If Harry hadn't complained so often and so empathically about Snape's oOclumency, she would have had no idea what was happening. As it was, waves of terror still washed over her as she could feel Snape enter her mind and rifle through her thoughts.
This is pathetic, really. I'd mastered Occlumency by the age of fifteen, Tom said, even as she could feel any memories involving him slipping just past Snape, without him caring in the slightest.
Memories of her youth were just as easily discarded, Snape didn't care for her happiness, her Quidditch victories, her first looks at Harry. Not even the Chamber of Secrets interested him, though she could almost feel his disdain at how easily she'd fallen for a diary. Their rebellion against Umbridge only bored him, as did the D.A. with Harry leading them with such passion.
And then, there was the Department of Mysteries.
Dolohov's first spell is just him testing the waters. A gentle probe, it must have been in his mind. Yet the whip of purple flame that whizzes by almost takes off her head. As it is, her cheeks burn with the heat its passage leaves behind.
"So, you are a Weasley," he says, the 'W' almost becoming a 'V' in his mouth. "Didn't one of those marry a Prewett?" he asks as he throws another curse her way.
This one is dark and crackling, a sphere that slices the air itself and explodes in a thousand shards against her shield. They roll across the floor and burn when they reach her foot.
"I killed two Prewetts, you know. That's what got me sent to Azkaban apparently. Goes to show just how little they know," he says.
He places his wand against his lips. As he pulls it away, a cloud of frost springs forth and races towards Ginny. Her Incendio does nothing, it is too large to dodge and it moves straight through her shield. It leaves her numb, almost frozen, movements sluggish as she tries to remember what it was like to be warm.
"It was really but the tip of the iceberg. I killed Muggles and Mudbloods by the score," he continues.
With a flick of his wand, a cut appears on her cheek. It stings and she can taste the blood all the way in her mouth. It makes her wonder just how deep the wound is. But no matter how hard she tries, her limbs still wouldn't move.
"But the Prewetts were the most fun. Twins that screamed and screamed and screamed before I finally let them die.
Gideon and Fabian. It has to be. And anger does what pain could not, it frees her body. Dolohov is still deciding what curse to use next when Ginny's cutting curse comes for him. He parries it, only just, deadly magic brimming just in front of his face. When he looks at her again, he is no longer playing, or at least what passes for play in his sick mind.
She doesn't even see him move, but next she knows, she can't move. But no stunner, nor a full body-bind. It almost feels like being petrified, only she is still aware.
Dolohov looks at her and grins. It is a foul sight, a smile borne of cruelty rather than joy. He waves his wand and the next moment, all she knows is pain. Sharp agony, spreading across the right side of her body, claws gliding over her until they dig into her face. Her mind screams, and she with it. Pain. Nothing but pain.
Ginny could feel herself shaking as Snape inspected memory after memory at the Department of Mysteries. Travers, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rookwood, Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort. Luna, Neville, Hermione, Ron and Harry.
I could keep him out, you know.
And still he kept going, edging ever closer to her conversations with Dumbledore. Ever closer to secrets so vital to this war, secrets she trusted few with. Least of all this man of dubious loyalty who was now tearing through her mind without an ounce of regret.
All you need to do is ask.
Sirius Black, alone in the cave and she could feel his exultation.
I am your friend.
She alone practising dark cruses in the Room of Requirement.
It will be simple, really
Dumbledore inviting her in, with the word Horcruxes lingering just around the corner.
Yes, she thought back.
Stop.
It was a thought and a command. A ripple of power running through her brain. She wasn't exactly sure what it was. All she knew was that one second, she was in her mind, and the next she was in his.
"You asked to meet with me Severus?" Charity Burbage asked, her Muggle Studies Professor who had been missing for months now.
Burbage and Snape were standing at the edge of Hogwarts' grounds. You didn't feel the cold in the memory, but you could see it nonetheless. The wind was howling, lifting up the snow from the ground and whipping it against their legs. Both were wrapped in cloaks that seemed to do little to protect them, judging by their shivering..
"Yes, thank you for coming Charity," he said, sounding more courteous than Ginny had ever heard him. "I apologise for the setting, but I didn't want to risk being overheard."
"Overheard?" she echoed and Ginny could see something akin to hope begin to bloom in her eyes. Hope she knew all too well. "Why wouldn't we want to be overheard? Merlin, it's cold," she said, taking a step closer to Snape.
"You know how people talk. Especially about me. The whole staffroom is whispering behind my back," he said.
"I never did," Burbage replied softly, taking another step closer
Impossible, yet there it was, plain for Ginny to see. Their kind, gentle Muggle Studies Professor was in love with Snape.
"I know Charity, that is why I asked you here today. I can trust you," Snape said, taking a step closer himself.
