Hi there,

I originally wrote this story in French, my first language. I've received several requests for an English version, so here it is. Drinny stories are somewhat of a niche in the French HP fandom, and I like to consider myself the most prolific author in this particular category (a title I've awarded myself).
For now, this translation is primarily an experiment for me, and if you enjoy it, I will continue to invest time and effort into it.


A few important things to note:


• This AU gets very, very, VERY dark. Please keep that in mind; it's intentional. You have been warned.

• There will be a variety of character perspectives to give you a comprehensive view of the regime—covering its political, historical, and societal aspects. This story is not solely focused on romance. Information about this 'world' will be provided directly through the narrative.

• Prepare for an EPIC journey – this story is on track to reach nearly 1 million words upon completion.


Housekeeping tips:


• I'm not a professional translator, so there will be some hiccups along the way. I'm very open to feedback, so feel free to share any thoughts you have. It will help me improve. My writing style tends to be long-winded and heavy in French, which can sometimes be challenging to translate.

Please review! I cherish each of your thoughts, insights, and reactions. Whether you drop a quick note or a detailed analysis, know that your engagement is appreciated and provides motivation.

Concrit is both welcomed and encouraged. That being said, distinguishing between constructive feedback and personal tastes or opinions is essential. Concrit specifically addresses elements like character development, plot consistency, translation/writing accuracy, and the credibility of the world I've created. It delves into the 'how' and 'why' of the story. For example, a comment like "I don't like dark stories; this sucks" is a negative personal opinion, whereas feedback such as "The transitions between scenes are abrupt, adding more descriptive elements could enhance the flow" or "The translation of certain idioms seems off, adjusting them for cultural relevance could enhance understanding" is genuinely helpful and constructive.

• I always post a playlist and an aesthetic that fit the chapter's characters, places, and you can find the links on my profile.

Enjoy and please don't hesitate to leave a review!


I. Valour and Vigour

The resounding crack of shattered glass broke the silence that had settled in Burke's Bountiful Brews, a potion shop situated on Scarlet Promenade. A repugnant green substance splattered onto the floor, splashing the nearby counter and shelves.

A red-winged blackbird, conspicuously perched near the counter, cast a disdainful gaze at Ginny Weasley as she hurriedly waved her wand over the vials to repair them. The potion remained on the floor, seeping into the dark, old wooden floorboards and filling the air with a nauseating smell. Ginny wrinkled her nose.

There was probably a spell to get the spilled potions back into their vials, but she didn't know it. Besides, reselling a possibly tainted potion would not sit well with the shop owner. Potions were an exact science, and every so often a foreign particle was all it took to alter the intended effects.

"Hermione is never around when you need her," Ginny muttered, casting a desperate glance at the floor now marred by a boiling, earthy essence.

Though she wasn't exactly a potion expert, she knew better than to touch a boiling concoction. After a moment's hesitation, Ginny applied a deep-cleaning charm to the shop's aged wooden floor. This time, she would have no other choice but to admit her mistake to her employer. Once again, the cost of the potions would likely be docked from her next paycheck—if he didn't sack her outright, she thought, disheartened.

Ginny shot a wary look towards the hallway leading to the back of the shop. She half-expected the owner to suddenly burst in and find the mess she'd made. Luckily, he seemed oblivious to the disturbance, and she hurriedly cleaned the counter and shelves caught in the potion's trajectory.

"Thank Merlin," she murmured once she'd finished.

Immediately, she looked up, alarmed, realising her mistake. Fortunately, the shop was empty at this hour, and no one heard her words. Mentioning Merlin was considered blasphemy.

"I'm really pushing my luck today, aren't I?" she said, folding her arms.

She needed to break her bad habit of speaking aloud. Bill constantly reminded her, "One day you'll say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and it'll land you in hot water, Ginevra."

Bill, her elder brother, always used her full name when he wanted to sound stern. Although they were siblings, Ginny always saw Bill as a father figure. This was mainly due to their significant age difference. Furthermore, he was the only remaining family member, and circumstances had forced him to mature early.

