Traitors Gate: The Secret Slytherin

Traitor's Gate: The Secret Slytherin

By: Ginnysdarkside

Ch. 3 Unpleasant Discoveries

Harry Potter ran his hand through his hair, making the already tousled mess even worse than usual. He was bent over his Potions book in the library, trying to determine exactly what had gone wrong with his and Ron's latest concoction. It was unfortunate that Hermione was now chained to Pansy Parkinson during Potions class for the rest of the term. He, Ron, and Hermione usually took turns being partners in Snape's class. Now, however, he and Ron would have to muddle through on their own. It was nice, though, to have a chance to be alone with Ron for once, even if it was under the watchful eye of Snape. Since the beginning of the year, Ron and Hermione had spent a lot of their time together. Not that they excluded him exactly, but he felt uneasy with the two of them where he never had before. It was impossible to miss the looks they gave each other, and more and more frequently, he came up with an excuse to give his friends time alone.

It was good in some ways though. It gave him time to think. His memories of that night last spring in the Department of Mysteries and Sirius' subsequent death still haunted him. Thoughts of watching his godfather fall through the veil and seeing Hermione slump to the ground as if dead were unwelcome company that kept him awake many nights. He knew he had grown quieter, more introspective, because of that night. He talked and laughed less, but in doing so had begun to watch other people more. The dynamics that went on in the school around him were fascinating. He realized that for a long time he had been wrapped up in his own problems, in his own drama. Watching the lives of others unfold around him gave him an escape of sorts, a way to stop thinking about the prophecy and all that it meant, a way to give his mind time to reflect and evaluate what was going on.

The other students isolated him even more now. It was as if they sensed that there was something wrong inside of him, some fatal glitch in his makeup that could be dangerous if provoked. He didn't think they were doing it intentionally, but he more often than not found himself at loose ends. He wasn't sure he blamed them. He still had the dreams; dreams where he saw Voldemort looming over him, his red eyes narrowed in rage. They were increasing in frequency, and soon, he knew, he would have to get up the courage to approach Professor Snape about resuming the Occulumency lessons - not only to protect those around him, but also to protect himself.

As difficult as the thought of approaching Professor Snape was, it was nothing compared to the trepidation he felt about dealing with Dumbledore. He was angry still, angry at being left out, at not being informed of what was happening. He felt that Dumbledore had betrayed him, but at the same time, he was grappling with his own guilt. If he had only gone to the Headmaster with his concerns about Sirius or told him about the aborted Occulumency lessons with Professor Snape then maybe Sirius would still be alive. He knew he needed to trust Dumbledore and that both of them needed to stop keeping secrets from each other, but it was hard. If something else happened, he wasn't sure he would be able to go to the Headmaster.

Harry thumbed the pages of his textbook and sighed. He should be focusing on his potion, but his mind was wandering. He wished he could talk to Ron and Hermione about some of the things that were bothering him, but lately that had been impossible. Since the two of them had become a couple, it seemed to him they saw only each other. That worried him, for there were things he observed going on around him that he didn't fully understand. As if to illustrate his point, he caught a flash of red hair out of the corner of his eye. He looked up to see Ginny Weasley leaving the library holding hands with Draco Malfoy, and those two thugs Crabbe and Goyle lumbering behind them.

That was something else that worried him. Ron was irate that his sister was dating Malfoy, and Harry couldn't really blame him. Malfoy was a git, a complete arse, evil and vindictive. But that wasn't what really worried Harry. What concerned him was that as the weeks went on, it seemed that Ginny became more and more like the Slytherin. Ron was blind to the change in his sister, of course, and seemed unaware that his barrage of constant insults only made the situation worse. He knew that Hermione had talked to Ginny, but she had come back from the encounter with a serious face and red eyes, and she and Ginny had barely been on speaking terms since. It was puzzling.

