Disclaimer: I own most of the plot, some of the characters and none of the money that the real author behind the Harry Potter series does.

Author's Dedication: Krystal, I know that you love dedications and since you're having a rough time I'll dedicate this one to you just because I think it's important not to beat yourself up or worry needlessly. You may think that it's all screwed up now, but that's what Ginny thought too. I'm smiling now because I'm comparing you to my Ginny. (Sorry, I'm not calling you tragic—I promise). I would just insert your name anywhere hers shows up (because it's choc full of your fav Slytherin) but for the sake of the other readers I won't. Cheer up, girl! It's not that bad.

Chapter Ten

On Different Sides

"If I give up on you I give up on me

If we fight what's true, will we ever be

Even God himself and the faith I knew

Shouldn't hold me back, shouldn't keep me from you

Tease me, by holding out your hand

Then leave me, or take me as I am

And live our lives, stigmatized…"

The Calling: 'Stigmatized'

                "Where have you been?" A voice from behind her made her cringe. Imogen turned slowly to greet her temporary guardian who had been waiting in the dark for her.

                "I had detention," Imogen said massaging her temples and collapsing on the couch next to her.

                "For what?" Arabella asked, eyeing her charge suspiciously.

                "Skipping class."

                "Who's?"

                "Snape's. Are you done with the questions?" Imogen huffed and bent to untie her shoes.

                "No. Why weren't you in class?" Arabella didn't look like she expected an answer. She continued. "I know you won't tell me. I did some checking around. I know where you went. And I told you not to." She shook her head and stood over the mutinous-looking child in front of her. "How many more chances do you think I have to give you? Finnigan made it perfectly clear that if you mess, up you stand trial."

                "I had to see him. It's because of me he's there. He's not coming out of that place alive and it's my fault. What did you expect me to do?" Imogen stood.

                "To follow orders. You do good work at the Ministry. You're valuable. We appreciate that. But you're a minor and a criminal. Jesus! I'm trying to keep you out of Azkaban. You want to help me out a bit?" Arabella was pacing with rage now.

                Imogen sat again, her mood changing considerably. "Is what I heard true? Is she dead?"

                Arabella stopped and eyed the girl with sympathy. "Yes. How did you hear?"

                "Never mind. Was it him?"

                "Yes. Imogen," Arabella stopped and sat beside her charge. "About him. There's something I need to discuss with you."

                Imogen looked weary, fighting tears, but resigned.

                Seeing the proof of how tough this kid was directly, Arabella continued in a more confident tone. "We think he's planning something. I know you know how he works. You've watched him in action before."

                "I know for a fact that he's planning something."

                "How?" Arabella stood again and leveled an impatient glare at her.

                Imogen was immovable. She didn't say a word.

                "We want  you to trail him. I'm taking you off of the Minister's case. I'm pretty sure he's clean," Arabella said.

                "And I'm sure that he isn't. Who's we, by the way? Surely Sirius didn't agree to this." Imogen regarded the older lady for a long time, trying to discern anything that would give her plans away in full.

                "I want you to go undercover."

                Imogen looked horrified as the full meaning of the terms came to her. She fought revulsion long enough to make it to the bathroom where she wretched, either from the suggestion or from the alcohol, she wasn't quite sure.

                Arabella followed her down the hall. She found her bent over the toilet, a ghastly shade of white. "I will be standing by. We just want you to get us some information. Anything. Location to the next raid. Base of operation. Little stuff. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise you, dear."

                "Do you know what you're asking? Did you know that Elena Vassikin was his mistress? It'll give me away immediately. I couldn't—," she broke off as she felt another wave of nausea coming.

                "I'm not asking you to put yourself in that kind of position. I am asking for twenty minutes at most. A conversation. No one is as familiar with her mannerisms, her ways around him than you, dear."

                "No." Imogen unclasped the bracelet from her wrist and flipped open one of the small compartments, encrusted with sapphires and emeralds. She held the pills it contained in her trembling palm. Just as she made the motion of tossing them into the toilet, Arabella brandished her want and Summoned them from her grasp.