Ginny had just put away the last pair of now-empty vials into their designated cupboard when the red-winged blackbird let out a loud squawk, signalling a new customer's arrival. Forcing her recent annoyance out of her mind, Ginny mustered a pleasant smile—her customer service face. A man walked in and headed straight for the counter, looking irritated.

"Valour and vigour," he greeted, more out of formality than anything else.

"Valour and virtue," Ginny replied politely.

"I have an order to collect," he said, eyes fixed on an ornate mirror slightly bigger than his hand.

Ginny had seen such devices before. It was a two-way mirror, a means of communication used by affluent wizards. Their steep price rendered them rare; most people stuck to owl post or the Floo Network.

"What's your name?" Ginny raised an eyebrow.

This time, he met her gaze with cold, piercing eyes. She took the opportunity to study him: impeccably groomed blond hair, a chiselled face with a pale hue, straight nose, and high cheekbones. His eyes were a striking steel grey. He was someone important, she concluded. A pureblood of high rank, without a doubt. He exuded the condescending air and sense of entitlement they usually carried. He looked at her as though she'd asked an exceedingly stupid question. Her annoyance flared up again; she was not in the mood for mistreatment.

"Where is Mr. Burke?" he asked, sidestepping her question.

"Mr. Burke is busy. I'm in charge of the shop in his absence," Ginny retorted, attempting a professional tone. "So, what's your name? Unless you don't want your order?"

Seemingly taken aback by her cheeky retort, a confused flash passed through his eyes. It disappeared quickly, replaced by a mask of cold indifference that might have intimidated her had she not been so annoyed.

"Malfoy," he finally replied.

Ginny nodded and knelt down to the lower counter, where advance orders were stored. She fumbled among the many packages until she located a small box with 'Malfoy' scribbled on it in Burke's illegible handwriting. The note underneath the name indicated that the order had been prepaid. She set the box on the counter and pulled out the order book to mark today's date. Malfoy watched her every move, his scrutinising gaze making her uncomfortable. She slid the book his way.

"Sign here," she prompted, deliberately ignoring him.

Malfoy signed with delicate, fine penmanship. Ginny noticed an imposing signet ring on his left little finger. Finally, Malfoy grabbed his parcel.

"May Voldemort accompany you," Ginny said, her smile stretched too wide to be genuine, almost saccharine.

He cast one last imperious look at her before turning on his heel and heading towards the exit without uttering a word. Ginny watched his gracefully billowing dark grey cloak as he walked away.

She waited until he left the shop before going around the counter and approaching the window. Through the glass, she saw two intimidating figures in long, hooded black wizard robes, their faces obscured by ornate silver masks. They seemed to be waiting for Malfoy, and they fell in step behind him as he left. A wave of unease washed over her. Who was this man, escorted by Death Eaters?

Footsteps emanated from the back of the shop, pulling the young woman out of her reverie. Caractacus Burke, the shop owner, burst into the room. With his hunched posture and shuffling steps, he looked around with a furrowed, hooked nose, as if he smelled something foul in the air. Ginny inwardly cursed. In vanishing the green liquid, she had forgotten about the unpleasant smell it had left behind. Burke seemed to possess an overly developed sense of smell, which appeared to be an essential quality in his line of work.

"What have you destroyed now, Weasley?" he asked wearily.

"It was an accident, Mr. Burke. Your bird started flapping about, and I got scared and accidentally dropped some Confusion Draughts," Ginny lied, adopting a not-so-convincing look of innocence.

"That's what I get for allowing people like you to work here. My good graces are rewarded like this," Burke snarled, heading towards the counter and signalling Ginny to vacate it.

'People like you' was a reference to lower-ranking wizards; in Ginny's case, blood traitors.

"Go and inventory the bezoars we've received, will you?" he instructed, looking irritated.

"A customer came in while you were in the back," Ginny informed him as she grabbed an apron from beneath the counter.

"Who was it?"

"A certain Malfoy. Is he someone important?" she inquired curiously.

