Chapter Text
The dynamic was cut-throat and unforgiving, rather like vermin trapped together in a tight space, Ginny concluded derisively. They scrambled for table scraps from their Master, a word of admiration here or a comment that was a dagger to their enemy there, and they were content. Smirking, cackling, scheming. This was the world in which they lived.
Snape was one of the few that acted like he was above their pettiness. Always wearing a cool mask, Ginny felt some relief that he never made himself an easy target in the company of other Death Eaters, although there was the problem of assassination attempts because he was such a close confidant of Voldemort. Ginny was not ashamed to admit that she always watched him taste his food first. Snape was the one who got them into this nightmare to begin with, after all. It if wasn’t for him, Harry might still be alive.
Low light flickered from candles that adorned long, oak tabletops, making shadows dance on the faces of the evil men and women in that room. No longer concerned about consequences, they ate without masks, their hoods thrown back, identities bared for all to see.
Voldemort had won, so they had nothing to fear. Ginny pushed down the swell of bitterness that stung her nose, made her bite down so hard on her lip she tasted the coppery flavor of her blood. She was, in a way, one of them. The black dress and web-like lace bodice made her pale skin seem ghostly white, and she knew the contrast caused her hair to look brighter, like a flame. Snape preferred it down, strands making a portrait of her features and collarbone, so she always swept it up. Just to be contrary.
“You’re more like Lily than you realize,” he had muttered, but was contrite enough to look away when she glared at him.
She schooled her features in the company of Voldemort’s minions, as she had learned early on that they sniffed out weaknesses like the predators they were. One of the first gatherings Snape had brought her to had left her devastated and nearly broken. Only a month had passed since Harry’s death and Voldemort’s victory, and Bellatrix, one of the Lestrange boys, and another young Death Eater had gathered close to her and mocked her about his gruesome passing. How the Boy Who Lived had died screaming, torn limb from limb, his bones used as foundation for Voldemort’s new throne in Hogwarts.
“Did you know he called out your name when he died?” Bellatrix had laughed madly, and that was the final straw that caused Ginny to burst into tears. Eventually Snape was by her side, making cutting insults to her tormentors, but it had been too late. He wouldn’t let her come to another gathering for months.
And maybe the real reason those words had hurt so deeply was because she blamed herself for Harry’s death, just as much as she blamed Snape. Because she had laid on her back for Dumbledore’s murderer, had slept with the enemy as Harry and her brother had scrambled through the woods looking for a way to defeat the Dark Lord, had shared furtive glances and accepted roses from someone who, she found out later, had caused the death of Harry’s parents. And didn’t that make her guilty by association?
She heard a cough to her left, discreet, and a low voice that reached her ears alone: “You’re not eating.”
Ginny pushed around the meat and vegetable concoction with her fork. Being in the Great Hall conjured memories of pumpkin juice, pies, and a bountiful supply of food options. “I’m not hungry,” she replied, not bothering to keep her voice low. They received a couple of amused looks from Death Eaters at the table.
Snape made a noise of irritation but didn’t push the issue. Making a scene would leave him open to manipulations and attacks from nearly everyone there, even Voldemort himself.
Her stomach turned, and she swallowed. Ginny hadn’t lied when she admitted she wasn’t hungry. Just being in the presence of these monsters, while fascinating to observe the way they backstabbed each other, filled her with disgust, rage, and a simmering anxiety that caused her diaphragm to freeze. Her hand strayed to the glass of elderflower wine next her plate, fingers twirling around the cool stem, until she finally took a sip.
He was good at hiding, but after three years, Ginny could see through his masks…to an extent. Snape glanced once more at her plate, and his lips curled down in distaste. He wouldn’t look at her…all signs he was displeased. Not that she cared.
Having the dubious honor of being one of Voldemort’s most loyal underlings, Snape sat at the high table just a few seats down from the Dark Lord himself. Rather ironic, as Ginny knew he had hated his time as a teacher, and now he sat at the same table as he did years ago when Dumbledore was still alive.