                "It's this, or Azkaban."

                "No. I have done everything you've asked of me. I can't do this. I don't want anyone hurt, but…you'll have to get someone else."

                "You're not going back to Hogwarts," Arabella snarled. "You have too much freedom. You've forgotten that you don't have much say in this. You have two choices. Respectfully declining isn't one of them."

                "I still have a family. I'm not some discarded pieces of trash that you can throw away if you choose. I have another choice." Imogen was hysterical, screaming, despite her pounding head. She held firmly to the ornate bracelet and picked herself up off of the ground.

                "Your grandmother is dead. Your father doesn't want you. What other choice do you have?"          

                Imogen stormed past her and to her room at the end of the hall. Throwing clothing wildly into a bag, she wiped the tears from her eyes and flew around the room in a rage.

                "Where do you think you're going?" Arabella said, blocking the door. She glared determinedly at her charge. She was immovable. She would win this argument.

                "Back to school. I'm not doing this. Send the authorities after me if you wish."

                "What is this really about?" Arabella crossed her arms in front of her. She was going to get to the bottom of this and then Imogen would do her job.

                Imogen stopped where she was and spun around to face the infuriating woman in front of her. Her anger faltered and she could think of no better explanation than the truth. "He thinks I'm dead. No, that's not it." She shook her head as if to clear it and continued. "He loved Lucy. She's dead. She's gone. I'm all that's left. But it's not good enough for him."

                Arabella laughed. A cold laugh. "You would throw your future away. Rot in prison? Over some boy who's in love with an alter ego? Imogen is who you are and who you always will be. You can't go back. Innocence once lost, can never be regained. He doesn't even know you."

                Imogen's lip trembled but she didn't cry. She knew it was true. The truth was always cruel. She knew that. Her heart sank painfully anyway. She was still human and it still hurt—too much.

                She grabbed her bags and pushed past Arabella with some difficulty.

                "If you don't agree to this by Friday, you will be arrested!" Arabella called after her.

                Imogen didn't turn around, nor did she reply. She merely held up a finger, universally code for fuck off. She opened the door and walked out.

***

                Ginny surveyed the sky warily. It didn't look like rain today, but it was a bit colder than the beginning of the week. Today was her birthday and, as usual, her mother had sent her a birthday cake. She also sent a note with it. Ginny had it with her now.

                She had given the cake to Ron and his dorm mates. She saved the letter for her afternoon walk around the lake. The wind was blowing fiercely, whipping her cloak around her furiously. But Ginny was stubborn and sat down on the tree stump by the water's edge. The weather wouldn't drive her indoors today.

                Pulling the envelope from her pocket she tore it open carefully and unfolded the single piece of parchment. There was a photograph enclosed as well.

                Ginny began to read the letter, in her mother's familiarly hurried scrawl. A customary tear ran down her cheek, but she smiled fondly. It read:

Ginny dear,

                I was cleaning in Percy's room just the other day and I found this. It was just hanging there on the mirror. I must have seen it a million times and never thought to give it to you.

                Do you remember when it was taken?

Don't cry. It's your birthday, sweetheart.

I know he would have wanted you to have it.

Have a wonderful day. I'll see you at the train station in three weeks.

Love always,

Mum

Ginny smiled through her tears as she looked at the picture. It was taken from a Muggle camera in black and white film. It was of her birthday when she was…five years old? She wasn't positive. She looked so young. She was laying sprawled on the sofa, on her stomach, bare feet kicking wildly in the air. She remembered that sun dress, it had been her favorite. Percy sat on the floor beside her, reading from a thick and very boring-looking book. Ginny remembered not caring what it was that he was reading out to her, it could have been Transfiguration or any number of other textbooks. She remembered loving his attention, listening to every word because she adored him. And he adored her.