Ginny wondered if her job was on the line. Burke would not be pleased to find out she had provided less than impeccable service to an important customer. He turned towards her, running one of his skeletal fingers across his balding scalp.

"Someone important?" he repeated, casting an outraged glance at her. "By Voldemort, you lot really know nothing."

Burke carefully placed the ledger back on his dedicated desk.

"The Malfoys are one of the sacred families of our country," he said formally, deep respect resonating in his voice.

"You mean— the Sacred Thirteen?" Ginny asked slowly, even though she already knew the answer to her question.

"Yes, you foolish girl. You should have called me straight away. I hope you did everything that was asked of you," he said, eyeing her cautiously.

"Yes, absolutely everything," Ginny nervously replied.

That sealed it—she was sure she'd be fired. For the rest of the day, Ginny kept a low profile. Burke didn't allow her to manage the counter, which suited her fine. She wanted to avoid finding herself in a situation similar to that morning's events.

At the end of her day, Ginny was relieved to put on her witch's robe, a light blue cotton cloak that had once belonged to Fleur, Bill's wife. After her first pregnancy, Fleur had lamented her inability to regain her former size. She had donated some of her clothes to Ginny. Fleur's wardrobe was much more sophisticated than Ginny's, who had been accustomed to wearing modest, second-hand clothes nearly all her life.

Looking sharper generally granted her better treatment. Clothing often reflected an individual's financial and social status, and by extension, their blood status, at least on a superficial level. It was probably this reason that led Burke to allow her to manage the counter and interact with customers.

Ginny walked onto Scarlet Promenade and took the first turn she found, leaving behind the impeccably polished cobblestones of the fancy avenue. The Promenade was mainly frequented by wizards of high status and housed the country's most expensive and sophisticated shops. Stretching nearly three miles, the establishments grew increasingly opulent and refined the farther you went. Burke's Bountiful Brews was located at the start of the avenue, at the intersection with a more modest shopping street, among the lesser-known shops of Scarlet Promenade. Ginny had never ventured further than the chemist's. She knew she wouldn't belong there anyway.

After a short walk, Ginny reached a public Floo station. She entered the building that housed a dozen massive fireplaces. On each, a serpent was displayed in the middle of a 'V', intricately carved from ebony wood. Ginny headed for the queue designated for lower-ranking wizards, which moved more slowly than the one for Purebloods. Only two of the ten fireplaces were reserved for their use. When her turn came, Ginny gave the attendant two knuts and stepped into a rather dilapidated fireplace. From a container on the mantle, she grabbed a handful of Floo powder and clearly shouted:

"Diagon Alley!"

Powerful green flames burst before her eyes, and she found herself propelled into an uncomfortable whirlwind that lasted several long seconds. Upon reaching her destination, Ginny left the hearth and stepped onto Diagon Alley. As usual, the shopping street was swarming with people. The avenue was the busiest in town and gathered the highest concentration of shops and establishments in the country. Unlike Scarlet Promenade, all social strata mingled on Diagon Alley. However, as always, social status dictated one's standing. The owners were usually First or Second rank Purebloods, while the lowly chores were relegated to Half-bloods and Blood traitors.

A deafening noise suddenly reached her ears, startling her. The crowd surrounding her seemed to move in the opposite direction, and Ginny was forced to go with the flow, fearing she'd fall and get trampled by the agitated crowd. She understood the reason for the commotion when she looked up. In the clouds, a thick mist could now be seen contorting into the shape of a skull.

The Dark Mark.

This sign could mean only one thing.

"Oh no, not this," she murmured, feeling a deep unease creep down her spine.

The crowd's movement had ceased, and Ginny looked at the gigantic statue erected in the middle of the shopping street, representing a man whose very name sent chills down her spine.

Lord Voldemort.

The statue's arms moved, forming a 'T'. Near the statue, Ginny spotted a hooded man. Instead of the usual silver mask worn by Death Eaters, his was blood-red. He placed his wand to his throat, magically amplifying his voice. The crowd, consisting of several hundred people, fell into a morbid silence.