He knew that even last year he probably wouldn't even have noticed anything amiss; his own problems had always seemed more relevant than anyone else's. But despite the fact that he didn't spend a lot of time with Ginny, he had always liked the red haired girl and considered her almost a sister. So this year, as he sat quietly at the lunch table or in the library observing those around him, he'd noticed things; little things that Ginny would do, but significant all the same. The way she'd clear a table of second years with a single word, all of them scrambling to get out of her way, or the way she and Draco would walk down the hallway holding hands, people parting to let them by. That wasn't Ginny. But he didn't know how to talk to her, to ask her what was happening. Talking wasn't what he did best. There was no way he would go to Ron about it either. His friend was already mad enough, no sense pouring oil on the fire. It was strange though, because there were times when Ginny would seem like herself - Quidditch practice for instance, when the Ginny he knew was out there shouting and laughing with the rest of them. After though, she'd get dressed to meet Draco, and it was like a mask came down over her eyes, hiding the light and life within.

Harry sighed and looked around him. The library was a sea of frazzled students in black robes bent over their studies. He hated coming to the library on Sunday. The combined buzz of one hundred murmuring under their breath was so loud it was hard to concentrate, and he could hear Madam Pince in the background scolding people into silence. He tried to concentrate on his Potions and had finally started to figure it out when he was startled by the sound of books thudding on the table.

"Sorry to join you, Potter, but there're no empty tables left," said an unfamiliar voice.

As soon as he looked up, he was able to identify the speaker. A pair of light blue eyes regarded him coldly, and he groaned inside. Pansy Parkinson and her friend Blaise Zabini, just what he needed to make his night of studying complete. He looked around, unsure of what to say. Although he had rarely spoken to her, Pansy had always made him uncomfortable. She was part of Malfoy's crew, and that was more than enough for him to dislike her on general principle.

He fought the urge to tell her to shove off. Instead, he muttered incoherently under his breath and took his feet off the chair opposite him to clear a seat. Pansy gave him a triumphant smile, and to his annoyance, brushed off the chair with her hand before sitting down in it demurely. He shifted his focus back to his school work while the two girls rustled papers and opened their books.

It was hard to concentrate with them sitting there. From time to time he would look up and see one or the other looking at him thoughtfully. Blaise would avert her eyes, but Pansy would smirk slightly before going back to her work. He knew they were up to something, but what?

"Could the two of you be quiet?" he finally hissed in annoyance, as Blaise whispered something in Pansy's ear yet again.

"Something bothering you, Potter?" Pansy asked. "We weren't talking to you, so get back to your studying. You can use all the help you can get."

Blaise poked the other girl hard at that comment, and Pansy, to Harry's surprise, blushed and looked back at her book. He shook his head. Girls were bloody hard to understand sometimes. He put his head in his hands and tried to focus on his reading. The three of them continued to study for a while in silence until once again, he heard Blaise whispering in Pansy's ear.

He threw down his quill and looked around the library. "Listen. There are other tables empty now. Why don't you move to one of them? Then you can whisper to each other all you want."

A tiny smile crept across Pansy's face. "But I rather like it here. What's the matter, Potter? Not enjoying our company?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "Surely being with the two of us is better than being all by yourself, isn't it?" Her tone was teasing, and he found himself staring at her in surprise. Was there something wrong with her?

"Listen, Parkinson," he said. "I'm not sure why you suddenly decided to acknowledge my existence, but I can assure you, it's completely unnecessary." He picked up his quill, satisfied he'd made his point. He was totally unprepared for her next comment.

Her voice was low pitched, so much so, that he had to strain to hear it. "I assure you, Potter," she said, "it is entirely necessary."

The way she said it made him look up at her. There was a strange expression in her eyes. It almost seemed like ... but no, there was no conceivable way that was possible. But yet ... Blaise giggled, and he felt his heart sink. This was just too much for him to deal with. He had no doubt in his mind that Pansy was up to something, and he wasn't going to play her game. He stood up abruptly, gathering his books into his bag, and muttered an excuse under his breath. As he walked away, he flinched at the sound of female laughter echoing from the table.

*************

Severus Snape sighed and surveyed his Potions classroom. It was disgraceful, really, what a group of first years could accomplish in a few short hours. He scraped at a bit of the congealed material on the floor with the toe of his boot. It looked like rat spleen. Then again, one could never be sure. Ginny was coming to help him tonight, however, and she had Molly's skill with scouring charms. She was an efficient worker, more so than Draco certainly, which was a good thing, because they needed to show at least some evidence of industry after their evenings together.

