Chapter 1: Awake

In.

Out.

In.

And out.

There was pain, everywhere pain. The frail redhead’s eyes fluttered open for a second and then closed quickly. She continued to breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

And out again.

Her fingers felt numb, and there must have been a banshee viciously attacking her back with a spear from all the pain pulsing along her spine. A dragon seemed to be doing a fine roast job to her left arm as well. However, not a sound was to be heard. That, or else she’d also lost her hearing.

The girl again attempted to open her eyes, but she was greeted with a sea of blackness. Was she blind too? Despite the pain in her back she bent her right arm towards her face, and in the darkness she captured the faintest hint of movement. Not blind. Just dark. She closed her eyes with considerable relief.

In.

Out.

And in.

And out.

She managed to move her right forearm (the only part of her body she could both feel and flex without excruciating pain) across the ground. No, floor. She was laying face-down on a hard surface, possibly metal. It felt cool to the touch and sent small shivers up her exposed skin. The floor was smooth too. She stilled her curiosity. Unfortunately for her weary body, the effort of thinking and moving over the past five minutes quickly sapped any energy she had left.

Left from what? She sighed.

In.

And...out.

In.

And...

During her last few seconds of consciousness, the young redhead surveyed the inky darkness around her. Questions, too tired to force themselves to the forefront of her mind, settled dormant in her subconscious. But as the blackness slowly became absolute, one thought managed to slip through: Who am I?

* * *

When she again opened her eyes, the banshee had almost completely ceased her tirade against the girl’s spine. The dragon too had let up on the previously constant flaming of her arm. Without the overload to her pain receptors, her body managed to breathe steadily on its own. She opened her eyes.

The room was still drowned in blackness, but now her eyes could adjust to the variance in shadows. As far as she could see, the place (or chamber...or room, she didn’t know which) appeared empty. Or actually, almost empty. About a meter from her head was a large lump of dark shadow. Tilting her head slightly, so as not to reignite the banshee’s rampage, she stared at the human-sized mound of black. She was in the process of reaching out to touch it when a bright light cut through the darkness. The girl retracted her hand and shut her eyes from the intrusion of white.

"Gweth hymmm ans E fees dayed yeth..." The sounds coming from the light rattled incoherently inside her head. "Wee kans ownlee hahp so." Voices. The sounds were voices. She rolled the foreign words over and over inside her head until she realized how very un-foreign they were. Get him and see if he’s dead yet...We can only hope so.

Another voice, whiny and high-pitched, responded to the first. "Yes Master, as you insist." She opened her eyes to stare at the two silhouettes framed by the bright light. A short, fat man was examining the lump (no, body) while the other stood in the doorway. "Master," the high-voice belonged to the short man, "he is gone."

"Excellent. And the girl?" She felt her heart skip a beat and quickly shut her eyes again. The short man must have kicked her because a moment later a sharp pain radiated up her abdomen. Her lips betrayed her existence with a gasp.

"Master," the short man’s voice shook slightly when he spoke, "she is..." Rough hands suddenly grabbed her shoulders and flipped her onto her back. Immediately her arm reignited with pain and her back screamed in agony. Her eyesight faltered momentarily as her senses were again overloaded.

"I thought I told you to take care of her." The tall man hovered over her with a stick pointed at her face. No, a wand. The other man cowered in the shadows behind him.

"Please, I didn’t..." But the tall man wasn’t listening, he was watching her. She looked back into his cold grey eyes and shuddered. His long, silvery blond hair glowed in the bright light giving him a surreal effect. Whoever he was, this man was not to be reckoned with. He pressed his wand against her temple.

"Who are you girl?" His question was no louder than a slithery whisper. Who am I? She had no answer. The man pressed his wand harder against her skull and raised his voice. "Who am I?" Again she responded to his inquisition with a blank stare. A sinister sneer formed on his lips. Almost immediately a sharp white pain split through her mind. She gasped desperately for breath. He continued to stare intently into her eyes when suddenly the pain ceased completely. The girl blinked in confusion.

The man straightened his posture. "Curious. Very curious." His fingers snapped at the other man, and the latter hurried to his side.

"Yes Master?"

