A/N—ok, last time I am putting this up in a chapter. I appreciate that people have caught that Ginny's name switches from Ginevra to Virginia, this is in the process of being revised. I wrote this before it was known that Ginny's real full name is Ginevra—that is one of the things being fixed. I am aware of this; please do not tell me of it. Thank you.

Cruel Beauty
Chapter Two

Lessons to be Learned

There are reasons
for the path we take
there are no mistakes
just lessons to be learned—Barbra Streisand

The days with Velena all seemed to mesh together. It seemed that the moment the sun rose, I was awoken by a rude house elf. The elves were loyal to Velena and Velena only, and that is how she wished it. I may have been an Evansole, thus forcing them to obey me, but they knew I was a blood traitor—just like my mother. I would bathe and then immediately went down to the dining room to eat a light breakfast and practice table manners. After a tedious meal I was sent to the library to work on my lessons: reading, writing, arithmetic, and foreign language. Aunt Velena told me that since I was six my workload would be fairly light, however, I should not get used to this.

I missed my family and my carefree childhood. I longed for affection and love. I remember once after I had been there for a few months that I attempted to give my aunt a hug; she pushed me away and spent the rest of the day teaching me that Evansoles do not hug. We even have an established code of conduct. We, as females, are also forbidden to have short hair, wear bows, and pants are strongly advised against.

My birthday came and went. Velena bought me a new wardrobe, as it was customary to have new things with every new year of your life. She said that it would be ridiculous to have a girl of seven wear clothes made for a girl of six.

I didn't like my life but I never voiced my complaints. Even though I did not like it that did not mean that I did not appreciate it. Velena told me constant horror stories of what life would be life had she not taken me in. She said that I would be in an orphanage where I would never receive any new clothes, have no toys, and the older children would most likely molest me. I did not know what molestation was so I looked it up in the library. I sat hunched over the giant dictionary and read the definition, Molest-To subject to unwanted or improper sexual activity. After then looking up the definition of sexual activity I decided that I most certainly did not want that.

I often also received "hands on" demonstrations of Velena's lessons. Once we went shopping for clothing and a good-looking man with blond hair and a long face kept staring at her and following us around the store. She gave me a smile and instructed me to watch her. She walked over to the man swaying her hips gently and began whispering in his ear. He said things to her and I saw her laugh and lean on him for support. They came back over to me and the man paid for our purchases.

She took him home with us. He reminded me of a lost puppy dog, the way he followed her around and had this dumb look on his face as if he was getting some sort of treat or reward. I sat in my room that night drawing by the moonlight. Her room was across from mine and I heard the headboard to her bed continuously pounding against the wall. Of course years later I knew precisely what she had been doing. By the time I was worldly enough to know what she had done, though, it failed to shock me. Velena whored herself out in many ways—this was simply one of them. In Velena's world, morals mean little, money means much more.

The next day the blond man came over again. He arrived at our house with flowers—red roses for Velena and lilies for me. She smirked at him and made him leave. He did as he was asked but left the flowers on the doorstep. She laughed at how pathetic he was while I picked up my flowers. She snatched the lilies from me and told me that we did not accept such cheap sappy gifts.

I began to grow restless of my only company being Velena and her various male escorts. I was a child and I needed interaction with other children. I worked up my courage for weeks to ask my aunt if I could go to a park or some other place that there would be people of my own age. When I finally did ask her she did not give me a lesson as I had expected, she instead told me that she had a friend with a child around the same age as me and we could pay them a visit.

That afternoon we went to the Parkinson's mansion. My aunt was friends with Matilda Parkinson who had a daughter, Pansy, only one year older than me. She was an ugly child with ratty black hair and a pug face. Her mother dismissed us to go to Pansy's room. I was so happy to be in the presence of another child that I easily overlooked her appearance of a rabid dog.

When we entered her room Pansy gave me an evil look. "I know who you are," she spat. "You are nothing but a lowly Weasley. Look at you, with your ugly red hair and repulsive freckles." She laid a newspaper down on the floor, "sit on this if you must be in my room. And do not touch anything." I was too shocked to do anything but follow her demands.

I sat on the old newspaper for hours before my aunt called for me. I left Pansy's room without a word. She sneered at me while she sat there and played with her expensive dolls. I went down to Velena, no longer wishing for interaction with other children. Other kids were mean and I didn't need their company. However, the more important lesson that I learned that day was that I would do anything to fully become an Evansole. I saw how Weasleys were treated and I saw how my aunt was treated—I would take the latter.

When I told my aunt that I didn't want to be recognized as a Weasley she was thrilled. She helped me charm away my freckles and straighten my hair. She wanted to change my eye color to match hers but I refused, I had inherited my mother's brown eyes and I intended to keep them.

A while after my experience with Pansy I became angry at her treatment of me. Although she helped me discover a few things, she had no right to treat me as if I was some sort of wild animal. No matter the blood of my father I was an Evansole and she was beneath me. I had watched Velena enough to know how to deal with anger. No matter how long it took I would get my revenge on Pansy.

This was the beginning of my transformation into Velena's clone. She molded me into what she wanted without me even realizing it. I did eventually get my revenge but that comes later. I was once a sweet child with a caring heart but everyday spent with my aunt my heart slowly disappeared and was replaced with malice and cruelty. Having warm feelings would get you nowhere and having a heart only led to the inevitable time of that heart being broken. They were useless things and Velena convinced me that I was better off without them.

I had loved my family before and they had all abandoned me. Velena may not show her love, but I knew she would always be there—she told me such. For this I committed myself to becoming what she wished me to be.