Another tear chased down her cheek and dropped from her chin. It left a cold trail as the wind whipped up again. The photograph blew from Ginny's hand before she had the chance to catch it. She cursed as she watched it land on the surface of the half frozen lake.

Ginny jumped up frantically and searched the pockets of her robes. No wand. She cursed again and stomped her foot on the frozen ground, watching helplessly as it floated further away.

She hadn't even seen Draco, who came up beside her. Seeing her distress, he immediately waded into the water. He was nearly to his waist when he reached the photograph.

He came out of the lake half soaked and endeavoring not to shiver. Ginny knew how cold it must have been, but she had been distracted in trying to remember if anyone had done anything quite this sweet for her before. She remembered with a half smile how the little boy in the Paris park had retrieved the disabled boat for the little girl in pig tails.

Draco looked at the photo briefly before handing it to her.

Ginny was stunned. She didn't know what to do next. She could only think of the two little French children. She took the photo from him and leaned forward to kiss his cheek in thanks.

She was half surprised when he moved in the last instant, catching her kiss with his lips.

He broke away in the next instant and blushed slightly. This surprised Ginny the most. Were Malfoys allowed to blush?

"I am so sorry, Ginny," Draco said in a barely audible tone.

Ginny was surprised to hear it. She looked up from the photograph. It hadn't been ruined. Just a little wet. "Sorry for what, Draco?" she asked, searching his cool silver eyes for his meaning.

"I didn't know you had been through so much just to protect her. I didn't want to see it. I wanted to blame you. I'm sorry I didn't understand." Draco was searching her eyes for something as well. For what? Forgiveness? He had that unconditionally.

Ginny nodded and looked away. "How did you find out?"

"Your brother."

Ginny looked back at him. But any anger that she tried to summon melted when she saw him, dripping, shivering and in general pathetic and pleading.

"I don't want pity."

"I'm not giving you any."

"Then what. What do you want?" Ginny couldn't put the sharp edge on her voice that she knew the question deserved. It sounded a little hopeful, a gentle offer.

"Forgiveness." Draco had been staring at the ground in front of her feet. He chanced a brief glance at her and returned his eyes to the ground.

Ginny could stand it no longer. She couldn't act when she felt this strongly. To hell with what everyone else wanted. Right now she only cared about what she wanted. And he was standing right in front of her. She quickly paced the few steps to where he stood and threw her arms around him. "And forgive me."

A relieved sigh escaped him as he gathered her up in his arms. "Forgive you?"

"Yes, for not seeing where all this would lead. I'm supposed to be able to see these things." She pulled back. There were tears in her eyes. "I swear. Had I known she was in any danger I would have done things differently."

Draco reached up and wiped her cheek with his thumb. "I know you would have. So would I."

He slid his hands underneath her cloak and placed them on her warm back, tracing the contours of her spine with a finger.

Ginny jumped and then started to laugh.

Draco pulled back and furrowed his brow. "Why are you laughing at me?"

Ginny shook her head. "It's not you. Your hands are cold."

She leaned up on the tips of her toes and kissed him before saying, "Come on inside. I don't want to be responsible for you catching a cold."

He allowed her to take his hand and lead him back up to the castle. His grandmother had been right about her. She always was.

He felt a pang as she crept into his mind. But he was reassured in the knowledge that she would have been proud of him. He had been humbled, had apologized. He wasn't completely his father's son.

Inside the entryway of the considerably warmer castle Draco and Ginny stopped, staring expectantly at one another. Draco would have professed anything, offered anything, done anything she'd asked him, if she would just give any indication that she wanted him to.

Ginny thought later with some regret but far more relief that if he'd asked her to come with him, back to his room, she would have—more than willingly.

Instead she squeezed his icy hand in hers and kissed him demurely on the cheek. As she came closer to him, resting her free hand on his chest she felt his wand concealed in one of the pockets of his robes. She smiled.

Draco looked at her quizzically. "Why are you always laughing when you kiss me. It's really starting to hamper my self esteem."

