Total Eclipse of the Heart

Chapter 3

The flame on the torch shivered, but did not extinguish. Light danced with shadow on the stone walls and was reflected dimly into the center of the room where a cauldron boiled steadily over a small fire. On the workbench to the left of the cauldron various potion ingredients lay in meticulous order. The eyes of newt were piled up into a mini-pyramid, the beetle legs chopped finely into tiny rectangular pieces and the bats wings arranged in two rows of decreasing size. A bundle of freshly severed rat tails lay beside the bloody knife. They were next to be added into the broth.

The cauldron boiled quietly, multi-coloured bubbles breaching the surface and then popping, their resonance reminiscent of a fat man snoring on a forgotten divan. Somewhere in the distance a faucet dripped self-importantly and creatures scurried in the shadows, their small feet scratching rhythmically on the stone in a language that picked its translators carefully. The woman stirring the cauldron was unfazed by the ominous promises of harm that circled around her. She had long come to terms with the creatures whose habitat she had so decisively invaded. And in turn, they had felt her power and had kept their distance. It was a mutually beneficial relationship after all.

The loud, shrilling ding of the timer announced that it was time to stop stirring, and Ginny extracted the ladle from the broth, careful not to spill a single drop before she placed it on the worktable and consulted her watch. A few more minutes would need to pass before she could add the rest of the ingredients and then ten more minutes of stirring would allow her to test her latest invention. Underneath her makeshift workbench, the protesting squeak of her latest test subject diverted her attention. Grinning, Ginny crouched so that she could examine the perfect white ferret currently engaged in violently rattling the bars of his cage.

"I'll let you out of there soon enough," she muttered, and stuck a finger between two bars in an attempt to placate what was obviously a very frustrated animal.

The ferret, in all his pride glared at her through his small black-pearl eyes before chomping down on her finger with all his rodent might. Ginny laughed as she pulled her injured finger away. "I like you," she mussed, still grinning at the ferret. Not many of the animals she had used as her test subjects had dared oppose her whims, and she appreciated the animal's dislike of his situation. It showed character and spirit, two traits she had come to appreciate in all living beings, animal and human alike.

"Maybe after I'm done testing this potion on you I'll keep you. I could even give you a name, something like 'Vicious the Feisty Ferret'." The thought was amusing enough, though the animal certainly had no sense of humour as he continued onwards with his plight to escape his tiny cage. Ginny returned to her potion and her thoughts wandered as she continued adding the remaining ingredients. The process was mechanical by now, and her hands worked without the supervision of her brain. She had spent more than enough time with this particular potion recipe to worry about miscalculations.

It was her own makeshift broth, invented from a number of various recipes she had found in restricted books and she had been struggling to create a stable form of its antidote for the past month. The buyer that she had arranged the deal with in, Knockturn Alley, was expecting it next week, and Ginny, or rather her alias, did not have a reputation for late deliveries. Not to mention that her previous mistrials had strained her stock of materials and she was in desperate need for funds before she could restock. Ginny was in no mood to sell some of the rarer potions in her collection so she could afford further work on this recipe. It was now or never, and the idea of failure weighed annoyingly on her mind.

What should have been a simple invisibility potion had proved to be more complicated than she had previously anticipated. She had wanted to improve the potion's shelf life as well as time of operation and had thus tinkered with the base ingredients. The result had been a permanent invisibility potion with a shelf life of three months, far superior to any existing commercial models. However, to become visible again one had to ingest an antidote, and nothing Ginny had attempted to create was stable. Either it imploded upon skin contact, or only worked temporarily or not at all. Any way she looked at it, her attempts had been disastrous and she had spent many sleepless nights solving the intricate equations of base element combinations in order to correct the problems.

In the end, her trials had amounted to three permanently invisible ferrets that were running through the castle. Were she not worried about the delivery date and classes, Ginny perhaps would have bothered in finding a use for three invisible rodents. There were still those who had incurred her wrath in previous years and had yet to pay their dues. Her obstinate brother Ron was deserving of a scare given his recent behaviour towards her. Regardless, Ginny had learned long ago to live and let live when it came to her family and thus, her revenge on Ron could wait for a more appropriate time. It wasn't as if she was going to run out of chances soon. Every Weasley attended the mandatory Christmas dinner no matter where the winds of chance landed him. She had but to wait for the chance to enact her revenge. Ginny had become rather refined in the art of waiting.