"Bind her and bring her back to the Manor. I should like to have further inspection into this...development." The short man pulled out his own wand and grinned, showing off years of bad dental hygiene.

"Incarcerous!" Thick ropes appeared from the end of his wand and proceeded to bind her tightly. She cried out as the ropes contorted her wounded body. "Wingardium Leviosa!" More pain shot through her limbs and her eyesight blurred. She started to feel dizzy.

Pain, everywhere pain.

In... She tried to gasp.

Out...out. The redhead blinked at her fading vision.

And in... Her world slowly swirled into darkness as she completely lost consciousness.

Chapter 2: Identity

"You must be joking, Lucius."

"I never joke, Narcissa. You of all people should know that."

"But look at her! She’s...she’s..."

"She’s a pureblood."

"A total disgrace. Not to mention her fami-"

"None of which she remembers!"

Silence.

"Can you be sure?"

"I am. Believe me, I am."

* * *

The redhead stirred. Her body loudly protested against her awakening. Everything felt stiff and sore, but the blinding pain was finally ebbing away. She cracked one eye open. Instead of the bleak darkness of whatever room she had been in, she beheld an elegant but dimly lit bedroom. The girl then realized that she was no longer strewn haphazardly across a hard floor but lying face up in a four-poster bed with deep emerald curtains. Glancing down at her body, she discovered that someone had taken the effort to mend and bind her wounds. Wounds from what?

She sighed. The large oak door swung open, and two figures walked quietly into the small room. The man was the same tall, fair wizard that originally found her. Slightly behind him there stood an equally fair woman with a stern expression. The man spoke first.

"You are conscious again. Good." He nodded with his own approval. The woman examined the girl through deep blue eyes.

"Can she speak?" The man sent the woman a frown over his shoulder.

"I expect she can." Both of them looked towards her expectantly. She knew how to speak, didn’t she? But when she opened her mouth to respond, her tongue felt heavy and sluggish. The young girl wet her dry lips and tried again.

"Yeeehssh." Her voice sounded cracked and broken. The man seemed satisfied, but the woman only turned up her nose further. She tried again. "Yeehsh Eie kehn shpeek." The girl blushed.

"Hrmp."

"Narcissa, go and have a house-elf send up some hot tea for our guest." The woman turned and left promptly to comply with the man’s demands.

Narcissa. The woman had a name, which was more than she could say for herself. Perhaps he had some idea who she was. Unfortunately however, she was still quite wary of the blond-haired man. She vividly remembered the terrible pain she had experienced from his wand. The girl suddenly felt his eyes studying her, and she met his gaze.

His lips turned up in a half-sneer. "Your tea will be here shortly."

* * *

A bowl of soup and several cups of hot tea later, the redhead felt well enough to sit up in the bed. Her spine continued to groan in pain, but her bandaged arm was beginning to feel normal. The mirror across the room reflected her gaunt, freckled complexion against her fiery-red hair. A large bandage covered most of her head, and healing cuts zigzagged across her face. All in all, it wasn’t a pretty sight.

The stern woman had returned a while later and laid a clean, but simple, dress across the back of the chair. She watched the woman come and leave with silent eyes. Her legs were not yet steady enough to attempt dressing without aide, so she waited. Exhausted, the girl fell into a light slumber.

Her nap was interrupted abruptly when the tall man again entered the bedroom. "You’re not dressed." He glanced at the undisturbed dress on the chair. Though the words still felt heavy, the tea had mostly restored her voice.

"I’m not sure if I can stand...sir." She had no idea what to call him. He caught her eye and seemed to stare right through her. Her mind pricked with fear as she recalled the pain earlier inflicted by his wand. "Who...are you?" A sly smirk played at his lips.

"I am Lucius Malfoy, son of Abraxas Malfoy and Master of Malfoy Manor." He spoke slowly and watched intently for her reaction. She simply nodded.

"And, Mister Malfoy...do you know who I am?"

His expression held mock surprise. "You don’t know?" She shook her head. Her dislike for Lucius rapidly began to grow. The expression on his face was anything but benevolent. "You, my dear, are Gwynne Wallace of Wiltshire. I confess, it has been some time since I last saw you."