He hated himself for looking forward to seeing her so much. It was pathetic, actually, but the thought of the four hours per week they spent alone were the only thing that held him together some days. It was getting more difficult, this work of his. Not being with Ginny, no, although that held its own special difficulties. What was difficult was having to once again resume his former life as a Death Eater, for as Voldemort gained in power and strength, he also resumed his cruelties of old.

Sunday night he had come back from the Death Eater gathering shaken. There had been a girl there, a young one, almost Ginny's age. She was petite and blonde, terrified, and he had barely been able to control his emotions. Fortunately, he had been able to keep back from the general merriment her presence caused, although, of course, the others pressed him to participate.

The elder Goyle had smirked at him and nudged him with an elbow. "That young apprentice of yours is keeping you busy, eh Severus?"

Snape had sent him a withering look that made the heavyset man back away nervously and had then turned back to his glass of wine, hoping against hope the alcohol would help dull the sound of the screams. Once, he had relished that sound. Now though, he could close his eyes and picture Ginny lying there. The thought made his stomach turn.

He heard her familiar knock and, with a wave of his wand, opened the door. Ginny stood there on the threshold for a moment, her nose wrinkling with distaste. Even with a bizarre look on her face, she was still beautiful to him. The more he was with her, the more it tore him up inside, but being without her was even worse. In Beijing, he'd monopolized her time, and she was seldom with Draco, but here it was the opposite. Here he was the one pushed to the side. Many nights he had sat alone in his chambers and tried to talk himself out of loving her. After hours of restless sleep, he would think he had succeeded, but then he would see her at breakfast, her red hair gleaming in the early morning sunlight, and all his resolve of the night before would crumble into nothing.

"What is that smell?" she asked. She covered her nose with her hand and looked at him over the outspread fingers. "It's atrocious."

"Some concoction of the lower years," he said, his voice irritated. "It was supposed to be a boil cure potion."

Ginny looked down at the gelatinous mess on the floor thoughtfully then jumped back. "It's still moving."

Severus started for a moment and then frowned at her. "This is not the time for levity, Miss Weasley."

"Oh, really, Professor?" Her eyebrow arched, and she gave him the look that usually meant she was going to be difficult. "The night is young. We have to rid the floor of filth and then practice Occulumency, you're wearing your best robes - I'd say the time is ripe for levity."

He shook his head. There were times when he cursed the fact that they were so blasted familiar with each other. This was one of them. But, needless to say, she'd certainly managed to pull him out of his depressed musings of a moment before. He reached for two cans of Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover and handed one to her.

"Here, make yourself useful," Snape growled. "And any more of that lip, and I'll take points from your house." He poured some of the powder on the floor and directed his wand at it. Ginny took the other corner of the room, but not before sending him a saucy sidelong glance. As they cleaned, he occasionally looked over at her. She was oblivious, her forehead furrowed in concentration as she tried to remove the porcupine quills embedded in the surface of one of the desks. He wondered what she was thinking about. It was comfortable being with her like this. They worked well together, a realization that never failed to surprise him.

He knew the year had been stressful for her so far. She had not mentioned anything, but he had eyes. The coolness of her housemates as well as some of the Slytherins' changed attitudes had told him more than he needed to know, and he somehow suspected she looked forward to these evenings as much as he.

She was wearing a silver bracelet, he noted. It slid down over her hand as she scrubbed, and she would push it casually up her wrist, bearing as little mind to it as she would to her shoes, as if she'd grown used to its weight. From the elaborate design he knew it had to be a gift from Malfoy. A jealous surge gripped him that made his teeth grind together. He took a breath and forced himself to be calm. Slowly, he shifted his eyes to the collar of her shirt, where he could see the thin silver chain around her neck. The thought settled him down, reminded him of what was real. Ginny was real, his feelings were real, the fact that he would give anything to touch her but couldn't was desperately achingly real.

Purposely, he forced his thoughts to turn back to Malfoy. Ginny seemed to accept the boy's attentions as her due. He had observed the two of them together. It was obvious Draco cared for her. His eyes would follow her when she left a room, and when he smiled at her, he had a look on his face that Severus had never seen before. He looked, in that instant, almost like a normal boy, not the spoiled son of a Death Eater.

"You're watching me." Ginny's voice broke the silence.

"Making sure you're not missing any spots," Snape replied smoothly. He indicated the far corner of the room. "There's still a bit over there."