An eerie grin twisted her lips as she checked the time again and started to add the remaining materials to the potion. Caught in the meticulous repetition of the task, Ginny's thoughts drifted again, transporting her away from her current physical time and place, onto the planes of memory where she relived her first encounters with betrayal and revenge. He had taught her about betrayal and also about revenge, had shown her the circularity of all actions: how betrayal lead to revenge and revenge in turn lead to more betrayal. It had been a riveting lesson, and she a most astute pupil, but it wasn't until he betrayed her that she understood the finer implications of his teachings.

It always hurts the most when those whom you suspect the least betray you or take revenge on you, he had told her though the cursive, vine-like script which had grown roots inside Ginny's heart and mind and later in her soul. She hadn't believed him, for back then, idealism still coursed through her blood. She loved him, and he loved her, and in their system of equations there was no room for betrayal. Young and in love, she had believed herself to be invincible, untouchable, protected by the words with which he had spelled her into obedience. But for once he hadn't been lying, and he had not shown any remorse in betraying their agreement and taking her life for his own. He had shown her how meaningless she was to him, how utterly inconsequential her existence. In his grand scheme she was but a peon, a stepping stone, expendable, and necessary only so far as it helped him complete the first step. Then she was to be discarded, thrown away like something vile and disgusting, never to be remembered and mentioned again.

But it hadn't worked that way. His plans had failed and she had been the one to go on, while he had been destroyed by a twelve year old boy with bright green eyes and more courage than a grown man. Sometimes Ginny wished that it had been she whom Harry had destroyed, because then she wouldn't have had to deal with it, the contrary feelings of hate and love, betrayal and revenge, understanding and confusion that welled up inside her. On her better days the contradictions were just a muted howl deep inside her heart; on the bad, they threatened to tear her apart with the paradox of their simultaneous existence.

Whenever she remembered to, Ginny hated herself for understanding his reasoning, his motives and for agreeing with them. She hated the knowledge that she could explain her own expendability on the basis of her emotions, that she could justify his behaviour given the fact that she had been his victim. She didn't want to be able to critique her own mistakes and her unhealthy credulity and dependency on his teachings. Other times, she did not understand how she could have loved such a monster, how she could have betrayed the expectations of her family and friends the way she had. But those moments of self-hate were rarer now, and the shame had faded away as she understood and agreed with his motives more and more.

Ginny suspected that it was a subconscious reaction to the fact that everyone else expected her to be ashamed and repentant. It was a rebellion against the norm which was good and pure and made no allowances for her brushes with evil. Everyone had expected her not to be affected by it, to just get up, wipe herself off and continue on with her sweet disposition. Nobody understood that blood stained, and not even years of pep-talks and therapy at the hands of her mother would bring back the girl that Tom had successfully erased out of existence.

Not that Ginny pitied her own destruction. On the contrary, she was grateful for it. Eleven might be considered by her mother too young to fall in love, but the past could seldom be changed. She had loved him and he had not loved her back. He had betrayed her and she had survived to tell of that betrayal. What she had become in the wake of those events was evident only to a well-trained eye, for she had struggled very hard to hide the changes to her character. Amidst her family's insistence that Nothing Had Happened and that she was Still Their Little Girl, Ginny had taken the time to reflect upon the reality of her encounter, draw her own conclusions and decide how she had changed because of it.

The world wanted her to be ashamed of her feelings and to hide the remnants of his effects on her through denial. Ginny had found out the hard way that she could feel no shame for having learned magic from him, or for having loved him. He was as much a part of her as her mother, father and brothers, and denying him would be like denying a part of her own soul. If she was not allowed to believe in her emotions or her magic, then what was she supposed to believe in? Tradition and society were nothing without personal conviction and cooperation. One had to believe in the social order in order to uphold it, and Ginny had found that her conviction as of late had faltered. She didn't care about the wishes of a world who trudged on with horse-blinders and who lied to its members and most importantly to itself. But tradition was hard to change, and it would take more than her lifetime to make a difference.