The words sunk in slowly. Gwynne Wallace of Wiltshire. Gwynne Wallace. Gwynne. She had a name, but what of her family? Where is Wiltshire, and why was she found near death in the middle of who knows where? Yes, she had a name, but with the revelation came more unanswered questions.

Lucius observed the redhead as she processed this new information. She finally looked back up.

"I would get dressed quickly, Miss Wallace. Narcissa is expecting you down in the drawing room. A house-elf will be up shortly to..." His lips sneered slightly "...make you presentable."

* * *

Dressed in the dark blue dress the woman had given her, Gwynne followed the ugly house-elf down the grand staircase. Back in the bedroom the house-elf had carefully removed most of her bandages and redressed her left arm. The cuts on her face were quickly reduced to hairline scars. With her long red hair semi-tamed in a single braid down her back, she looked almost well.

The house-elf stopped suddenly and pointed towards an open door. She hesitated. The glow from the fireplace inside threw shadows across the doorstep and into the dark hallway. Gwynne steadied herself and walked inside.

Seated in a very uncomfortable-looking armchair, Narcissa inclined her head towards Gwynne as the girl entered. Across from her, in an identically stiff chair, slouched a much younger version of Lucius. He glared sourly into the fire until his mother loudly cleared her throat. Gwynne stood perfectly still on the carpeted floor.

The boy sighed and turned his head to see the object of Narcissa’s sudden interest. His jaw dropped immediately. "Father has got to be bloody kidding."

Chapter 3: Surprise

"Draco," gasped Narcissa, "your language!"

The boy sat upright, never taking his eyes from Gwynne. His brow furrowed deeply in disgust. "I don’t care, Mother. Father has completely lost his mind!" He stood and stalked over towards her, taking in her haphazard appearance. "If he even thinks that I would ever-"

"Draco." The cold voice of Lucius slithered out from behind Gwynne. When he stepped into the room, her body gave an involuntary shudder. "Draco," he repeated, "do sit down. This is no way to behave in front of our guest." Lucius stressed the word as if it were something of great importance. Draco straightened his posture and coolly faced his father.

"I won’t do it. You can’t make me."

"Oh, but I believe I can." Beside her, Lucius casually examined the end of his cane and spoke in a lofty murmur. "You see, each of our lives hang in a delicate balance due to certain...unforeseen circumstances." He met his son’s guilty eyes. "Yes," Lucius whispered, "I believe you will do anything I say now."

Gwynne watched the dispute with growing unease. Lucius’s ominous words made her blood run cold, and the expression on his son’s face was of little comfort. To what was the man referring? Why did his son feel so shocked to see her standing before him? She had never met him. Had she? Confusion clouded her already weakened mind.

Lucius broke the stare with Draco and extended a slender hand towards Gwynne. "But let us not forget our dear Miss Wallace." He took a step nearer and placed his hand on her shoulder. Gwynne got the distinct feeling that the devil himself was standing next to her, but she did nothing. Narcissa remained poised in her seat. "Let me introduce you, my dear, to my son."

Draco hesitated for a moment and then bowed, his eyes staying fixed on Lucius. The simple action radiated defiance. Gwynne swallowed nervously.

"Very good. And you’ve already met my wife?" Narcissa inclined her head gracefully. "Excellent. Now, as I rec-"

She stopped listening; a sharp pain pricked the fringes of her mind. As she stared at Draco, his outline gradually became fuzzy. The knife-like stab increased. She tilted her head to the side, willing the pain to cease. The images around her quickly began to loose focus, and the furniture seemed to be colliding into the fireplace while the floor rippled in waves. Gwynne suddenly felt something wet trickle down her face. She wiped her cheek with her fingertips only to find them stained bright red. Narcissa interrupted her husband’s mutterings with a loud gasp. It was blood.

* * *

Cheery sunlight bathed the room through the open window. A fresh breeze stirred the curtains and brushed the redhead’s hair across her brow. Gwynne lazily opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. With air and sunshine, the bedroom almost seemed cozy. She rolled over in bed and promptly released a startled cry.