Her wand did a strange little sketching motion in the air, and suddenly the spot was gone. "All done," she said. He joined her when she went to wash her hands. The water fountained over her palms and poured in little rivulets down into the sink. They shared the water without a word, and when they were done, Severus handed her a towel. Their fingers brushed, inadvertently, as they often did. It was like some kind of strange dance the two of them engaged in - the waltz perhaps. Intimate, yes, and familiar, but throughout each and every encounter, a polite distance was constantly maintained between the two of them.

"I need to talk to you," she said as she dried her hands. He nodded in acknowledgment, a silent signal to continue, and took the towel from her.

"Parkinson suspects something," said Ginny. "Nothing concrete, but enough for her to make threatening noises a few days ago in the lavatory."

"What does she know?" Snape asked. His mind was racing. This explained a great deal. That would have been the day she came in late and he'd assigned her to work with Granger. He was normally lax with the Slytherins, but that day she'd been worse than usual. He hadn't been able to stop himself from losing his temper when he'd heard her making remarks about Ginny. He frowned at the thought and silently castigated himself. It wouldn't do for this type of thing to be noted by anyone, least of all her. If she was already suspicious, it certainly couldn't have helped matters any.

"She thinks we're sleeping together," Ginny said with a shrug. "I think I managed to frighten her enough that she'll drop it for a while. I let a few little hints slip that will make her think twice next time before making accusations."

"Do whatever you have to," Snape hissed. Ginny have him a funny little smile at his words, and he looked at her intently. "You did do something, didn't you?"

Her eyes darkened with an emotion he couldn't identify, but if he had to guess, he would say it was arrogance. It wasn't something he was used to seeing on her face. "I did," she admitted. She looked up at him, her expression controlled. "Let's just say I have something on her, something she'll do anything to keep hidden."

He nodded, and they left the laboratory and went into his office, which was attached to his quarters by a hidden door. Snape muttered the password, held the door open for Ginny, and then followed her inside. At first he'd hesitated about having her in here, but it really was the only place in the castle he felt completely certain of privacy. Certainly Potter could have his lessons in the office - he'd been dreading the day the boy would get up the nerve to ask again - but it would be deadly if anyone caught himself and Ginny at some of their lessons. He held back a shudder. If the ministry knew he was teaching Unforgivables to a student ... No. She had to know. It was expected that the Apprentice Death Eaters be able to use any and all means necessary to serve the Dark Lord's will. It had only been animals so far, necessary sacrifices for her to get the gist of the curses. He could only hope there would not come a time when she would have to use them on people.

Ginny settled down on the sofa, her feet drawn underneath her, and looked up at him. "How was the meeting?"

"Bloody, violent ... the usual." He pushed away the memory of the blonde's face twisted in pain as she died. "He wants to meet you soon. Sometime this week possibly." This was difficult. At first he had thought her idea to join him as a spy was mad, then he had thought it had some merit, but now - now he wanted to shelter her from his world of death and dying and couldn't. It was ironic, if he hadn't been training her, he never would have grown to care about her, but because he cared about her, he couldn't stand the thought of her using the training. She mattered to him, and despite his words to Dumbledore, he worried about her.

"You don't like that idea," Ginny said. Her eyes were fixed on his.

"I don't think you're ready," he lied. "I don't want -"

"You can't protect me forever, you know." Her voice was soft now, caressing almost. "You've taught me well, Professor. Maybe too well ..." She averted her eyes, and he was about to ask her what she meant when his Dark Mark flared into life. He clapped his hand over it and gritted his teeth against the pain.

Instantly Ginny was on her feet. "Severus?" He could see her hands shaking. This was the first time she'd ever seen him summoned, and her brown eyes were wide with concern. He knew the look on his face must be terrifying, but there was no time to reassure her.

"I must go," he hissed. He grabbed his cloak and went out into his office, his wand tightly gripped in his hand.

Ginny followed him. "Do you want me to leave?"

"I never want you to leave," he said. The words escaped him before he could think, his senses dulled by the insistent demands of the Mark. She stared at him in shock, and he turned around and opened the door to avoid the question in her eyes.