Ginny didn't explain, but reached into his robes and produced his wand.

He smiled. Taking his wand he looked away and bit his lip. "I didn't think of the summoning charm," he admitted with an embarrassed smile.

He was becoming more adorable by the second.

"Your way was more charming." Ginny thought she'd better beat a quick retreat before she did  something she might regret.

She turned and ascended the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

Draco watched her go with much regret but also equal parts of understanding. He went in the opposite direction and down to the Slytherin common room.

***  

Imogen had been in her pajamas all day.

She was thankful that there had been only one other girl in Slytherin House in her year. But, she had left school after the Azkaban incident two years ago which left her with a room to herself.

But she couldn't look at the inside of this room for one more instant.

She kicked off the blanket that she had been wrapped in and threw on her cloak over the light blue pants and button down top. She didn't care if she did catch hell for her appearance. It seemed she was already headed in that general direction anyway.

She padded, bare footed, up to the roof below the Astronomy Tower. She came up here for the view and sometimes when she needed to let off some steam. Now she wanted a little of both.

It was late afternoon and the wind was picking up. She didn't seem to feel it. She felt numb—dead. Thoughts of various kinds had been chasing themselves around her head since she left Arabella's last night. First and foremost in her mind had been: Didn't anyone care about her? Arabella surely didn't. She wouldn't have suggested what she had if she had her welfare at heart. How could she be so cruel? Imogen smiled as she thought she might be better off in the care of her father instead of her.

She perched on the stone battlements, feet drawn up underneath her, shielded from the cold. She caught the movement of two figures below: a boy and a dog.

Her heart sank painfully, echoing the truth of Arabella's statement last night, "He doesn't even know who you are." That was true. He never would understand.

She wished that things would lay themselves out as neatly for her as they seemed to for him. Everything was black and white, good and evil. It was this simplicity of his character that she was drawn to. He was unlike anyone she had ever known before. She knew this the first time she had met him—just after her mother had died. She was at the lake and he had found her there, crying like a slob over Tale of Two Cities she shook her head. Maybe she would have had a chance with him if the events from that moment to this had been altered. Her chance was gone now. He was in love with someone else—a dream, she was gone. She would never be back.

It hurt her to deny him that person.

Imogen was all that was left. A murderer, a fallen angel. Soon there would be another man's blood on her hands. His trial was set for Monday.

Perhaps that was why Arabella was so upset, frantically unmoving in this matter. She was trying to help Peter. Imogen's eyes grew wider with the new perspective. Did Lucius Malfoy know something that could possibly help Peter?

Imogen scrambled off of the parapet as the sun began to sink behind the dominating mountains at the limits of her sight. She had to write Arabella, find out what she wasn't telling her. If it could help Peter in the smallest, Imogen would do it.

She ran the entire way to the common room as Professor Flitwick yelled after her to slow down.

She was stopped in the hallway outside of the Great Hall as Ginny called after her.

"Where have you been? I was looking for you."

"I flew south for the winter," Imogen answered in a sarcastic tone.

"Cute. I have an idea."

"Can it wait? I was just on my way to do something," Imogen began.

"Is something wrong?" Ginny looked at her friend, worry dawning on her face.

Imogen looked into Ginny's eyes. She could tell that her friend was nearly bouncing with uncharacteristic glee. She regretted that what she was about to say might kill that. "I'm leaving school, Ginny. Before I go, I'll make you a Time-Turner so you can go back and talk to Mungo. I think you should."

Ginny was stunned but nodded anyway. "Isn't it illegal to manufacture those?"

"Yes," Imogen shrugged with an air suggesting that she didn't see the danger in the Ministry finding out. "It's on my head if they find out. You're free from incrimination, don't worry." Imogen turned to leave but stopped. "Bye, Ginny," the small dark-haired girl said, moving to hug her shocked friend.

Ginny was alarmed with the finality of the gesture and was left there staring after Imogen as she took a flight of stairs down to the dungeons and out of sight.