"What are you doing here?!" Gwynne tried to sit up, but her head felt oddly heavy. She flopped back onto the pillows. Across from the four-poster bed sat a very bored, very disgruntled-looking Draco.

"I’m contemplating the one-hundred and one ways of murdering someone simply by staring at them," he answered casually. Gwynne shook her head to clear the grogginess.

"What?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Father instructed me to watch over you." His voice sang with disgust.

"How long have I-"

"Three days, five hours, and fifty-one minutes to be precise," he supplied. Gwynne faintly remembered seeing blood and collapsing on the Malfoys drawing room floor. Draco flicked a piece of nonexistent fuzz off the arm of the chair. "Three days, five hours, and fifty-one minutes I’ve had to watch and make sure you didn’t hurt yourself...like you were going to even lift a finger in that catatonic state." He sighed, seemingly distressed. She glanced up at him.

"If you don’t want to be here then I don’t want your company."

"Like I actually have a choice?" He sneered, an action that strongly resembled his father. "You obviously don’t know my father." Huffing and puffing, Draco slouched further in the chair and pouted as he stared out the open window. She rolled his eyes at his childish behavior.

The two of them sat in silence for several minutes with Draco staring out into the sunshine and Gwynne studying him. He was handsome, if you went for the pointed, gaunt, and sour look. His platinum hair was gelled back, and his skin was the same alabaster color as his mother’s. However, his most attractive feature had to be his eyes. Although they were same color as the elder Malfoy’s, Draco’s eyes seemed less threatening, and Gwynne felt that of the three Malfoys, his defiant (however arrogant) attitude was the most sincere.

Those same gray eyes flickered over in her direction. "What are you staring at?"

"Why do you despise me so much?" He scoffed at her as if the answer was obvious.

"Anyone with a Knut’s worth of brains knows that." His lips curled into a smirk. Gwynne simply raised one eyebrow. The smirk vanished from Draco’s face; in fact, his features suddenly bore no expression whatsoever. She gaped at him in alarm.

"Draco?" She spoke softly, afraid of his sudden change in attitude. The mention of his name seemed to draw him out of his stupor.

"You don’t know," he asked cautiously. "Do you?"

"Know what?"

"You don’t remember me?" She looked confused at his question.

"From the drawing room? Of course I remem-"

Draco shook his head irritably. "No...I mean from before. Do you remember me?" Gwynne gave him a long look.

"How could I? We’ve only just met three days ago." She studied his reaction. He inspected her closely, and Gwynne felt those gray eyes staring into the depths of her soul. Could he know something she did not? Hadn’t Lucius mentioned something about having seen her before?

She didn’t have a chance to ask. Without warning, there was a quick rap on the door and Lucius himself strode in. Draco immediately donned his bored expression and sat back in his chair. When she glanced back at him, the young blond appeared as if nothing had happened in the past ten minutes. His father approached her bedside.

"Awake? Good." The sound of his voice made her sink deeper into the safe confines of the bed. "Let’s hope there’ll be no more incidents. It isn’t good for your health." Behind him, Draco caught the fearful look in her eye and lifted his head in acknowledgement. However, the moment Lucius turned around, he was pouting again.

"Draco, sit up." The boy obliged grudgingly. "I believe your mother is in the dinning room having tea. You may go join her now." He stood quickly and exited the room without a further glance. Gwynne’s stomach lost its appetite as Draco left, leaving her alone with Lucius.

Chapter 4: Deal

"Thank you for joining me. The house-elf just brought the scones an-"

"When, Mother?"

"Excuse me?"

"When?"

"Oh."

Pause.

"As soon as she’s capable of standing without collapsing on the floor, I suppose."

"But...why her?"

"She’s pureblood, and our options are quickly growing thin."

* * *

Lucius stared at the door for several minutes after Draco left. Gwynne wished more than anything she could disappear, or at least become invisible. Finally, the tall blond turned his attention back to the bed. The redhead immediately felt squeamish.

"I suppose you have many, many questions." He looked at her with haughty disdain. "You always were the meddling type."

She always was? How could he know her unless...

"Where is my family," she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper. Lucius glanced out the window before redirecting his stare towards her.