She had thus resigned against the fact, and had stopped struggling against her family's efforts of pretending that Nothing Had Happened and that she was Still Their Little Girl. They were living their own denial, that suited them just fine, and Ginny had stopped being angered by their hypocrisy. She had taken out her frustration by smoking the cigarettes her mother deemed crass and un-lady-like indoors. Her father had then invited her out on the patio in his calm and quiet voice that turned her dull resentment into anger. Nobody ever mentioned why Ginny had taken up such a disgusting habit. Her mother would tut and her father would glance at her disapprovingly, but they would never acknowledge the motives behind their daughter's rebellion. As long as she was Still Their Little Girl, Nothing Had Happened, and all was right with the world.

By the time she surfaced from her thoughts, the workbench was empty, all the materials having been added to the mixture, and Ginny was aware of the fact that she was scowling. It was the fault of her wandering thoughts, and as she stirred at a constant pace she reminded herself that this would be her final year at home, under the vigil of her parents. Then she would be free to follow on her true path and nobody would stop her. Excitement still coursed through her when she thought back to how easily she had convinced both her parents and Headmaster Dumbledore that she was fit to take the NEWTs a year early in order to apply as an apprentice for the Coven of the Healing Arts. None of them had protested and all had commended her on her sensibility to apply her talents so selflessly.

Their encouragement and eagerness did not fool her, however. Dumbledore and her parents both wanted a healer they could trust to patch up the Order's members in the upcoming war. The Coven of the Healing Arts was renowned for the power of its healers. She would be a trump card, an asset to the Side of Light in the War Against Darkness. Since her entire family were members of the Order, her loyalties were unquestioned. They all knew that they could rely on her in their time of need. It amused Ginny that they had never thought to ask her what she thought of Their Stupid War, or if she wanted to participate. But it didn't matter. She would extricate herself from the entire mess soon. A few more months in their company was all she had to bear before she could lose herself in the world forever.

A sly smirk adorned her features as her hands moved on their own. The trap was set, and not even a Slytherin could smell its machinations. She congratulated herself on a job well done as she reset the timer and begun stirring counter-clockwise at a constant pace. It was almost time for class, she noted when staring at her wristwatch and she had spent another night nearly fully awake. Tiredness eluded her, but seeing how she was going to completely miss breakfast because of the potion she considered taking an Energizing potion. Advanced Level Potions with Professor Snape was her first class of the day, and Ginny did not fancy losing house points for being an incompetent potions brewer, especially when the reality was far from it. As the only Sixth Year in the class she had to prove early on that she deserved her place, and so, extra care was required with her assignments.