Ginny wanted to leave, but walking away now would just draw attention to herself, and that was always dangerous. So she stayed, soaking up the wine until the edges of the room seemed to blur, and watched the men and women in this room. The only place she didn’t look was Voldemort himself.
Because he was oh so interested in her. Like a skeleton salaciously looking her up and down. Snape had never said anything, but Ginny understood her only protection, a flimsy barrier, was Snape’s involvement in Harry Potter’s death. Her family were traitors, after all. The glares sent her way told her most didn’t feel she should have the honor of sitting at that table. Ginny drained her glass.
She didn’t want to know what Tom…no, Voldemort…wanted with her.
The low murmurs that echoed in the room halted, and Ginny was pulled out of her reverie to see a familiar form dragged down the hall to the Head Table.
Her mask, smooth as glass, began to crack. “Pr…Professor?” No. It couldn’t be.
The man to the prisoner’s left gave an oily smile, his shoulder length dark hair reminding Ginny of Snape, perhaps a younger, disillusioned version. The shorter Death Eater to his right looked wizened, scars on his face, eyes flinty. His battered appearance for his age made Ginny conclude that he may be a werewolf.
“We finally got him. He put up a right fight.” The oily man smirked and pushed their prisoner forward, who sagged to his knees, head hanging like a doll. “Been hiding among muggles for more than a year. Charms made him nearly invisible.”
“I presume this is an important captive if you’ve interrupted us during supper,” came the austere voice of Voldemort. While his words implied he was annoyed, the tone in his voice was curious, perhaps even intrigued. Most of the rebellion who sided with Dumbledore or Harry Potter had long been killed or enslaved.
The man nodded furiously. “We have Remus Lupin, in the flesh.” The room erupted into jeers. Ginny’s mouth dropped open, she drew in a breath but couldn’t release it. Her skin itched to come closer, but she was smart enough to stay where she was. “He hadn’t died like we all thought.”
Ginny’s fingers dug into her thighs, her nails dragging slowly until a trickle of blood made her skin slick. Talking in the room grew louder, and offers were made to kill her former professor, or torture him slowly, or torture him slowly to kill him. The noises stopped at once, and Ginny knew that Voldemort held up a hand to silence them.
“There are some inventive minds in this room.” He sounded amused. “But I think it would be best to put a quick end to anyone from the Order of the Phoenix. For their acts of betrayal, and to set an example of anyone who dare oppose me.”
Hurrahs of victory, stamping of feet and clapping. They thirsted for her Professor’s blood. Well…ex-professor. He hadn’t been Professor Lupin in a long time.
Her hand reached out to cover Snape’s knee, and squeezed. Snape immediately tensed. She so rarely touched him these days. She couldn’t speak, not when they were surrounded by snakes, but she tried to communicate everything through touch. Please, she thought desperately, pleasepleaseplease…
Snape cleared his throat. “My Lord…” He tilted his head to the side, managing to look both bored and repulsed. “While it would be terribly easy and satisfying to simply eliminate this traitor, he most likely knows the whereabouts of other Order members. With the right potions, we can extract secrets from him, perhaps find the location of all those who’ve hidden from you like cowards.”
Ginny’s insides froze. She snatched back her hand like he had given her frostbite.
He sneered. “I would also...revel in witnessing the undoing of one of my long-time enemies.”
A dark chuckle. “Of course. I can always count on my most loyal vassals to think three steps ahead for me.” Then, in a dismissive tone, “bring him to Severus’s home. Make sure he’s properly fixed.”
‘Fixed’ was the Death Eater way of referring to a prisoner stripped of magic. Broken wand, charms to block and repress spells, a permanent locator charm. Despite Snape’s vague threats, Ginny relaxed. Professor Lupin was alive. He was safe, at least for now. The tension dissolved from her chest.
She took even the small victories when she could. They were few and far between.