The hall outside was empty, and he paused halfway out the door and looked back at her. Her hair was tumbled around her face in a waterfall, and he gently tucked a strand behind her ear. "Wait for me," he said. "I won't be long." She nodded in response. He paused a moment more to look at her and then left, shutting the door behind him. He heard the sound of the bolt being drawn and turned away, moving quickly down the hallway towards the steps. The sound of feet ahead of him made him increase his pace. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw a familiar form bounding towards the top.

"Potter!" The word was tinged with more loathing than usual, his usual rancor compounded by the pain in his arm. The Gryffindor froze, and Severus took the steps two at a time.

"Yes Professor?"

Snape growled as the pain in his arm flared, irritated that he had to take care of this. "What were you doing prowling around my dungeons?"

The boy avoided his eyes. "Nothing sir. I was going to check for a book in your classroom."

"And tell me, did you find what you were looking for?" Snape asked. Sweat was pouring down his back now, and his jaw was aching from the strain of his teeth clenching together.

"No." A tiny little tick twitched in Potter's cheek, and Snape knew he was lying. If the boy had heard anything ...

"Twenty points for your carelessness, Potter. And see me tomorrow for detention." He spun around then, no longer able to ignore the pain in his arm, and raced for the entrance. The cool air of the autumn night hit him like a healing elixir, and he gulped it frantically as he made his way at a run to the gates. The moment he was outside the wards, he tapped the Dark Mark with his wand and disappeared into the nothingness of between.

Almost instantly he was in a vast echoing chamber. He had expected the others to be there, but the dimly lit room held only Bellatrix and the Dark Lord. The two of them were waiting in the far side of the chamber. Voldemort was ensconced in a large wing chair, his back to the room, and Bellatrix stood like a sculpture at his side, her hand resting lightly on the chair back, her dark hair reflecting the shades and shadows of the firelight. He took a moment to compose himself and then approached the chair by the fire cautiously, his eyes cast downwards.

"You're late, Severus," the Dark Lord said. He was staring into the dancing flames, his fingers wrapped around the fragile stem of a port wine glass, his lips set in a thin line. "You are aware I do not like to be kept waiting."

"I apologize, my Lord," Snape said. He genuflected before the Dark Lord, and then stood still, his hands clasped in front of him, concentrating on keeping his mind blank.

"You were with the girl again." Voldemort looked up at him, and Snape struggled not to flinch as their eyes met. It was still strange to see the Dark Lord with the eyes of a normal man. When he had first risen, they had been red and hateful, but as the Dark Lord's strength grew, through rituals and sacrifices, they became more and more human. Now they almost looked normal, Snape thought, except that there was still something repellant deep inside them. They had a dead look that reminded Snape of a snake, cold and watchful.

A low laugh made him look over at Bellatrix. Mad, beautiful Bella. She had been changed so by her contact with the Dark Lord. Once she had been a laughing girl, but as her lust for power grew, so did her cruelty, until in the end she was the favorite of the Dark Lord. She must be, otherwise he could not imagine she would still be alive after her spectacular failure last year in the Department of Mysteries.

"You are with her often, Severus," Bellatrix said. "Tell me, does she please you? Certainly she can't give you everything a woman can." She ran her fingers along the back of the Dark Lord's chair, and her lips curved into a cruel smile.

Snape longed to wrap his fingers around her slender throat and choke that look of superiority off her face. Instead he merely raised an eyebrow at her dismissively and addressed his words to the Dark Lord. "She is my apprentice, My Lord. I wouldn't want her to be a disgrace to my teaching. She must be prepared."

"Indeed, Severus." The Dark Lord shook his head, his lips twisted in what some might call a smile. It gave his face a strange distorted appearance, as if the skin was not used to conforming into that expression. "I only hope you have taught her well, one can never be too prepared."

Snape lowered his head. "She will be, my Lord."

"Yes." The Dark Lord's voice was quiet. This was always a sign that he could quickly become dangerous, a trick to lull his enemies into complacency. "You truly believe she can be trusted?"

"My Lord. She has proven herself -"

Voldemort cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Enduring your sexual perversions, Severus, and being trustworthy are two entirely different things. Tell me." He took a sip of the port in his glass. "Did they ever find all the parts of the MacDougall girl?"