"Dead." The word hit her like a Bludger to the face. Dead? "You are the only survivor of the Wallace line. That’s where you were found, the Wallace Manor’s basement."

Dead. Her family was dead, and the only person able to tell her anything about herself was this snake of a man before her. Gwynne’s stomach twisted at the thought.

"How is it that I can’t remember any of this?"

"The combination of traumatic stress and a single nasty spell can do wonders to a person’s memory. I suspect that you passed out from some attack, and the intruders never knew the wiser." His smirk grew slightly. "Lucky for both of us they didn’t stop to check."

Gwynne eyed him suspiciously. She still remembered his words: I thought I told you to take care of her. Perhaps he meant those words in concern? No. The tone of his voice had been very clear. He had wanted her dead too. The question gathered on her lips before she could stop herself.

"Who did this?" Lucius grinned at her almost maliciously.

"My poor Gwynne," he began. "The murderers of all our families have been one and the same: The Order of the Phoenix."

* * *

The Order of the Phoenix. Gwynne spent the next few days recovering in bed while her mind whirled around the name of her family’s murderers. The Order of the Phoenix. Draco came to visit her some, but his conversation was short and his expression mysterious. She felt that with every visit he studied her like some trinket. The Order of the Phoenix. Why did that name sound familiar? Perhaps her mother told her warnings of a rogue group called by that name, or maybe there were ghost stories of them from when she was younger. The Order of the Phoenix. She was sick of being stuck in this room.

A knock at the door startled her thoughts, and Draco entered.

"Oh, it’s you."

"Yes it’s me, you invalid." He carried with him a silver try piled with food. "Mother insisted I personally bring you supper, although I haven’t a clue why." He set the tray down on the bedside table and mumbled, "We have house-elves for a reason."

Gwynne ignored his bickering and reached for the bowl of soup. Draco often grumbled about meaningless tasks. He must have been a spoiled child. The griping, however, was far more enjoyable than Lucius’s sinister visits.

In between gulps of soup, she watched him.

"What are you looking at, Wea-...Wallace?" She smirked at the pout on his face.

"Where have we met before?"

"We, er..." he stammered. Unusual. "We went to school together." Gwynne took another sip.

"Is that why you dislike me so?"

Draco sighed. "Do you always ask so many questions, woman?" She raised her eyebrows over the rim of her bowl. "It wasn’t entirely you. Your brother and his friends were...despicable." The spoon dropped in her soup.

"I had a brother?" He didn’t meet her eyes. "Tell me about him, please...though...minus all the insults."

"But they were insulting to me," he griped.

"Okay, minus the major insults." She fished her spoon out and continued eating. Draco slouched gracefully in the chair.

"I might be able to manage that. His friend was really the worst. He had an ego bigger than a Hungarian Horntail, and everyone loved him. Your brother...he was just an oaf of a sidekick." Gwynne threw him a warning look. "Well he was! I’ve never seen someone so clumsy." Draco glared back at her indignantly. She sighed at him, and a funny little half-smile crept onto his lips. "You know," he taunted, "he was easy to torment with feet that big..."

"Draco!" The blond smirked, and in retaliation, Gwynne threw her spoon across the bed right at his face. He grasped his injured nose in utter shock. The redhead burst into giggles.

Unfortunately, the senior Malfoy had chosen that inconvenient moment to walk in. At the sight of him, Gwynne quieted immediately, and Draco stopped grasping his nose. Lucius sneered at the scene.

"This is no way for either of you to behave." The elder Malfoy glared at his son. "Leave us. Now."

With no other choice, Draco quietly exited the room. Gwynne watched him go reluctantly. As the door shut, she turned an unpleasant face towards Lucius.

"I’m sorry; we were just having a dispute. It was really nothing an-"

"Silence." She stopped immediately. "I hope that this behavior between you two ceases. I don’t need you picking fights with Draco, or vise versa." Lucius examined her with his cold eyes.

"Well, why does it matter if I get along with him or not?" Gwynne could have kicked herself in the arse for that impudent question. She was dead, she knew it. Why couldn’t she ever just keep her stupid mouth shut? Lucius, on the other hand, simply raised his head in disdain.

"Because you," he spoke with a sinister smirk, "are to marry my son."