“But first, some entertainment. When we’re done with him, he’ll be begging for his own death,” Voldemort said, his voice tinged with malicious amusement. “Severus?”
“Of course, my Lord,” Snape replied with a smirk.
Snape rose to his feet. His heavy chair scraped across the stone floor, the sound loud in the cavernous room. Ginny always looked away when these spectacles happened, but now she stared, transfixed. She felt as though ice were sliding down her spine.
He was really going to do it. Her former Potions teacher was going to torture her former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Ginny couldn’t believe it.
Couldn’t he have resisted Voldemort’s request even a little? But Ginny could see in the smirk and glittering dark eyes that he was enjoying this. That he wanted to hurt Lupin.
She gripped a fork in her hand, thumbnail scraping across metal. Traitor, she thought but couldn’t speak, at least not there. Cowardly, backstabbing traitor!
And here she thought maybe he was trying to protect Lupin, if only because Ginny wanted it.
The two Death Eaters backed away as Snape descended upon Lupin. Many in the room leaned forward in anticipation, a few jeered and shouted to Snape in encouragement. He brandished his wand.
“Crucio!” he sneered.
Lupin, who had not moved or even looked up during the entire exchange, began convulsing, his face contorted into a horrifying grimace. He groaned, long and low, the sound crescendoing into screams. Laughter and cheers mingled with his cries of agony, the sound echoing from the high ceilings.
The screaming ended abruptly, and Ginny sagged with relief, knowing that he had been released from the curse, at least temporarily. Snape circled the werewolf, who was gulping lungfuls of air as if he had almost drowned. When Lupin tried to raise his head, Snape pushed him back down with his foot.
“Stay,” Snape ordered as if he were talking to a dog, and several Death Eaters erupted into laughter.
He dug his heel into Lupin’s shoulder, and Ginny could hear the crackle of bones as they ground together. Lupin groaned again.
“The last surviving member of the Marauders. Dirty, weak, and at my feet. A fitting end,” Snape said silkily, and Ginny’s stomach turned. “And no better than what you deserve after everything you’ve done...and didn’t do.” He stepped back and flicked his wrist again. “Crucio.”
Lupin writhed again, the screams coming immediately this time. Round after round of cruciatus, her former professor contorting in agonizing pain, and Ginny could only take so much.
She shot to her feet. “Snape! Stop it! Please stop!” Few Death Eaters even glanced at her, and the room was filled with both Lupin’s screams and their cries for more.
Snape either ignored or couldn’t hear her. He still had a disgustingly smug look that Ginny wanted to slap off his face. More flicks of his wand, more howls of suffering. Anxiety and turmoil filled her as she watched Lupin contort in pain.
“I said stop!” Ginny slammed her wineglass to the ground and it shattered, shards flying. The noise died down, but she didn’t care. She had to get out of there. She bolted for the door, barely registering Snape’s cry for her to wait.
She fought back tears. Dashing across the room, she had almost reached the exit when she felt claws grip her elbow, and she was spun around, thrown off-kilter. Bellatrix tugged her close, a manic smile on her face.
“Ginny is it?” she said slyly. “Ginevra. Where do you think you’re running off to, little mudblood-lover?”
Her eyes narrowed, and despite where they were, she was tempted to spit in the other woman’s face. “What do you want?”
Bellatrix laughed, looking around. “As if any of us need to explain a single thing to you. Part of a traitor family. How many of them are dead?”
Ginny fumed, her head still spinning from watching the former Order member get tortured, but Bellatrix seemed to delight in her anger. She tilted her head back. “Careful, little Weasley. You may walk freely among us, but we all know your wand was confiscated. What are you going to do?”
Ginny was about to say something that would likely get her hexed, when she felt body heat come up behind her, and hands curl around her upper arms. She involuntarily squirmed.
“She’s in the process of proving her loyalty. That should be any day now.” Ginny snorted, and the grip near her shoulders tightened. “As is her right, being a descendant from such an old, pure bloodline. Just as pure as the Blacks, with far less,” his voice dropped, conveying both amusement and disgust, “incest.”