"Actually, my Lord," Bellatrix inserted, "that was Lucius." Her eyes swept over Snape, and he felt a cold twisting of his entrails. "Severus prefers his lovers still alive. Don't you?" Her fingers brushed gently at the front of her robes, and despite himself, his eyes dropped down to where the gently draped material clung to her skin. She smirked. "There are more than a few girls out there who bear your mark, Severus. Did your new pet scream when you cut it into her?"

Snape managed to look contemptuous, while suppressing his revulsion at the thought of ever sullying Ginny like that. What they knew of him was restricted to his participation in their revels. On those occasions he was as cruel and sadistic as the next Death Eater. He had to admit that he had once drawn gratification from such activities, a sick and twisted pleasure. It was a thrill he hadn't felt in a long time. He participated in the rituals still, but only out of duty, only to avoid suspicion. It worried him that Ginny would soon experience them for herself. He only hoped she was ready.

Once again he looked past Bellatrix, refusing to rise to her baiting. "My Lord, my apprentice and I do share a certain ... fondness for each other. We work together closely. As you know, it is customary for there to be some ... bonding. She is, however, attached to young Malfoy in the public eye, so you understand we must be circumspect."

"Lucius' son," Voldemort said in a cold, measuring tone. "He would be attending the ritual as well, if it weren't for Julian's interference. But no matter. If your girl is as good as you say, one day the Malfoy influence and fortune will be in her hands, and therefore in ours. Then we will have our revenge."

Snape wisely remained silent. The Dark Lord stared into the fire for a few moments longer and then said without raising his head. "Bring her Saturday night. After hours, of course, so no one will miss either of you. We'll have dinner." He looked up at Bellatrix, his eyes gleaming maliciously. "Just the four of us, a nice quiet evening."

"Yes, my Lord." Severus stood waiting, knowing from experience not to leave unless dismissed. The wait seemed interminable. The Dark Lord finished his glass, which Bellatrix refilled with a steady hand. Finally, after almost half an hour had passed, Voldemort waved his hand regally. "You may go, Severus. And tell your protégée I look forward to meeting her. I am interested to see how a Weasley could make such an impression on you."

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord."

The Dark Lord turned backo his silent contemplation of nothing and twitched his fingers in the direction of the door. "See him out, Bellatrix. Then you may retire. I am finished with your services this evening."

Snape saw Bellatrix flush under her olive skin, her dark eyes blazing with hidden anger. He restrained a smirk. Perhaps he was wrong after all. Perhaps poor little Bella wasn't the favorite anymore.

The two Death Eaters bowed low and kissed their Lord's ring before slowly backing out of the room. Both knew never to turn their back on the man in front of them, whether he had his wand in hand or not.

In the anteroom, Snape turned to Bellatrix, his voice low and mocking. "Reduced to errand girl, Bella? How the mighty have fallen."

She merely raised an eyebrow. "I bide my time, Severus. Soon he will forget, and then once again, it will be I who is his most favored servant." They strolled towards the door. Bella was always odd to talk to, Snape thought, quixotic really - first angry, then, within seconds, speaking calmly as if nothing had happened. She turned to him and gave him a disarming smile, her slim fingers gently touching his arm. "I hope you have a nice evening, Severus. I look forward to meeting your pet." She raised one eyebrow with an amused expression. "You always have had exquisite taste in women. She's the little red haired one isn't she? You know, when I saw her that night last spring I was reminded most strongly of Lily. There is a resemblance, wouldn't you say?"

"I hadn't thought of it." Snape said, meeting her eyes without blinking. He wouldn't deign to discuss either Lily or Ginny with Bella of all people.

His old housemate smirked. "Perhaps ... but, you always have had an obsession with red heads, at least this one isn't a Mudblood." She opened the door and looked up at him with her heavy lidded dark eyes. "Till Saturday then. I'm looking forward to it."

Severus half bowed to her, his face expressionless, and took his leave without another word. The door shut behind him with a gentle thud, and he leaned back against it for a moment. Lily. She had to bring up Lily. He gave a muffled sigh, went down the steps, and with a wave of his wand, Disapparated.

For an instant, the cold inky blackness pressed in on his body, threatening to crush him, to suffocate him. Some people panicked between places. That could be deadly; that was when splinchings happened. Severus, however, relished the temporary sensory deprivation. It was a second in his life where he could not think, could not feel, where there was only frigid empty darkness and the sound of his heartbeat echoing in his head.

