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."