Belltatrix’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Ginny couldn’t help but smirk.
“Well then why haven’t you knocked the girl up yet if you value her bloodline so much?” she mocked. Her voice carried, and more heads were turning in their direction. Bellatrix poked her wand at Ginny, her smile wide and her eyes blazing. “Wouldn’t you like that, little Ginny? A baby Death Eater to repopulate the Weasley lineage?”
That wasn’t the first time she had wondered with morbid uncertainty if she would be expected to have Snape’s child, but the reminder that she was likely the only Weasley left caused Ginny’s skin to burn with rage. She growled and lunged for Bellatrix, but strong arms held in place.
“That’s enough,” the deep voice intoned with finality, and Ginny knew it was directed as much to her as it was at Bellatrix. He added quietly, “if you hurt her, I’ll make sure the Dark Lord has your head.” His hands squeezed her shoulders, and Ginny flinched.
Bellatrix sneered, but she broke eye contact with Snape first, glancing over his shoulder. “You won’t be his favorite forever.”
“Perhaps not,” he said again softly enough that the words couldn’t carry, “but if you damage anything of mine, you’ll never live to see it.”
Ginny smiled, a real, genuine smile, when Bellatrix’s mouth dropped open, but Snape swiftly dragged her away.
In the hallway where there were no eyes on them, Ginny burned to throw angry words his way about Lupin, but she was surprised and secretly pleased he had humiliated Bellatrix on her behalf. Instead, she said, “oh, am I yours now?”
He continued to lead her along by the elbow and refused to look at her. He cleared his throat. “To them, you are little more than chattel.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s not what I asked, but yeah, I figured that out.” Digging in her heels, she wrestled her arm free from his grip. He stopped.
Her mind drifted, sinking into darkness, weighed down by Bellatrix's words and watching the torture of the last living Order member. Her mother and father were surely dead, but no one was certain about Charles and George. Ron had died with Harry, of course, along with most of her brothers...but surely one or two of them were still alive...somewhere out there, running, hiding, like she ought to be as well…
She was being shaken, and she blinked. “I’m not sure where you went, but we need to go back to the manor.” Snape eyed her critically, although his expression belied no emotions.
Ginny wanted to fight Snape and put him in his place for what he had done, but was struck by the terrifying thought that he might take it out on Lupin later. She nodded and didn’t say anything. They found a room to floo back to Snape’s home.
As soon as they stepped into the foyer, Ginny scrambled to the guest bedroom, and felt her stomach sink in disappointment when she found it dark and empty.
“They wouldn’t leave a prisoner, a former Order of the Phoenix member no less, in a spare bedroom,” Snape remarked dryly. A pause, then, “you seem quite...eager to see the werewolf.”
Despite his inflection of the word, ‘werewolf,’ he didn’t sound angry or full of hate. His words came out hesitant, curious. In Ginny’s excitement, she didn’t care to understand why.
“Where is he then?”
“Probably the dungeons.”
Ginny rushed down the spiral staircase, her dress fluttering in her wake, until she reached the heavy oak doors on the lowest level. Her heart in her throat, she tugged the door open with all her weight.
Professor Lupin--no, Remus--sat in the corner of the cavernous, dark room. The light from the doorway was not enough, and Ginny longed for her wand to cast lumos. He was slumped forward, tawny hair hiding his features. She took a step into the room.
”Professor?”
He didn’t respond. Ginny bit her lip.
“We shall move him to the study,” an imperious voice said behind Ginny, startling a gasp from her. How did he move so quickly? She had never seen Snape run or hurry in her life. “A...more comfortable location for me to interrogate him.
She glared at him, and he quirked an eyebrow in return.