"Once again, my fellow wizards, we triumph over the impurity that threatens our streets," the Executioner announced in a solemn voice. "This evil that seeks to annihilate our noble and ancient wizarding families."

He waved his hand, and Ginny saw two other Death Eaters approach the statue, dragging behind them two individuals with the help of a spell. Ginny craned her neck. It was a man and a woman—both seemingly very young. Barely in their twenties, Ginny guessed at a glance.

"It is our duty to keep our bloodlines pure and intact. And to do so, we must neutralize the scum that infests our streets," the Executioner continued. "By what means, my brethren?"

"By fire!" someone shouted from the crowd.

"Exactly. Fire," repeated the Executioner, his eyes wild, glaring at the two prisoners with deep-seated hatred.

The two Death Eaters placed the captives on each arm of the statue. Their hands were bound by magical vines. The young woman was sobbing incessantly. The man, however, seemed barely conscious and hardly moved. Ginny noticed deep bruises on his face and fresh blood oozing from his cavernous wounds. He had likely been beaten before being paraded in front of the crowd. It was common for those sentenced to death to be violently lynched in public before receiving the capital punishment.

"Mercy, mercy," cried the woman, despair audible in her voice.

Her face was streaming with reddish tears, as if mingled with the blood flowing from her temple.

"Mercy?" repeated the Executioner, bursting into malicious laughter. "We will show no mercy to Mudbloods."

He spat in her face, glaring at the captive with manifest contempt. Sounds of approval from the crowd followed his words. The Executioner raised his wand and drew a precise shape, whispering inaudible words. Immediately, a trail of flames emerged from his wand.

Ginny instantly recognised the colour of the fire. These were not ordinary flames. The Fiendfyre had taken the shape of two chimeras. When the Executioner brandished his wand towards the prisoners, the two fiery chimeras leapt at them, merciless. The captives writhed in agony as their skin peeled away in charred pieces, falling in tatters beneath the statue. Ginny closed her eyes, unable to watch the scene any longer. Still, she couldn't escape it— their harrowing screams continued to reach her ears. Finally, the wailing ceased, and when Ginny opened her eyes again, only a pile of ash mixed with human limbs remained in the circle beneath the statue, which then resumed its original form.

"Pure be the blood," declared the Executioner solemnly, raising his wand.

"Voldemort Victorious! Voldemort Victorious! Voldemort Victorious!" voices chorused from the crowd.

Slowly, Ginny sensed movement in the crowd and hurriedly backed away. At the first opening she found— she broke into a run, heading towards the path that led to Knockturn Quarter. Her stomach was in knots. Ginny glanced up to see a snake emerging from the skull's mouth.

It wasn't the first time she had witnessed such a scene, but unlike most of her peers, she had never grown accustomed to the horror. Probably because they stirred up dark memories— buried deep within her mind.

Finally, Ginny stood before a modest, rickety three-storey building. She quickly ascended the stairs, which grew narrower with every step, up to the third and final floor. She entered the flat— and once the door was securely shut, she allowed herself to breathe properly, releasing all the built-up pressure.

"Ginny?" a voice called out, snapping her out of her daze.

Ginny turned her head and met Hermione Granger's eyes, seated comfortably on the old sofa in their narrow living room. A massive tome was laid across her lap— half-open. She observed Ginny with a mix of concern and apprehension, probably having noticed her sudden paleness.

"Another execution," Ginny replied, a shiver running down her spine.

A puzzled expression formed on Hermione's face.

"That's the third one this week," she murmured. "I can't make head or tail of it."

Ginny nodded and walked towards the small open kitchen in the flat, placing her bag on an empty stool along the way. She waved her wand over the teapot to heat some water and removed her cloak.

Ginny considered herself a relatively brave young woman, fearless and sometimes too reckless in the face of danger, much to the dismay of those around her. However, witnessing public executions stirred something unexplainable within her. A deep-seated anxiety that crept inside her, paralysing her limbs. It was as if she lost all her courage and was taken back to that day, over sixteen years ago.

