AU. Voldemort Wins.
The British magical community is deeply shaped by Lord Voldemort's blood purity obsession. Thirteen families now rule, maintaining a conservative, caste-divided society. Ginny Weasley's life is upended when she crosses paths with...
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.