Before he had a chance to fully finish this thought, he was in front of the Hogwarts gates. It was late now, and no one was around to hear the sharp crack of his sudden appearance. He made his way up the gently sloping lawn to the castle, his steps slow and measured, taking advantage of the solitary walk to think on what he would tell Ginny; he didn't know how he would be able to explain what he had said.

********

Ginny stared at the door for a few minutes after Professor Snape's departure. The worn wood gave her no answers, and the twined snakes carved into its surface seemed to mock her. Finally she turned away, one thought foremost in her mind. She was astonished by what he had said. He didn't want her to leave, and the fact that he had told her so brought all sorts of questions surging to the forefront of her mind. For the past month, she had done such a good job of suppressing her feelings, of turning her attentions to Draco, of focusing only on work and their training when she was with Professor Snape. Inside, she had known how she still felt about him, but she hadn't wanted to admit it, even to herself. It was too painful to even think about.

He wants to be with me, she thought. The thought made her want to cry and laugh at the same time. She shook her head and went back into his chambers, using the password she's heard him murmur. "Night's candles."

Once inside, she shut the door securely behind her and leaned back against it. This was the first time she'd ever been alone inside his private quarters. It was a strange feeling, intimate really, to know he trusted her in his most sacred space. She breathed in. It smelled like wood smoke and herbs with just a hint of the harsh soap he used. It was here that they'd practiced Occulumency and the Unforgivable curses.

At first, the Dark Magic had been repellant. He taught her a few simple spells to begin, but even they left her weak and terrified. Slowly, however, the tang of fear had vanished, leaving her with a bitter taste, like blood, in her mouth and making her own blood pound in her veins with a desperate unnamed longing. The memory of it was so strong, that even days later she would lick her lips, thinking she would still find traces of it on her tongue, still feel that sweet siren's song of desire flowing though her body. All that power surging through then pouring out of her was at the same time terrifying and seductive. When she had spoken to Snape about it, he had told her that was the allure of the Dark Arts. It had the power to tempt you, to make you forsake everything, and only too late would you discover that it had become your master, enslaving you to its will when all along you had thought you had bent it to yours.

"Why?" she had asked. "If it's so dangerous, then why are you teaching it to me?"

"Because," Snape said, "you have to know." He had looked at her with his cold, black eyes, suddenly not her friend or her mentor, but someone foreign, alien almost. "You have to be ready. If you are not prepared, if you are not willing to use any means necessary, than they will know you are not truly one of them and all will be lost for both of us."

Ginny had met his eyes and swallowed hard, and the next lesson they had started on the Unforgivables. The first time she'd used Crucio on the rat, she had failed. Snape had pushed her, made her try over and over again, mocking her, insulting her, until finally she had screamed out her frustration and turned her wand on the rat. There was a sudden flash of brilliant light, and the air seemed to congeal dark red, like clotted blood at the edges of her vision. The rat squealed in agony and thrashed about on the bottom of its cage, its limbs contracting and its eyes bulging. For a brief moment, she'd felt a sense of triumph flood her, but then she'd realized the enormity of what she'd done. With a panicked gasp, she ended the spell and fell on her knees beside the motionless animal's cage, feeling at its chest with frantic fingers. The rat was unconscious only, its heart still beating erratically under her touch. Despite the animals she had seen slaughtered in Beijing, this was something she had done, a living creature she had harmed. She replaced it gently amid its shavings, not bothering to wipe away the tears streaming down her face.

"I'm sorry," Ginny whispered to it. "I'm so sorry." She looked up at Snape. He was regarding her silently, his black eyes glittering.

"How do you feel, apprentice?" He bit off the last word as if he hated the sound.

"Terrified," she admitted. Her breath was still coming in fast little gasps and her hands were trembling. "I made that animal suffer. I did that." She wiped the tears off her cheeks with her fingers.

He had smiled at her then, cold and brittle. "Then you have learned something. You will never forget how this made you feel. Remember that."

Even now, weeks later, the thought of that night made her shiver and draw closer to the fire. Now that the day of her initiation was drawing closer, she felt she was seeing a darker side of Snape. It made her realize more clearly what had made him the man he was, who he had been, and also, what she was expected to be.