As she allowed the finished mixture cool, Ginny browsed her potion shelves for the Energizing potion. She could feel the stiffness from half a night of brewing accumulated in her back muscles, and a yawn threatened to break her jaw in two. She hoped for all intents and purposes the antidote was successful and her night had not been wasted yet again for nothing. With the Energizing potion in her hand, Ginny surveyed her private sanctuary with a critical eye before leaving for her class. There would be plenty of time to clean up and test the potion that evening after dinner.

~~~~

It was too late for breakfast, and Ginny's stomach growled regretfully as she discreetly exited the second floor girl's bathroom and hurried along to the dungeons. The hallways were scattered with students heading to class, but Ginny paid them no mind, focused on creating a mental list of her day. Potions was followed by Transfiguration, which meant that Lunch was hours away. Impassive to the warm September sun filtering through the arched windows, Ginny berated herself for not nicking some day-old pastries from the kitchens the previous night. The Energizing potion would not help her hunger and she would be distracted throughout the better half of Transfiguration because of it. She sighed, making a mental note to do that for next time before hurrying down the dark hallway into the Slytherin dungeons.

The first thing she noticed, as she entered the classroom was that Snape had not yet emerged from his office, to which she allowed a silent release of the breath that she had been holding. The second was yelling.

"You take that back right now Malfoy! Or I'll make you sorry for ever having saying it!" Ron was screaming, red-faced, at an amused Draco Malfoy.

"It is only the truth, Weasley," Malfoy was saying, his voice cool and composed. "it isn't as though you make a secret of it. The only reason why your mother had the horde of you was because she was hoping that perhaps one of you would have the decency to realise the worth of money and support her in her old age. She had so many because each one of you boys proved from an early age to be a horrendous disappointment and a wastrel. She kept on hoping for brilliance but all she got stuck with was seven faulty Dungbombs. Frankly, I'm surprised she had the sense to stop when she did," he scoffed self-importantly.

From where she was standing, Ginny could see Ron sputter something absolutely incoherent, and then his face screwed up in rage. Malfoy's words had pushed him past the point of no return and not even Harry or Hermione dared interfere and save him from what would undoubtedly be a month's detention and house points lost. Malfoy had done it this time, Ginny grinned. Being Ron's sister, she was allowed to interfere without fear of having her head bitten off. She supposed she had better go save Ron before he did something stupid, and redeem that silly excuse of family honour in the meantime. After all, thirty pairs of eyes expected it, and an audience should never be left in disappointment.

"Really Malfoy, your theory is most interesting," she intervened just as Ron was about to hex the silly little smug off his immaculate face. For a moment both boys were confused, and Ginny took advantage of the temporary pause of flaming tempers to make her way up the aisle to the front of the classroom, where the daily scheduled fight between The Golden Trio and Draco Malfoy was taking place, for the delight of its audience. "Perhaps if my mother wanted brilliance, she would have raised a son such as yourself," she continued, stepping between the two boys, her eyes locking with Malfoy's.

"Ginny, what are you doing? Get out of my way and let me hex the lips off this smarmy git's face!" Ron whined behind her, but Ginny ignored him. This argument was the perfect way to put her plan in motion. Today was truly turning out to be a good day. She barely resisted the urge to rub her hands together in childish glee.

"She could never achieve such perfection, Weaselette," Malfoy spat, his upper lip quavering in utter disgust at her presence.

"If by perfection you mean a narcissistic, selfish, spoiled, drama-queen Death Eater wanna-be, then I'm sure my mother can not be faulted for her imperfections," she commented in the most nonchalant, off-handed voice she could muster.

The class released a collective 'ooh', and Ginny allowed herself a cursory perusal of the audience and of Malfoy. The class was hanging onto every word that was emerging from their mouths, while Malfoy appeared to be utterly flabbergasted. Could it be because she had finally uttered the words that nobody had dared say to him since his father's imprisonment? Or was it because she was breaching of the one taboo subjects at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Death Eaters? To Ginny, it was an equivalent form of denial as that practiced by her parents. Hypocrisy seemed to follow her everywhere.

"No, I'm sure she can not. After all, she had you," Malfoy stammered after a few seconds of silence. His hands were clenched at his sides, and he was livid with fury. Ginny wondered briefly if he would not resort to using his wand as his brother had been just about to.

"You leave my sister out of this!" Ron intervened pathetically from behind her back, but both Ginny and Malfoy ignored him. The last exchange had personalized the fight, and Malfoy's attention had been successfully diverted from Ron onto herself. Ginny congratulated herself for the smooth save.