She had been barely six years old when a massive fire had devastated The Burrow, her childhood home. At that time, her family was living in a free zone in the United Kingdom, which was regularly threatened by attacks from Voldemort's empire. Only Bill and Ginny had been nearby at the time, near the ponds that bordered The Burrow. Masked, frightening men, whom she would later identify as Death Eaters, had attacked their home and the surrounding villages.

That was how her family had been separated sixteen years earlier. Since then, Ginny had not seen her parents or the rest of her brothers. The only memory she had of them was an old photo that Bill had managed to find among the flames. No bodies had been recovered after the fire, meaning they were still alive. Ginny's memories after the event were blurry, and she had never managed to get much information from her brother about it. Bill hated to talk about it.

The teapot's shrill whistle sounded loudly, and Ginny waved her wand to conjure cups of tea.

"How was your day?" Hermione asked, closing her book and placing it carefully on the bookshelf near the window."

She gathered her long, bushy hair into a bun that didn't hold its shape.

"I'm amazed Burke hasn't sacked me yet," Ginny admitted, rolling her eyes. "He spends his day calling me incompetent and criticising everything I do."

She leaned forward, imitating Burke's hunched posture, and screeched, "Honestly, people of your kind are utterly clueless. I'm doing you a favour by giving you a job, and this is how you thank me?"

Hermione burst out laughing at the impression.

"If it's any consolation, that's what he told me every day," Hermione revealed with an amused tone.

"Really?" Ginny exclaimed, her eyes widening in astonishment. "He keeps telling me that you, at least, knew how to work properly and were smarter than most of your peers."

"Don't worry about it. He said the same thing about his previous employee. Probably a tactic to put us down. Trust me, if you were doing a terrible job, he would've sacked you already."

"I can't stand him. But the pay is good, so," Ginny added, shrugging resignedly.

Burke paid her better than any of her previous employers had. It was tough for those of impure blood to find decent employment. They were always discriminated against in favour of Purebloods.

Hermione had helped Ginny secure her former position at the apothecary. Unlike her friend, who was something of a potion-making whizz, Ginny's knowledge was rather rudimentary. However, what she lacked in technical expertise, she more than compensated for with her knack for dealing with customers. Burke had smartly put Ginny on the till to chat directly with customers.

"By the way, we had some rather high-and-mighty customers this morning," Ginny informed her, her words dripping with sarcasm as she sipped her tea.

"Really?" Hermione asked, distractedly.

"Some Malbaddy or something. Supposed to be from a sacred family," Ginny added.

"Malfoy," Hermione corrected, her eyes widening slightly.

"Oh, right, that's it. A truly unpleasant bloke," Ginny added.

"That's odd. What was he doing at Burke's?"

"Picking up an order," Ginny sipped her tea. "And ruining an already miserable morning."

"Very strange," Hermione repeated, her eyebrows furrowing in thought. "I can't imagine someone from a sacred family personally picking up an order from Burke. That's typically something someone else would do for them."

"No idea," Ginny shrugged. "Anyway, he didn't seem to appreciate my service."

She said it mockingly, as if recalling an amusing scene.

"Ginny," Hermione immediately scolded her. "That man is not just anybody. You have to be cautious with these sorts of things. You never know who you might bump into. You don't realise the power these people have and what they could do to you."

"I know, Hermione. If I had known beforehand, I would've kept my mouth shut, believe me," Ginny assured her, grimacing.

Her thoughts drifted back to the execution she'd witnessed earlier, and her stomach turned.

"It's the first time I've met a sacred Pureblood," she noted.

"These aren't the kind of people you usually see shopping on Diagon Alley. At least not usually. They live in a different world," Hermione continued gravely. "They're not just ordinary Purebloods. They're above it all—even the law. They control everything."

Voldemort's regime, established for nearly two centuries, divided the population into six distinct castes. At the bottom of the ladder were the Muggle-Borns, commonly called Mudbloods and considered undesirable. They were viciously hunted by the Death Eaters, an elite unit formed to purify the populace.