Is that what she was seeing? Professor Snape in love? Only, something felt off. Snape was almost too sincere. Too kind. Too vulnerable. Everything he simply wasn't.
Something moved in the brushes and Burbage started, her wand out in a second as she peered into the snow-covered foliage. Briefly, the only noise they heard was the wind and Ginny hated how the war could distract even a woman in love.
"Probably just a bird," she said, even as Snape raised his wand behind her. "But better make sure. Ever since… ever since Albus died, I haven't felt safe anymore."
"Quite," Snape said and then his wand flared green.
She landed in the snow with a muffled thud. Moments later, two figures in black cloaks and white masks surfaced from the bushes.
"Why did you do that for? I was hoping we could play with her first," a shrill voice said, one that Ginny knew well-enough. Bellatrix Lestrange.
"She was looking straight at you. If she'd seen you and drawn her wand-"
"I would still have killed the Mudblood in mere seconds," Bellatrix said, prodding the corpse with her boot.
"Yes, with your usual style no doubt. And that would have drawn people's attention. May I remind you that with Dumbledore gone, I am one old fool's benevolent protection short? The rest of the staff never liked me," he said.
"As if anyone would have seen in this weather," Bellatrix muttered. "But fine, we'll take her as it is. If Nagini complains her food is cold-"
"You may explain it was because you could not move silently through some bushes," Snape interrupted.
"It was Rodolphus' fault anyway," Bellatrix said, looking at her tall companion.
"It was just a dead tree branch I stepped on. Mudblood must have had ears like a bat," he muttered, then turned to Snape. "Say, Snape, it almost sounded like she was sweet on you. You really have a way with Mudbloods, don't you-"
Get out!
The last was a command as powerful as Tom's had been, though filled with more panic. One second, she was staring at a bright white landscape, the next she was back in the dark of Snape's office. She stumbled and sank to her knees, head spinning.
Snape had fallen as well, rubbing his wrist, his wand having rolled away. When their eyes met, his were burning with fury.
"What did you do?" he hissed. "What did you see?
"Professor Burbage. You killed her," she accused him. Strangely enough, he looked reassured by her accusation.
"Another necessary sacrifice," he said coldly.
The door was still spelled shut, but at the end of the day, it was still just a door. She blew it open with a blasting curse and sprinted through it before Snape could pick up his wand again. She could hear him yelling at her, but she pressed her hands against her ears as she ran and ran and ran. She would have fled to McGonagall's office, or even the Slytherin dorms to find Astoria, but at this hour, there would be no one to answer her. So instead she ran till she was behind the portrait in Gryffindor Tower and safe to collapse in front of the hearth. Her Common room, though everyone she could have confided in had left long ago.
The scars were alive. Burning, shifting pulsating as if she had been cursed anew. It was impossible to tell where the memory stopped and the current feeling began. She hugged herself and trembled so badly it hurt, teeth chattering as she lay on the high pile rug.
"I hate him," she whispered.
He'd killed Professor Burbage. He'd killed Sirius. And still he claimed to be on their side. Harry had never trusted Snape and now she understood even better than before. Could anyone like that truly be on their side? Who murdered with regret, who tore through her mind and pulled up whatever memory caught his fancy, no matter what he disturbed? He had no right to glare at her with his righteous conviction, if it even was that and not just a Death Eater's mad gambit who had grown tired of being a spy.
"I hate him," she whispered.
The fire was blazing and still she felt so cold. Not the coldness of up in the sky, but the coldness of feeling so utterly empty. Alone. Afraid. Hurt.
Tomorrow, she would tell McGonagall. And if that didn't suffice, she'd tell everyone in the Order. Snape could not be trusted. With Dumbledore gone, whatever restraints that had kept him in place were gone now. Tomorrow, he'd pay.
"I hate him," she whispered.
But tonight, she was left with the feeling of a mind riffling through her own, tossing aside what didn't interest him, like Tom Riddle once had.
What can I say? I teach my servants well, Tom drawled.
Tom, who had helped her tonight. At her explicit request. She'd let him back in. After years of ignoring him, of hating him, she'd let him back in. Because she'd been alone and afraid. Just like last time.
Mine.
It didn't matter, she told herself. It had helped her keep Snape out. It had helped keep the secret of Horcruxes out of the hands of either a lunatic or a traitor. That was what mattered, not the means. And wasn't that exactly the same justification Snape had offered her for his actions? A necessary sacrifice. Maybe that was the final price this war would ask of her. Not just her brothers, but her soul. She could not. She would not. But what if it was that, or lose? Would Harry make the same choices? Or would he have found a way to win the war, with both friends and soul intact?
"Nice work, Gin. I'm glad you're here."
But why aren't you here, Harry? I need you.
Face pressed into the rug, she sobbed silently. Four Horcruxes and not a step closer, not after all these months