Not once had she regretted her decision to go to Snape and ask him to train her as a spy, but there were times when she questioned the wisdom of the action. It was changing her, she had to admit. What scared her was that she didn't know if it was for the better or the worse.

Ginny broke herself out of her reverie and looked around the room for something to keep her busy. She found a stack of first year's essays on Snape's desk and sat down to mark them with a well worn quill. The soothing sound of the ragged tip scratching on the paper relaxed her, reminded her of nights spent in the common room studying with her brothers. She had almost reached the bottom of the pile when the sudden sound of the door opening made her jump, and Snape walked in.

His face was dark and angry, but cleared somewhat when he saw her. He nodded and indicated the stack of papers. "Good, I'm glad you found those. That's one less thing I'll have to do tonight." He went over to the fire and warmed his hands for a moment. When he turned back to her, his expression was slightly distant, but when their eyes met, she saw a touch of sadness in the way his drooped at the corners.

"What happened?" She stood up and joined him by the fire. "Is everything -"

"He's asked to meet you," Snape interrupted, avoiding looking at her. "Saturday night. I'll expect you here just before curfew. I'll give you a spell that will hide your absence from your housemates ... it's one we use for the students that need to attend our gatherings."

Ginny's mouth grew dry - this was it then, it was finally real. She took a deep breath and looked up at Snape. He was staring at the andirons with an expression of utter calm upon his face, but she could see his hands twitching nervously at his side. "This upsets you, doesn't it?" she asked.

The bitter sound of his laugh echoed in the room. "Upsets me, is that what you think?" Suddenly, his hand shot out and grabbed her arm, his fingers tightening viciously around her wrist. He pulled her to him and looked into her eyes. "It terrifies me, you silly girl," he hissed. "Do you think that I want to see you with them? Do you think I enjoy the knowledge of what they'll make you do? That I relish the idea that you will have to bind yourself to his dark heart because of me?"

His fingers were digging into Ginny's wrist with excruciating tightness, but she did not dare to pull away. He was so close to her she could hear the harsh sound of his breathing, could catch the slight gasp of despair his throat made when he inhaled. "You only did what I asked you to do," she told him, trying to reassure him.

"I never should have said yes." His eyes were frantic now. "I should have turned you away, I should have ..."

The emotion in his voice frightened her; it was desperately angry, bitter. "Severus," she whispered, trying to reason with him. "Calm down, you're hurting me."

Snape looked down at her suddenly, as if shocked, and instantly released her wrist, his eyes widening in horror at the sight of the livid marks already rising on the pale skin. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he said. "Please, forgive me." He met her eyes, and she knew he wasn't asking for forgiveness solely for the bruises on her flesh. There was such intensity in the way he looked at her that it made her heart clench in her chest.

She reached out and touched his hand gently, grasping it lightly in her own. "Severus, it's all right," she told him. "I'll be all right."

"It's just ..." He shook his head. "You don't know; you cannot know what is in store for you, Ginny. I've failed you. I've led you to this."

"You could never fail me." Ginny imbued the words with every thing she felt for him, hoping he could hear the truth in her words. He blamed himself, but he shouldn't. "This was my choice, Severus. Believe me that I know what I'm in for. Have you forgotten that I am already intimately familiar with your Dark Lord? I bear his marks on my soul, as well as on my flesh."

She leaned closed to him and made her voice low and convincing. "It was inevitable that I would do this; you cannot blame yourself. It's because of you that I will be stronger, that I will have the skills to do what I need to do. You have prepared me, you have ... cared for me, now it is my turn to show you what I am capable of. Believe in me."

"How could I do anything else?" he asked. He stared at her for a long moment, and when he looked down at their joined hands his voice was thick. "It's late."

"Yes." Ginny looked up at him. She wanted to tell him everything would be fine, to reassure him, to make him feel as secure as she felt with him. There was nothing she could say, however, that could even come close to expressing her feelings, so instead she merely stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. He hesitated a moment, and then his arms came up around her and held her close. The black material of his robes was a warm blanket that gave her solace. He sighed and brushed lips across her hair line then rested his chin on the top of her head. They stood there for a time, and then he walked her to the door.