Nausea
Tom's eyes had not left Ginny for the entirety of Wednesday and Thursday. Of course, she hadn't noticed much until Hannah had whispered his arrival one day in the Slytherin common room. Ginny had turned to look, immediately seeing those pools of darkness staring in her direction. (Oh dear; how her mind liked to romanticize those things.) Riddle had faltered upon meeting her gaze, in a way that was less sophisticated than he'd have managed had he been thinking straight.
He was ill, obviously. Someone had hexed him or put a potion in his drink. Nothing else could possibly describe all the symptoms he beheld correctly. Sudden nausea, anxiety, flustered cheeks – all things he had never experienced before in his life. Tom had a heart harder than rock and stone, and yet he seemed to be coming down with the most dangerous disease in the world: love. Only he thought he was ill or coming down with an unusual flu, because dark-hearted Tom had never even considered the concept of bashful glances and soft kisses in pouring rain.
Inwardly shaking his head, Tom discarded all thought of illness and poisoned pumpkin juice, and brought his eyes away from Ginny's. Besides, he had an important meeting in the dorms with a number of his housemates. A visit to the hospital wing could wait for later.
For the past few weeks, Tom had begun thinking about plans for the future. It was only a matter of months until the end of his school years... forever. With proper thought, Tom had decided it would be simply marvellous to become a more active member of the Ministry for Magic. What, with his research on Horcruxes, Tom supposed he could be the longest Minister ever lived! It would be revolutionary!
And, he added as a side thought, those ridiculous muggles that taunted me will see who's laughing now.
After his conclusions, Tom had decided to talk to the elder Slytherins about his ideas, about building intelligence in the Ministry and starting a society for these particular ideas. He'd no idea about a name for it, but it had to powerful – he had to powerful. Lots of those he'd approached over letters, such as Lestrange and Malfoy, were easily persuaded. After all, they were Slytherin; hungry for success.
Although, young Ginny Weasley wanted success in a very different way.
"Hannah, do give me some advice on what to do!" Ginny grumbled, giving her friend an exasperated look.
"What do you mean?" taunted Hannah, laughing absurdly. "Does the great and resourceful Ginerva Conwy need," she whispered, "boy advice?" The poodle-haired girl was in silent stitches over her ridiculing.
"Don't be silly, you know how serious this is, Han."
The two girls sat crossed legged on Hannah's four poster in the dorm, tasking the Thursday afternoon's free period to talk more about Ginny's woe and lack of knowledge on enchanting and seducing boys that don't have hero complexes.
A villain complex is better description, really, Ginny thought.
"Have you taken any thought to my ideas?" Hannah pondered out loud. "You know, about not breaking his heart?"
Sighing, Ginny held her head in her hands. Of course she had – she couldn't not, clearly. The thought of marrying Tom Riddle, of all people, and spending the rest of her life with him... Well, simply, it was something she couldn't – or rather, didn't want to – comprehend. She told Hannah this, who nodded sadly.
"What happened, it's never really gone away... I, stupidly, let him be my best friend, and let him betray my trust and friendship," Ginny breathed. "The thing about most villainous people is that they always have such charm and tact about them. You hardly ever stop to think about what that really means... until it is too late."
She looked up, a forlorn expression on her face.
"Well, maybe you have to ignore that – after all, it wasn't him directly. That's travelling forwards in time, and who knows if that's even possible?!" Hannah grimaced. Coyly, she said, "Ma would kill me if she knew how much we were talking about boys."
Ginny smiled lightly. "Mum would be overjoyed if I found true love."
She thought of before the battle really began in her past, when all of the stars and planetary alignments, even wishes, suggested she'd be marrying the Harry Potter, her childhood crush and obsession. She knew her mother was ecstatic about the prospect too; Harry was practically family, anyhow. Who better for Molly Weasley's only daughter than the saviour of the wizarding community?
Now, that was not the case. Ginny started to feel very irritated whenever she even thought of the Gryffindor boy. Had he followed the prophecy and not gone and got himself murdered, she wouldn't have had to take measures this drastically. Because, who was she kidding? The whole situation was as farfetched as Romeo and Juliet.
But Tom was not her Romeo, and she was not his Juliet.
"Ginny, sunny side up – I think I know what to do," Hannah's voice made Ginny snap away from her daydreams. "I happen to have sneaked a peak at some of my mother's romance novels last summer when I ran out of things to do. Nearly all of them focus on any physical contact or glances, and on conversations about things you have in common. Surely you've had boys try and court you before-"
"I'd hardly use the word courting!" Ginny snorted.
