The first thing Ginny noticed when she awoke was that the pain she had felt before was now gone. Her eyes fluttered open, and took in the room which surrounded her. Dark colors were prevalent everywhere, and strange menacing-looking artifacts rested on shelves leaning precariously against unfamiliar walls.

 

‘It wasn’t a dream, then,’ she realized, ‘I really was captured, and now I’m here, and..’ She gulped her mouth had suddenly gone very dry. Snape. Snape was here. Snape, the sarcastic bastard, the greasy bat of the dungeons, the murderer.

 

            Cautiously, gently, Ginny tried to move her legs and torso into a sitting position, very conscious of the pain this action had caused the last time she’d tried it, and was keen not to repeat the sensation. Miraculously, no pain came. Pushing with the palms of her hands, Ginny managed to turn herself until she was sitting on the edge of her bed, her legs dangling inches above the floor. She gingerly lowered her feet to the floor, keeping a tight hold on the edge of the bed to steady herself. Other than a brief moment of dizziness, Ginny felt fine.

 

            Seeing a crooked mirror hanging near the door, Ginny made her way slowly over to it, careful to keep her hand on the wall all the while. She may have felt steady, but Ginny had no desire to collapse, especially not here.

 

            A thick coat of dust covered the old ornament, which Ginny brushed off carefully. Instinctively, Ginny knew she should check it for possible enchantments but without a wand, that wasn’t really an option. A cloud of dust rose up, making Ginny cough and raise a hand to cover her mouth.

 

            “Must not have used the thing in a while, has he?” she muttered to herself. “Wouldn’t have wanted to, more likely.”

 

            Ginny surveyed the reflection that stared back at her with disgust. Her hair was tangled, and had found its way free from the piece of ribbon she had been using to restrain it. Her face was covered with dirt, and several cuts and scratches, although none bled openly.

 

            The one thing that Ginny was immensely grateful for was the fact that she was still wearing the clothes she had been wearing on the day she had been captured, however long ago that had been. Anything else would have meant that “they” had undressed her, a thought which sent a shiver down Ginny’s throat and made her more than a little nauseous.

 

            Stepping back, Ginny absently fingered the ring that she knew to be on her left finger, even though it was invisible. Although the metal was cold, touching it gave her an inexplicable feeling of warmth, although it was accompanied by a pang that reminded her of the person who had given it to her, the person who was probably going mad with worry even as she stood here.            'No!' she told herself sharply, wiping away a renegade tear making its way down her face. 'Don't think about that!' She knew that it wouldn't do either her or Harry any good if she suddenly became weepy and useless. Shaking her head to clear it, Ginny fixed her mind firmly on the here and now, and on what lay in front of her right now.

 

            Specifically, what lay in front of her was an old wooden door which led out of the room that had been her prison cell for the past few days. Ginny wanted desperately to leave the room, but, as much as she hated her captor, she still was wary of his warnings not to try to escape.

 

            "Well," Ginny said aloud, "I'm not trying to escape! Just look around a bit." Ginny wasn't sure if she was trying to convince herself or whatever protections lay embedded in the walls. Maybe she was just reassured to hear the sound of a human voice, even if it was her own.

 

            Making her decision, Ginny stepped outside the door and into the hall. She screwed up her eyes and braced herself, as if waiting for some shock to come. When it didn't, she heartened a bit, and looked around at the old hallway.

 

Old and elegant looking pieces of art hung on the wall, portraits of witches and wizards with snobby looks on their faces looking down their abnormally large noses at her with disdain There were several doors littered at odd intervals up and down the hall, and all of them were shut tightly. All but one.

 

About twenty feet away from Ginny, a door was open, and a soft light emanated from the doorway. Ginny knew that she shouldn't go look, knew that she should go back to her prison-room, but she couldn't. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. Why would Snape leave a door open? Was he still here?

 

Walking forward carefully, Ginny reached the edge of the open door and peered through the small crack in the door hinge. She watched for a few moments, and, after seeing no sign of anyone inside the room, decided to venture in.

 

Once she was inside, Ginny saw what had been the source of the silver glow. In the corner of the room, she could see the edge of a Pensieve sticking out from under the curtain that she guessed had been meant to hide it. The silver glow seemed to pull her in, drawing her towards the beautiful basin.

 

 

            Fingers trembling, Ginny clung to the Pensieve. Slowly, she touched the tip of one finger to the restless gray substance. Instantaneously, Ginny felt herself being flung headfirst into the basin.

 

            It took Ginny a moment to regain her balance after falling into the Pensieve. Looking around, Ginny realized that she could see nothing; the room was dark. ‘What’s this?’ she thought bitterly, ‘is the bastard’s memory being afraid of the dark?’