“You...you’re not going to hurt him badly, are you?” She hated how weak her voice sounded to her ears. But then, no matter how much trouble she caused Snape, most decisions were his alone to make. Her power in this new world was severely limited. Two steps above Muggles, one step above Azkaban, Ginny thought bitterly.
“Anything I do on the Dark Lord’s behalf is not your concern,” he admonished, and flicked his wand in Lupin’s direction. He levitated her former Dark Arts professor out of the room. She was surprised that Lupin didn’t even flinch, almost as if Snape were dragging around a corpse.
Her stomach turned, and she looked away as Snape transported Lupin up the stairs. Her hostility towards Snape blazed under her skin, but what could she do? Antagonizing him wouldn’t make Lupin’s interrogation any easier.
She lingered in the doorway, watching motes of dust float in the column of light cast into the dark room. These were the times when her thoughts turned black, the futility of her new life crashing over her head. She was sinking into the deep. She wanted to save others, but who would save her?
After a few minutes, overcome with morbid curiosity, she walked up to the study.
Snape had left Professor Lupin in one of the two chairs that flanked a low, round table with stacks of books. That surprised Ginny. Wasn’t he supposed to be careful about what he shared with Voldemort’s enemies?
“Professor?”
No response. Lupin was slumped forward, his hair covering his eyes. His arms were rigid on the chair rests, but otherwise he looked asleep...or dead.
“Lupin?” she tried. Licked her lips tentatively, then, “Remus?”
Again, nothing. She reached out, her fingers trembling, and pushed his matted brown hair away from his face. Lupin’s eyes were open, but they stared at nothing. They looked completely blank.
“R...Remus?” Her throat burned and eyes clouded up. Hesitant, she pushed his shoulder, then shook harder when there was no response. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and Ginny realized too late that both her hands were now jerking him almost violently. “Remus, what happened to you? What’s wrong?”
She dropped her hands and stared, tears dripping to the floor. Lupin’s head hung to the side, with that empty, sightless gaze.
“Merlin…” Ginny sank to the floor. What had they done to him? It was as if his soul had vacated his body. Perhaps a death would have been merciful. His mind had probably snapped from the torture he had been subjected to. Or was life on the run for former Order members truly so horrific?
Pain clutched Ginny’s heart, and she couldn’t stop sobbing. Feeling like a child, she crawled into his lap.
“Professor Lupin, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this happened to you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her tears soaked his shirt. And still, his body was like a marionette cut free from its strings.
She had wanted to believe her missing family was out there free and maybe safe, even if they were running and hiding for their lives. Lupin’s mental state shattered that hope.
“Your wailing could wake the dead,” a cold voice said behind her.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Not now, go away.” Her grip tightened. Her former Dark Arts professor smelled dirty and sweaty. He obviously hadn’t taken a bath in a while, but she didn’t care.
“I’ll need to administer a Calming Draught and Dreamless Sleep Potion. Perhaps a Replenishment Potion,” Snape noted in a clinical tone.
Ginny sniffed, her eyes blinking open slowly. “You’re not going to torture him again?”
“Not tonight.”
She reluctantly released Lupin, already resolving to try and talk Snape out of hurting him at a more opportune time. As she got to her feet, Snape was observing her with an unreadable expression.
“I have some Dreamless Sleep for you as well. If you’ll take it this time.”
Ginny nodded. Her throat hurt and she wiped her nose on her collar. Maybe she would.
*****
She worried her lip. Tucked under the blankets in bed, her eyes fixated on the line of light from under the bedroom door. Her mind gravitated over and over back to Lupin. She remembered the old life, before so many people had died. Before Harry and Ron.
An uncomfortable dread made her stomach clench, an odd contrast with the way her skin tingled with excitement and anticipation. She wanted to check on Lupin even though he was probably sleeping, because he was there. He was alive. Even though he had changed.
Ginny had laid there for an indefinite amount of time, and finally decided to give up on sleep. Slipping on her black dress from the night before, she wandered out into the hallway. The manor was filled with strange contrasts between ornate structures and rather plain furniture. The home had belonged to a rich Muggle family before it was confiscated by Deatheaters. Ginny didn’t want to think about what had happened to them.