Hannah smirked, "Probably not, but Tom prides himself on manners. You have to intrigue him, be a mystery. Try and debate. Tensely." She winked jokingly. "It's a good job that Mother only hides these books in her bedside cabinet!"
Struggling to hide her amusement, Ginny shook her head, letting a few giggles escape her lips.
Another thing Ginny had on her plate was the growing amount of Quidditch practises, all of which were intense and difficult training, especially at night in the harsh and brutal winter. Abraxas was training the team hard, and had no tolerance for any messing around or silliness. He'd even snapped at Ginny a few times, but then apologised profusely after saying that he had a lot of things to worry about and that he wasn't cut out for being captain.
None of the team knew what was going on, but they'd gossiped before Malfoy arrived about his more frequent discussions with one of the third years, Neil Lament. There were discussions that he'd hand the team over to him. However, no one ever knew the truth when things often spread round the school within moments of it happening.
Talk for the team at the moment, though, was concentrated on two pipsqueak Gryffindors in their third years at the school, and first years on the Quidditch team. Charlus Potter and John Lupin were bubbly yet obnoxious chasers that had been given the chance to play matches this year on the condition that they toned down their arrogance. That, however, was where the Slytherin team's knowledge ended, leaving nothing but uncertainty and mystery over what the next Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match would be like in a matter of weeks.
After Quidditch practise, Ginny just so happened to bump into another sports player: Alexander Clearwater.
"Oh, hello, Alex," grinned Ginny.
"Are you on your way from the field?" he asked.
"Yes, actually, why?"
He smirked casually, "I'm presuming you all know about the new Gryffindor players, considering you're playing them soon."
"We know as much as a Hufflepuff first year does, Clearwater," sighed Ginerva. "Gryffindor are very good at hiding their players. Always have been, always will be. You'd think they were Slytherin."
Alexander beckoned for her to follow him into a small deserted corridor, pulling her aside. She gave him a worried look, scared there would be a rerun of the mistletoe, but he chuckled softly.
"Oh, Conwy, it's not Christmas now," his smile grew. "I'm going to talk to Faulkner about Madam Puddifoot's tomorrow, like you suggested."
"She'll love it! She likes you, I think."
"Maybe. But if we're going to fall in love, I'm going to do it properly," he stated. "Anyway, Ginny, I pulled you aside so no prying idiots from the house of lions can overhear us talking about Lupin and Potter. There are a number of things you need to know..."
After, Ginny followed her tracks back down to the pitch, where Abraxas was probably still tidying up after practise, and told him everything Alexander had said about the new Gryffindor chasers.
Friday morning, the sixth years were faced with one of their least favourite things; a practical for the Draught of Living Death.
"Right, sixth years," Slughorn lectured. "Don't forget, before you finish the potion, you must stir..." He held his index finger in the air as if to gesture for the class to chorus in response. Cora put up her hand.
"You have to stir anticlockwise, Sir," Cora quoted from the text book. "Seven times, exactly."
"Yes, very well remembered, Miss Cora. Take five points for your house!"
Ginny inwardly groaned. We are his house. Of course he's giving us points.
After just over an hour of precise brewing, Ginny turned to Hannah.
"Do you reckon this is done, Han?" question Ginny, cautiously.
"I suppose, yeah. It looks alright."
Excellent.
You see, although it was on the spot thinking, Ginny had decided she'd steal a drop or two of the potion. All she needed was a distraction for Hannah and anyone else in the room. Panicking, she put her hand on the desk, making sure to sweep the textbook off towards Hannah's side at the same time. As Hannah bent down to pick it up, Ginny used a spare vial she'd gotten at the start, in case she broke the other one (well, in case Hannah broke the other one) to collect some of the Drought. As Hannah stood back up, she slid the vial into her cloak pocket as picked up the other so they could give a sample to Slughorn.
Anyone would think you've been Slytherin your entire life.
I suppose they would, Tom.
As everyone packed away their ingredients and equipment, Ginny took the second vial to Slughorn so he could select their grade. He gave a pleased smile, and a nod. On the way out of potions, she seemed so content she couldn't help but hum a tune to a muggle song she listened to one year at Grimmauld Place.
"How many special people change? How many lives are living strange..."
"Seriously, Gin; whatever are you singing?" Hannah asked.
Ginny just ignored her.
"Somewhere you will find me, caught beneath a landslide, in a champagne supernova in the sky."
