the room. Ginny bit back a curse. She felt Malfoy's intense gaze but kept her eyes fixed on her bubbling cauldron, pretending not to notice. She heard the sound of footsteps slowly approaching her.
"Find something amusing, do you, Weasley?" Draco drawled.
Even if she couldn't see his facial expression, the tone of his voice said it all. He was seething.
"No, Sir," she assured without looking at him, striving to maintain a neutral tone.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he commanded in a sharp tone, clearly irritated by her indifference.
Reluctantly, Ginny looked up, meeting deep grey eyes. She did her best to maintain a stoic expression, even though everything inside her wanted to display the animosity she held for this man.
"Really, people of your kind truly have no manners," he commented, shooting her a disdainful glare.
Draco glanced at the ingredients on the worktop, then at the potion quietly simmering in the cauldron. He plucked up a sliced nut from the table.
"Be careful, adding another nut could spoil the brew," Ginny warned apprehensively, her eyes shifting between Draco's hand and the bubbling cauldron.
"Oh, really?" he queried, feigning interest. "I imagine that would get you into a lot of trouble, wouldn't it?"
The innocent tone in his voice would fool no one. Draco playfully tossed the nut in the air, catching it each time just before it could fall into the potion. Ginny's eyes followed his movements.
"May I get back to my work?" she asked in a controlled voice.
"By all means," he replied disdainfully.
To Ginny's astonishment, he tossed the nut into the potion, and a thick smoke immediately erupted. Before Ginny could react, the door swung open, and Burke and Allegra entered.
Draco wore a simultaneously contemptuous and satisfied smile as he returned to Burke, who quickly applied the knotgrass oil to the stain on his shirt. The garment returned to its pristine white colour within seconds.
"Tell me, Mr Burke," Draco began, sounding intrigued, "when will these potions be ready, exactly?"
"As a matter of fact, they should be ready now. We're ahead for tomorrow's event. As planned," Burke affirmed, swelling his chest with pride. "All that remains is to bottle them."
"Could you perform one last quality check before bottling them? To make sure everything is perfect," Draco said slyly, a smug smile on his thin lips.
"Of course, it was already planned," assured Burke, his lips tightening slightly as though insulted at the idea that someone might doubt the quality of his potions.
He approached the cauldrons one by one, performing the necessary tests, carefully checking the consistency, thickness, and colour of each brew. The last cauldron was the one in front of Ginny. Malfoy had also moved closer, eyeing Ginny with a malicious grin she wished she could slap off his face. He probably wanted a front-row seat to her humiliation in front of Burke. After completing his inspection, Burke exclaimed:
"Absolutely perfect, just like the others. This one even has a unique, deeper colour. I wonder if it's due to the air quality near the window," Burke commented with satisfaction, a pensive glint in his small, narrowed eyes.
"I think it's down to the last ingredient we added, Sir," Ginny chimed in, her voice tinged with excitement.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco Malfoy frown, clearly taken aback by Burke's reaction.
"As you've explained to me, Sir, adding the last nut improves the quality of the potion if you wait a few extra minutes before putting it in," Ginny said, locking eyes with Malfoy, grinning ear to ear.
Ginny had been right to gamble on Draco Malfoy's wickedness and his desire to sabotage her in front of his employer. By explicitly asking him not to do something, she suspected he'd do it just to cause her trouble. Burke gave Ginny an impressed look. He was probably amazed that she had retained one of his many teachings, usually shared between two biting critiques aimed at her.
"Well done," he said quickly before turning away to grab the empty vials.
Ginny widened her eyes. Burke was typically stingy with praise. It must have cost him a lot of pride to say those words. Ginny knew, however, that her success reflected well on him. If his employee did her job properly, it would be attributed to the Master Potioneer's skill.
Seeing Draco Malfoy still troubled, Ginny couldn't help but give him a smug smile in return. She knew she was playing with fire, but nothing had ever felt so gratifying. Ginny couldn't help but savour the sweet victory of outwitting him.
An hour later, they finished bottling all the potions, and a house elf made them disappear with a snap of his fingers, likely to a secure location. Despite her deep fatigue and backache from standing all day, Ginny was glad to put on her long cloak and head for the hotel exit. At last, she thought with a sigh of relief, she'd survived her days in enemy territory. All she wanted was to escape this hostile environment and never set foot in it again.
As she passed the entrance, Ginny caught sight of Draco Malfoy at the foot of the grand marble staircase. His gaze trailed her as she sidled behind Burke, heading for the exit. She noticed a particular gleam in his intense, piercing grey eyes.
Curiosity.
Oh, how I adore these two.
I hope you're fine with lengthy chapters, as they're only going to get longer from here. I also hope you're enjoying delving deeper into the unique aspects of this AU. As you can probably tell, it diverges quite a bit from canon. I understand that it's a lot of information to take in, but it's crucial for a full understanding of this newly-imagined world.
Creating a new wizarding sport has been very fun. I first introduced Deathtrack in my story "Dirty Homecoming Queen" and have been incorporating it ever since. I hope you find it as exciting as I do!
I'd love to hear your thoughts. In the next chapter, we'll be switching to Draco's point of view.