Back in the dark security of her dorm room, Imogen pulled her spare Turner and a caldron from her wardrobe. She flipped her Dark Arts text that she stole away from Malfoy Manor on her bed. She began toiling silently with the potion that would enable the Time-Turner to go back to 1352 AD just before the battle of Hogwarts. She knew that this was where Ginny needed to wind up. She couldn't say why, she just felt it when Azria had placed her hand on her forehead when she'd been unconscious.

While it was simmering, Imogen wrote Arabella, asking her to impart the entire plan, objectives, what she needed to retrieve exactly, how long she had until it was too late to save Peter.

She sealed and addressed the envelope. Setting it aside to take to the Owlery after she was finished, she stirred the bubbling mixture and glanced at the clock. It was twelve-thirty.

She took the caldron off the fire and dipped the Time-Turner carefully into it. Setting this aside, she wrote Ginny a brief note, begging her to use it soon, to listen to Mungo. She knew he had something important to tell Ginny. She wasn't listening and she desperately needed to. Placing the Time-Turner and the note in a separate envelope she wrote Ginny's name on it and placed it next to the one addressed to Arabella on the desk.

Bending to clean up the caldron and its companion mess, Imogen was shocked when she heard the door of her room open and shut with a purposeful slam.

She turned quickly to see Draco standing there. An involuntary shudder wracked her as she stood to face him.

His eyes looked hollow and deadened. He had the ruthless impatient air of importance and indifference characteristic of his father.

Imogen backed away, frightened.

***

After a rather awkward meeting with the Headmaster in which Draco learned all of the particulars surrounding his grandmother's death, Draco decided to head to the armory to think over things in his own way.

He entered the dark and deserted place under immense apprehension. The last time he was here he had awoken to an enormous headache, sprawled along the cold stone floor after a conversation with his father. He wasn't eager for a repeat performance and so made sure that he was the only one there.

He chose his weapon and began running through the drills. His father had taught him most of what he knew. Rarely had Draco picked up anything from another source.

Lucy had been different.

In the years preceding her accident, she had developed a graceful fencing style all of her own. Draco had been envious of her. She'd learned none of it from their father. He wouldn't have bothered to teach her. He never thought she was worth the energy to teach.

But he had been meticulous in his instruction of his son. So much so that Draco still found himself mindlessly gravitating toward his father's views, ideas, beliefs. Still, after so long, after he'd given most of it up, Draco still felt himself compelled toward the man who would seek to fashion him into an image of himself. He didn't know if that equaled love. He was almost sure that there was no love in him to waste on his father.

Hate. He hated him. He hated him for what he did to Lucy, his mother, his grandmother and Ginny.

His heart sank and he stopped in mid-swing as he thought of her.

He wasn't being wise where Ginny was concerned. He was opening himself up for another avenue of pain and hurt. Yet, it was painful to be without her.

He reproached himself for this selfish thought.

His grandmother was dead, and he could guess why.

Would she be next?

Could he risk that?

The answer was definitely no. But, how could he put distance between them without hurting her as well? He nearly stumbled into a lunge and swore. He was getting sloppy.

"Is there something on your mind, son?" the cold voice asked. Draco didn't flinch, didn't start. He'd almost expected it.

He turned and was less than surprised to see his father leaning lazily against the weapon rack.

"Should I even ask how you keep managing to get in here?" he said, mimicking his father's lazy tone.

"You're certainly welcome to. I can't promise I'll give you an answer."

Lucius pulled down a rapier, wrought in Spanish steel. It was magnificent. He saluted his son who saluted lazily in turn. They sparred and continued the conversation.

Draco was beginning to wonder why all of their conversations had taken place while fencing. It seemed to be the only way they were ever able to talk to each other. They were always in combat with one another. It was curious.

"It was you wasn't it? Did you think you were trying to be ironic? Car bomb. Very funny, father." Draco was not amused.

Lucius' lips split into a cunning smile. "Yes, I quite thought so."