Unsurprisingly, Snape was in the main hall, a small fireplace the only light in the room. Dumbledore’s painting hung above it; Snape would often talk to the former Headmaster late into the night, usually working his way through a bottle of Firewhiskey in the process. Ginny wondered why Voldemort had allowed Snape to keep it, although she had a feeling this was just another secret.
Snape was sprawled out in his lounge chair, asleep. Ginny approached him cautiously. The low fire deepened shadows across his face, furrowed brows and hollow cheeks. His pronounced nose. He wasn’t a particularly handsome man, and the firelight highlighted his age. She had always found his features striking though, even had a tiny crush on him in fourth and fifth year. While her brothers had mocked him, she would sneak glances at him in class. Any approval for a successful potion felt like the greatest award she could achieve outside of winning at Quiddich. And then there was the Dark Mark...not many people, including adults, could understand her connection with Tom.
Of course, everything had spiraled out of control her sixth year…and then Harry had died, and she was too shocked over Voldemort’s victory to put up much of a fight when Snape had pulled her to his side...
She glanced above the fireplace and noticed that Dumbledore was absent from his frame, then looked back to Snape’s prone form. It was strange to see him like this. Peaceful, and in a way, vulnerable. Harmless, but she knew he was anything but.
Her mind drifted to those first stolen kisses when he was Headmaster. When the nightmare had really begun. Her relationship with Snape had been a dark, dirty secret, but she had truly believed that Harry would win in the end. That Snape’s allegiance to Voldemort would ultimately be pointless, because the dark wizard would fail.
Oh, how naive she had been.
She reached for the half empty bottle of firewhiskey, an impulse to stall the dark spiral of her thoughts, but a hand grabbed her wrist.
“How rude of you. Reaching for what isn’t yours as if you’re entitled to it. But of course, not a surprise.” His velvet deep voice was calm and a little slurred, which meant he was probably drunk. His eyes were still shut.
“Technically, nothing in this house is mine,” Ginny snorted. She used her weight to try and break free, but he wouldn’t release his grip on her wrist.
“Yes,” he said softly. He pulled her close until she tipped into his lap. “Technically, everything in this house is mine.”
She waited for him to laugh or diffuse the comment with a sarcastic or biting joke, but he didn’t. His eyes remained closed though.
“I’m not a thing, Snape,” she replied through gritted teeth, quelling the familiar burn of anger. Still, being this close to him, feeling the contours of his firm body along her side and leg, made her heart accelerate, and her thoughts slow down. She had stopped touching Snape, resisted all contact, after Harry’s brutal end. In a way, she was punishing both of them.
“No.” He finally looked her in the eyes. “You are not.” Snape studied her hair, which she had let down for the night, and tucked a few strands behind her ear. “But I still feel that you are mine.” His hand dropped to her collarbone. “Mine to protect.”
The anger slipped away, replaced with a turmoil of confusing emotions. She didn’t understand why her body still responded to his touch. Voldemort’s loyal spy.
She knocked his hand away.
Ginny attempted to rise, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“I’m not your anything,” she spat, debating whether or not she should knee him. “Never. I would never be with a man who caused the death of Harry and my own brothers! Who looks forward to torturing my former professor, a gentle, honorable man! Who works closely with Voldemort and actively helps him!”
With a final yank, her hand was free. She stumbled back.
Snape stared up at the ceiling, his greasy hair forming a mockery of a halo around his head. And then he laughed.
Ginny stared in shock as he gave deep, full-bellied laughs. His legs kicked out, and he ran a hand through his hair.
“What’s so funny?” Had he gone insane?
“Everything,” he wheezed through his laughing fit. “I gave up everything…” A laugh turned into a sob.
His face contorted into a grimace, his eyes red, she couldn’t understand if he was laughing or crying. Maybe it was both.