"Shut up Weasley," Malfoy sneered, his withering gaze still locked with hers. "As I was about to explain, your mother's failure, both morally and materially gave birth to you, Weaselette, a demon spawned and raised in the crassest of poverty with absolutely no moral character and conviction. Why, I'm sure that for a warm meal and some pass-me-downs you would be anyone's half-hour of pleasure." The savage smirk that morphed his aristocratic features into those of a devil was wanton with the hunger for her imminent outburst. He was clever. Ginny had to admire the methodical way with which he stalked his prey. To someone like her brother, his blow would be an invitation to explode most savagely in an attempt to defend his honour. Malfoy had aimed low enough to make sure of that, but she saw right through him and refused to rise up to the challenge. She had had practice with poisoned words way before he came along to torment her. In the face of her past, this was an amateurish attempt to make her miserable and angry.

"Well, I guess I should aim to compensate my mother for all my shortcomings and offer her the perfect son then, don't you think? Oh, I believe it would make her ecstatic! It would be an early Christmas gift that would tickle her pink!" Ginny gushed, with the perfect intonation of an excited teenager.

In the seconds that it took for Malfoy's expression to change from predatory to awfully confused, Ginny's wand was in her hands and she had moved from blocking his view of Ron to standing at his side, her wand poking into the milky skin of his neck. "What do you say, Malfoy. My mother deserves a reward for all her hard... labour," she purred dangerously. "I think that you will do, absolutely nicely as her perfect son," and without further ado, the Morphing Glamour charm she had invented rolled from her lips and she watched with satisfaction as Draco's light blonde hair turned flaming red, his immaculate pale skin turned pink and became covered with freckles, and his stormy grey eyes turned a rich brown.

There was a shocked pause before the entire class burst into pearls of laughter, and Ginny glanced at her brother to see him stare in shock and Draco Malfoy's new do. Then he too broke into a wide grin and hooted approvingly at Ginny. Malfoy, meanwhile seemed to be still in shock.

"Way to go Ginny!" someone in the class shouted, and it vaguely sounded like Harry. She smiled, looking over her spell work with a pleased eye when the first round of applause from the Gryffindor side of the room erupted, and before she knew it she was getting a standing ovation. Ron, Hermione and Harry circled her and hugged her with bright faces, commending her on her wit, but Ginny barely heard their comments, nodded only in acknowledgement and planned her next move while surveying the classroom.

The Gryffindors were laughing and cheering, while the Slytherins looked mortified, though some were smirking back at her appreciatively, and Malfoy's new complexion betrayed his utter embarrassment and humiliation. Before she could sit down, however, Snape's voice bellowed out of nowhere, shocking the class back into silence.

"What, is the meaning of all of this!" he growled, with quick steps and billowing robes making his way to the front of his classroom. Ginny winced and Malfoy paled while everyone else scurried quickly to their seats. "Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Weasley? Do you have an explanation as to why you are wasting my precious class time feuding?"

"Sir, I was attacked unfairly by this...." Malfoy paused with a meaningful sneer. "girl, who then proceeded to hex me with bloody-knows what, all for the amusement of her Gryffindor colleagues. I am innocent, I assure you."

"He only got what he deserved," Ginny muttered under her breath, gaze firmly planted in the stone ground of the classroom.

Snape drew in an angry breath, and then exhaled loudly. Kind of like a dragon, or a very large and miffed serpent. When Ginny dared a glance at him, she could see the right corner of his mouth struggling to twitch up against its master's iron-like control of the muscle. He too seemed amused by her prank. "I heard very clearly the argument that trespassed in this classroom. Mr. Malfoy, you will refrain from making such comments ever again, or I assure you detention with Filch will be the last of your worries. Ms. Weasley, your future temper tantrums will be dealt with peacefully, without unnecessary hexing. As for the rest of you, you should be studying if you wish to pass your NEWTs, not encouraging this kind of inappropriate behaviour!" he snarled, and having finished his monologue turned to the blackboard, where a list of potions ingredients began to write itself in earnest. Ginny and Malfoy quickly scurried to take their seats, thankful to escape his wrath so easily.

It wasn't long after she had taken out her quill and parchment and was copying down the ingredients and instructions that Malfoy's voice was heard again. "Professor," he interrupted the deadly silence that had settled over the class in a most stoic voice.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"You didn't make her end the spell," he pointed out most politely.

This time, Snape allowed himself a most serpent-like grin, and Ginny fought hard to stifle her laughter. "Why, your new look suits you just fine Mr. Malfoy. It isn't up to me to dictate how you change your appearance as long as you are still in uniform."

"But, Professor!" Malfoy exclaimed, cheeks red from rage and embarrassment.

"Don't you 'but Professor' me, Mr. Malfoy. It is not my place to interfere in your argument with Ms. Weasley. You can take it up with her, in person, at break to remove the spell from your person. Now one more peep out of you and you will be brewing this potion with the assistance of Ms. Weasley. I am certain you do not wish to leave Mr. Zabini working all on his own," Snape replied with a sneer, and resumed his angry pacing through the rows of desks.

Ginny watched as Malfoy's face turned three shades of red before it resumed its usual air of indifference. With an affronted scoff he returned to his parchment, and Ginny diverted her attention to hers. Soon, she would be in possession of the first half of her plan. Malfoy's vanity assured her of it.