 

            Her thoughts shifted when she heard a strange shuffling noise from what seemed about ten feet away. Ginny listened attentively as the noise continued a few moments more, before it came to rest directly in front of her.

 

            The next thing Ginny knew, a voice, filled with a seemingly familiar tone of disgust, was muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “Jelly Slugs,” and a door was flung open, bathing the room in torchlight. Whoever had opened the door was still cloaked in shadows, but now Ginny could see the room, enough, she hoped, to get some sense of where she was.

 

            She seemed to be in some sort of a study, with a bedchamber visible through an archway on her right. Books lined the walls, and in some distant part of Ginny’s mind she thought that, should Hermione ever find this room, she would probably either faint from happiness or barricade herself inside until she had finished all the books available--quite possibly both.

 

            The door slammed shut, making Ginny jump, but not before the voice muttered “Lumos.” The light from the wand illuminated the face beneath the hood, illuminated a pale face contorted in anguish and hair which, although it was hard to tell in this darkness, looked to be black as night.

 

            ‘Well it is his Penseive, after all,’ Ginny berated herself after this realization caused her a bit of a shock, ‘he had to show up sooner or later.’

 

            But what happened next so intrigued Ginny that it pulled her from her thoughts.

           

            “Albus,” the voice called sharply, taking a few more steps into the room. Ginny took a few steps sideways to move out of his way, even though she knew perfectly well that no one could hear, see, or feel her while she was in this memory. Even so, she didn’t particularly like the idea of someone walking straight through her.

 

            “Severus, is that you?” Albus Dumbledore’s agitated voice rang out from an adjacent room. A few unintelligible words were spoken, and then the whole room was suddenly flooded with light. Ginny blinked, temporarily blinded. After a moment, she saw Dumbledore striding out of a padlocked room which he shut and locked behind him, his eyes narrowed together in confusion and worry.

 

            “Yes, it is,” said Severus Snape, as he threw back the cloak that had been obscuring his face. His voice was flat, and almost emotionless, but Ginny detected a current of anguish coursing underneath it.

 

            “Sit down, Severus! You look ready to fall over!” said Dumbledore, a concerned look on his face.

 

            “I am not about to fall over!” Snape snapped, sounding a bit like a petulant toddler being told that he was tired and needed to go to sleep. However, for once Ginny agreed with her former teacher; although Snape’s physical manner may be tired, his eyes held the same alertness that they always had.

 

            “Severus,” Dumbledore said in a warning tone.

 

            Snape returned his look with a glare for a moment or two, and then seated himself stiffly on one of the soft cushioned armchairs that littered the study. Dumbledore silently joined him in sitting, but didn’t look at him at first, as though he was waiting for Snape to initiate the conversation. For a minute, Ginny thought that the headmaster wasn’t going to get his wish, but then Snape began to speak, acting as if each word was being thrown forcibly from his mouth.

 

            “I have recovered some new…information tonight that is crucial, you know,” Snape said stiffly, before pausing once more.

 

            'What’s he so upset about?' Ginny wondered, very intrigued.

 

            “A ceremony took place tonight, and several new Death Eaters took their marks. Among them was young Mr. Malfoy.”

 

            Dumbledore looked up at Snape, studying him carefully before letting his eyes relax. “Draco?” he said quietly, even though he, Snape, and even Ginny already knew the answer.

 

            “Yes, Draco!” Snape spat, saying the name like it was a curse. “That asinine boy put himself in the Dark Lord’s service tonight, put himself into what essentially will become willing slavery!"

 

            “Severus, I’m so sorry,” Dumbledore said in a pacifying tone, laying his hand gently on top of Snape’s arm. “I know that you take it hard whenever one of your Slytherins decides to serve him.”

 

            Ginny was surprised to see that for a moment that there was remorse on Snape’s face, but the next second it had reverted to its previous state of guarded anger. Snape jerked his hand away from the Headmaster’s calming touch as if it were poison, and a soft hiss of inhaled air passed through his lips.

 

            “That is not the information of greatest importance, Headmaster. Children are giving themselves up to his servitude quite often these days, and Mr. Malfoy is no different than any other child. I am not upset by one more mistake in a sea of many.”

 

            Dumbledore looked like he doubted the truthfulness of this statement, but, wisely, in Ginny’s opinion, he said nothing of it, and just waited for Snape to continue.

 

            “Mr. Malfoy has been given a specific task, one that, I believe, is intended as a punishment for those errors made by his noble father, the most egregious of which, in the Dark Lord’s eyes, was the fiasco in the Department of Mysteries. I do not think that young Mr. Malfoy is intended to live to see this task to completion. His task,” Snape’s eyes flitted briefly to meet with the headmaster’s before refocusing themselves elsewhere. “His task is to see you dead."