He took her hand, pulled her back in, enfolding her in an embrace. She couldn’t see his expression anymore.
“I lost everything…” he whispered into the cusp of her ear. “Even you.”
“What do you even mean?” Ginny replied, her voice thick. Her fingers curled into his black garments, but she didn’t struggle away from his touch...yet. “You got everything you wanted. Your master won, Harry was defeated, Muggles and Muggleborns are at a lower status than livestock, and you have more power than almost any other Death Eater. This is exactly what you wanted!”
“No, Ginvera,” he choked out. Ginny’s hair stood on end at the feel of hot liquid against her cheek. Merlin, he really is crying! “No, you don’t understand. And why would you? I must show you.”
He pulled her chin so their eyes were aligned, and her eyes widened when she realized what he intended to do. A pressure at her temples, and then he was in.
She recovered quickly. Get OUT.
Please, Ginny. It’s too dangerous to speak this aloud because of the eavesdropping charms that are spread throughout the manor. Ginny froze, momentarily shocked that their privacy had been invaded, and that she probably been monitored all this time. She had suspected, of course, but it was another thing for Snape to confirm her fears. I was assisting Dumbledore as a double agent all this time. We were trying to help Harry fulfill the prophecy, so that the Dark Lord would finally be defeated.
Ginny scowled. He had killed Dumbbledore, and she was supposed to believe this?
Snape’s embrace tightened almost imperceptibly. She realized he had read her thoughts. Albus was slowly dying from a curse. He had asked...begged...me to kill him, to ensure my perceived loyalty to the Dark Lord. He wanted Harry and myself to succeed.
“Why should I ever believe you?” she cried. She was incredulous.
Nevertheless, it is the truth. Despite the confidence in that inner voice, Ginny sensed his surge of frustration. Images flashed in her mind, and she realized they came from Snape. A promise made to Narcissa Malfoy for Draco of all people, Dumbledore’s worried expression and wizened hand as he tried to pressure Snape into killing him— unsuccessfully, based on Snape’s resistance, a lie told to the Dark Lord of undying loyalty, a lie that felt like one of thousands, an image of Harry—
Harry’s innocent face in her mind instilled panic, and Ginny pushed at his chest, attempting to wrestle free. “That’s ENOUGH. Why should I believe these are your memories? You could have just made this up.”
Snape scowled in turn. And why would I bother doing that? If I’m so satisfied that I have everything I want, as you less than eloquently explained to me?
Ginny paused, her eyes shifting left and right. Maybe he just wanted to trick her into believing he was good all along, so she would—
Ah. His lips twisted into a mockery of a smile, the emotions leaving a bitter residue in her mind. Ginny winced. Of course. “I hope you realize that I could have forced your hand at any time, if that was ever what I truly wanted.” His breath ghosted on her cheek, and she smelled firewhiskey. “You have no idea the amount of privilege you are afforded here. Some prisoners of war are treated worse than furniture.”
Ginny yanked herself free. She was expecting more resistance, so when he simply let her go, she fell to the floor. Her skin tingled, the emotions of anxiety and anger churning within her, making the room tilt. She tried to glare at him, but his eyes had slid shut, already, it seemed, disconnected from their conversation.
“If…if all if this is really true...prove it to me. Prove to me that you’re not really the monster that I think you are.” When he didn’t respond, her fingernails clawed into the rug. “Take Veritaserum or...or an Unbreakable Vow…”
Snape chuckled darkly. “Think carefully about what you’re asking of me. And what will happen to you, if the Dark Lord ever doubts my loyalty?” He waved his hand around the room to the invisible spells that monitored them.
She dragged herself to her feet, her hands forming fists by her side. “You can make it work. You always have for him.”
Snape gave her a long, penetrating stare. The black pools of his eyes felt unfathomably deep, flickering once over her shoulder to Dumbledore’s now empty portrait.
His head tilted forward, such a small nod that she almost missed it.
“Come with me.”