"Why did you do it? She wasn't threatening you."

"You have no idea how involved she was. And she was getting tiresome. Were you aware that she had actually filed a custody suit against me for Lucilla?" He laughed mercilessly and blocked Draco's angry swing.

Draco had tried to strike out of some unknown need to wound, to hurt. He had never wanted his father to mention her again. The way he spoke her name was an insult.

"Well, we don't have to worry about either of them getting in the way, now do we?" Lucius continued, surveying his son with a smirk.

Draco glared at his father.

"You took them away from me. You took everything."

"I am giving you everything. You will be great, powerful, infallible. Draco, I am working toward your future. Don't you understand?" Lucius had stepped back, disengaging Draco from combat. He was fervently begging him with his eyes to understand him.

"No. I don't understand. I want none of whatever it is you're offering. I want them back. Can you give me that?" Draco lowered his sword and stepped back as well.

"No. But what I offer you is greater. If you would just come with me. I need one thing from you and then all will be complete. I will show you everything."

"Nothing is greater than what I had. What you took from me. I loved my sister. I want her back. I want nothing else from you. And since you can't give me that, I'll settle for never seeing you again." Draco threw his rapier in the corner and began to walk away.

Lucius brandished his wand and sealed the exits with an incantation. The room reverberated with the force of it. Draco stopped and turned.

Slowly, Lucius approached him. "You sound just like your mother spouting nonsense ideals of love and truth. It's almost revolting. It's Lucilla's influence over you. That's why she had to go, you understand. That's why I killed your grandmother. You have no one else to rely on, save me."

He leveled his wand at Draco.

"Now what I need from you, son," Lucius continued, his cold gray eyes never leaving Draco's, "is a book in the possession of Imogen Spencer."

"How do you know her? You stay away from her."

Lucius scoffed. "Calm down, boy. I won't harm her. You sound disappointingly like a Gryffindor."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Draco asked, his chin set defiantly.

Lucius chose to ignore this and press the issue at hand. "This book was mine. She has taken it from me. It is one of the original texts of the Dark Arts and contains a particular spell I am keen to have."

"It was you. You know about Imogen because you were there…at the house…when she came…you trashed Lucy's room.  You bastard. What were you looking for? Lucy had your book? What would she want with it?" Draco furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Lucilla did a lot of things in secret. Apparently, this Miss Spencer knew about the book and used you as a pretense to abscond with it. I want it back." Lucius still had his wand leveled at Draco, but Draco was used to this and remained undaunted.

"Well, I am not your little messenger boy. I will not ask her for it. I care nothing for your plans. And if I hear of you harming her in any way I will—," Draco could not finish his threat as he was plunged into a blissful state of complete obedience. The Imperious Curse.

He felt the alien feeling of rage somewhere deep below him. He reached for it. Concentrated on it. He fought the curse and it was painful to seemingly go against your will. It wasn't actually your own will that you were fighting, but that of another impressed upon you.

He broke free from it. "If you hurt her I will hunt you down and kill you myself." He finished his threat only to be plunged further into the depths of his father's will. He could not escape it this time. And felt that he wouldn't want to either.

"Fetch my book from Miss Spencer. Bring it to me and then return to your dormitory," Lucius commanded.

Draco obeyed immediately.

***

"Draco?" Imogen asked, her trembling voice betraying her fear.

"Where is my father's book, Imogen?" Draco asked hollowly.

Without speaking, Imogen ran to the bed and placed herself between the ancient book laying open there and Draco.

She could tell he was being influenced by a curse. If she knew which one, she could counteract it. But she wouldn't dare without knowing. She could hurt him irreparably if she had gotten the wrong one.

"Draco, who's got you under this curse? Do you know which one it is?" Imogen tried to no avail.

Draco brought his fist down hard across the small girl's cheek, leaving her motionless on the ground.

He picked up the large book effortlessly.

Without a glance back at the girl, face bleeding onto the rug, he left and brought the book to his father as he was commanded.