 

            This news was not received by Dumbledore in quite the way Ginny would expect someone to react upon finding out that he was being targeted for murder; he actually took it rather calmly. It seemed a pretty good ruse on Snape’s part; if he diverted attention to Draco, he could continue with his own plans to end the Headmaster unhindered.

                        

            The two men stared at each other, Snape glaring challengingly at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore just looking calmly ahead, obviously deep in thought.

 

            Apparently tired of waiting, Snape finally said, “Well?”

 

            Ginny was watching everything that occurred with her eyes riveted on the scene, which a little voice in the back of her head kept reminding her was pointless, since she already knew what this conversation would result in. She ignored it.

 

            Dumbledore gave a sigh, and looked around the room once more, before looking back up, but this time, Ginny noticed a small change in his demeanor that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

 

            “He must not be allowed to go through with it,” Dumbledore began.

 

            “Well of course, Headmaster, I wasn’t going to propose that we let-“

 

            “Severus.” The headmaster’s voice was quiet, but so powerful that Ginny, and Snape as well, turned their complete attention towards him.

 

“You misunderstand me. He must not go through with his task,” repeated Dumbledore, “but the task he has been set shall be completed.” Ginny imagined that she wasn’t quite as surprised as Snape was by this statement, all things considered, not that Snape ever showed surprise; his emotions and expressions were too well-schooled for that.

 

Snape realized what the Headmaster meant almost at once, being, as both he and Ginny had acknowledged in the present, not an idiot in the slightest.

 

“You mean to sacrifice yourself, then? Give yourself up for some boy who’s too much of an imbecile to realize that slavery is never an acceptable option?” he hissed.

 

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh on the boy, Severus? After all, he is far from the first Slytherin to make such a choice. As much as you try to deny it, I know that you care for them, and that you take it as a personal insult when one of your snakes joins his ranks. Draco must not tear his soul, must not become a murderer. Besides, I’m hardly going to sacrifice myself. You will help me in that regard.”

 

            “What exactly is it that you are proposing, Headmaster?” Snape had risen from his chair, and his voice was colder than ice.

 

            “I am proposing that you bring about my death, Severus. I am proposing that you kill me”

 

            Ginny felt as though she had just been kicked in the stomach by something hard and fast, and that things were spinning strangely before her. Why would Dumbledore ask Snape to kill him?

 

            Apparently, Snape either wasn’t quite as shocked as Ginny was, or, if he was, he was failing to show any outward sign of it. He stayed standing, rigid, and his eyes continued to glare down at the Headmaster, still seated, but still stonily silent.

 

            “No questions?” Dumbledore asked casually, as though he were talking of nothing more important than the Chudley Cannons’ last match. “You aren’t going to ask why I chose this?”

 

            “I, unlike some, do not ask questions that I already know the answer to, Headmaster,” Snape murmured silkily, sarcastic as ever. “I thought you knew me well enough to realize that. Having essentially acted as a spy for the last several years, I do believe that I have at least a feebly grasp upon basic strategic concepts.

 

            Ginny shivered, although she couldn’t actually feel the temperature of the air in the Pensieve. At this point, she didn’t much care, however; her intention was focused fully on Snape, studying every line of his face in the hopes that it would tell her something about the man, seeing how her previous assumptions about him had taken a pretty formidable hit just then.

 

            “You sensed that the Dark Lord’s strength is growing, and that when he grew strong enough, killing you would become his most pressing priority, with the obvious exception of his fixation on killing Potter. If and when you die, I will be of no use to the Dark Lord, at which point I will be unable to collect information of any merit. You need a way for me to remain in the Dark Lord’s good graces, although of your purpose and plan I have no idea, and this is your way of doing so.”

 

            “Ahh, Severus, you never fail to impress me,” Dumbledore chuckled, reaching for a small dish on the oak table between. “Lemon drop?”

 

            Snape gave Dumbledore a look which even Ginny could understand, “does it particularly look like I am in the mood for a lemon drop?”

 

            “Why so anxious, Severus?” Dumbledore asked. “After all, to a well organized mind, death is just the next great adventure.”

 

As the mists of the Pensieve surrounded her once more, Ginny saw out of the corner of her eye Snape’s pale face clouded with anger.

 

            The next thing she knew, Ginny was being thrown head over heels out of the Pensieve and back out onto the floor of Snape’s study. Her mind raced, trying to connect and comprehend all the information it had just absorbed. But instead of answering her many questions, all she could think of were more questions.

 

            Why was Snape hiding this memory? Why would Dumbledore have asked Snape to kill him? Could the memory be fake? But if it was fake, why would he hide it? Surely he couldn’t have anticipated her finding it!

 

            If that memory was true, didn’t that mean that…..

 

            An icy voice cut in, sending a chill up Ginny’s spine. “Enjoying yourself, Miss Weasley?”