Next came the Half-Bloods, treated with disdain and relegated to society's lowly tasks. They received basic magical education, and from a young age, it was drilled into them that their ultimate purpose was to cleanse their tainted lineage. Hermione was a Half-Blood who had spent most of her teenage years in free territory before it was invaded in yet another Death Eater attack. This explained why she was so educated compared to Half-Bloods born under the regime.

The status of Blood Traitors was slightly better than that of the Half-Bloods. They were still, however, considered a lower tier of the populace. Despite their pure blood, Blood Traitors were treated with suspicion and disdain due to their proximity to an enemy of Voldemort's empire. Dissidents were imprisoned or executed, and their close families were viewed with suspicion. These three groups formed the lower social strata of the regime – the Unbloodeds.

Purebloods included three groups. The lower tier was Second-rank Purebloods, composed of wizards who had been free from Muggle ancestry for at least seven generations. According to the regime, this was the number of generations needed to entirely dilute Muggle blood from a family tree. As for First-Rank Purebloods, their lineage was endowed with perfect and exemplary purity, and their family trees consisted only of wizarding ancestors.

At the top of the pyramid were the Sacred Thirteen, in place since the death of Lord Voldemort. They controlled the highest echelons of power and held total control over society. Ginny's knowledge of these thirteen dynasties was limited. She had never been interested in politics, and over the years, the mention of the Sacred Thirteen had seemed almost like a threat parents invoked to scare their children. These people seemed invisible and elusive to her, almost mythical.

She knew—by name—only two of these families. The Shacklebolts, one of whose members, Kingsley, was the current Minister of Magic. She also knew the Macmillans, the family who now employed Hermione. However, Ginny had never heard of the Malfoys until today.

"I really wonder which Malfoy it was," Hermione continued thoughtfully.

She headed for her bookshelf and pulled out a book. She opened the volume and rifled through it with vigour. A gleam animated her eyes, and she headed towards Ginny. The Compendium of Pure Bloodlines, could be read on the cover.

"Was it him?" Hermione asked, pointing her finger at an image.

Ginny took a quick look at the moving sketches on the page. A man in his forties appeared, his long, smooth blonde hair reaching past his shoulders. He looked at the viewer with deep disdain. 'Lucius Septimus Malfoy,' she read in the caption. Beside him, another drawing showed a blonde woman whose hair was styled in a large, sophisticated bun. Her face displayed the same self-satisfied expression as the man's. The two sketches were connected by a hyphen. Ginny carefully observed the caption: 'Narcissa Malfoy (née Black).

"No, it wasn't him, but he looked a lot like him—shorter hair and much younger," Ginny clarified. "He had more of that slap-able face, if you know what I mean."

Hermione emitted a slight laugh.

"It's probably his son. But there's no photo," she indicated. "This edition is a bit dated. They've probably published a newer version since. The Zabinis aren't even represented in it yet, and they joined the Sacred Thirteen seven years ago."

"How do you know all these things?" Ginny asked, giving her a puzzled look.

It was a stupid question on her part. Hermione was a bookworm of all sorts. She loved to educate herself on all possible subjects. Yet, this was frowned upon for someone of her status. So, she kept her extensive knowledge a secret.

"I keep myself informed, Ginny. Maybe you should try it sometime," Hermione said sarcastically.

In response, Ginny stuck her tongue out.

"What for, given that you're here, Miss Granger?" she asked innocently.

Hermione blushed slightly.

"Thanks for the lesson, anyway. What would I do without you?" Ginny inquired.

"No idea. But I wish this knowledge could help me talk some sense into you," Hermione said, desperately.

"You sound like Bill," Ginny commented with a mischievous laugh.

Hermione shot her a stern look, and Ginny had the good taste to wipe the sly grin off her lips.

"I promise, Hermione, you'll never see me hanging around those people again," Ginny assured her.

Only Merlin—or rather Voldemort—knew just how wrong she was.


Hope you enjoyed this introduction! Let me know your thoughts.