Chapter 2: I, Imogene

Draco tossed an arm over his eyes. The harsh light of morning spilled in through the windows of his room. His ears were filled with a preternatural silence. The manor was never this quiet. It kept up a steady conversation of creaks and groans for those willing to listen. Draco had become so used to the manor and its constant grumbling that he barely noticed it anymore. Part of living there, part of growing up within its walls meant tuning out the chatter. When the chatter was absent, however, the resulting silence rang loudly in his ears.

It was the silence that called everything into question. Maybe he wasn't in fact awake yet. Maybe what he heard, or rather didn't hear, was the silence of sleep. Maybe he was in that particular limbo between sleep and waking where the boundaries blur and anything is possible.

Maybe her hair had touched his face as she knelt over him. Maybe the inky, black strands had trailed over his brows and eyelids, tangling briefly with the pale blond fringe of his lashes. Maybe it had brushed his jaw, danced across his chin. Maybe he'd felt the warmth of her breath against his face and her cold fingers as they'd traced his collar bone.

Draco tensed. For the space of several heartbeats he believed it had been real. It had the depth and texture of an actual memory. He nearly felt it again, her hair on his skin. It raised gooseflesh along his arms.

He shifted and light crept in beneath the forearm thrown across his eyes. The light chastened him, pale orange and splotchy behind his closed lids, shoring up his conviction. It had been a dream; just a dream, nothing more.

His father had talked Imogene into his imagination. She must've been waiting there dormant in his mind until sleep struck and his consciousness sought to draw her forth; just a dream, nothing more.

Draco uncovered his eyes and pushed himself up to sitting. He was groggy. His head throbbed faintly. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before pushing himself out of bed. He paused to raise his eyes to the window, fighting the glare of the raging sunlight. The light won out causing him to shield his eyes with his palm. Draco longed for the dark.

OOO

Hermione awoke to pain in her hip. Her neck was stiff. Evidently she'd spent the night on the floor and she had the imprint of the carpet on the left side of her face to prove it. It was odd. The last thing she remembered was dragging herself on to the bed. How she'd found herself on the floor this morning she had no idea.

She pushed herself upright and finally stood, smoothing her wrinkled nightgown. The pain in her head had eased. There was a certain clarity to her thoughts. She tested her focus and knew from her unfettered ability to concentrate that the double had vanished. Exactly when it had happened she couldn't say, but it no longer walked the halls of the manor.

Relief flooded her thoughts. There was still a chance that Draco had seen the double during the night, but at least it was gone now in the light of day. Hermione had learned her lesson. It was one she wouldn't soon forget.

She crossed to the wardrobe to find something to wear and that was when she heard it. Something slapped against the window causing the leaded glass to rattle in the frame. Hermione walked over to investigate. Perhaps a bird had accidentally flown into the glass. She peered out through the window and saw nothing.

As soon as she turned away she heard the sound again. This time she was quick to react. She reached for the latch and threw the window open wide. There on the ledge below was a small pile of ashes. They swirled briefly in gust of air which swept them aloft before they faded and seemed to vanish.

It didn't make sense. She didn't see anything that could've been responsible for the noise. Hermione's thoughts were interrupted, however, when she saw an envelope whistling toward her. She did the only thing she could think to do. She ducked.

The envelope streaked in through the open window with surprising speed. It tore through the room leaving the drapes billowing in its wake and ruffling a sheaf of papers on a small writing desk. It was halfway across the chamber before it slowed its flight. The letter had a great deal of momentum however, and barely managed to skid to a halt.

Hermione got a prickly feeling at the back of her neck. She watched as the envelope hovered in the air for a moment before the paper flapped and buckled folding into a set of jaws that would deliver its message. The envelope had barely cleared its throat, so to speak, before it burst into flame. She saw the charred paper crinkle and collapse as fire consumed it. In a matter of seconds it had been reduced to ash which swirled away into nothingness.

Hermione barely had time to realize that someone had sent her a Howler; one that had been destroyed before the message could be delivered. No sooner had she completed the thought than a flurry of envelopes appeared streaking toward the open window. Hermione dashed to the sill and slammed the window shut. The envelopes plowed into the glass flapping angrily for the space of several moments before they erupted in flame.

Hermione sighed.

Clearly the morning post was out to get her.

OOO

Lucius hadn't intended to start his day in such a manner. There was tea spilled down the front of his robes and in his hands were the shattered remains of the latest piece of the Black family wedding china to turn up a casualty in the unofficial Malfoy family war on tableware. Narcissa's lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure as she dabbed rather roughly at the front of Lucius' robes. It was the third demitasse cup she'd lost in as many weeks. The Malfoy men were clumsy in some respects, especially when it came to her tea service. Lucius had no understanding of how lucky she was to be in possession of the family china. Indeed, if Bellatrix hadn't been incarcerated and Andromeda disowned, then Narcissa would have been a distant third in line to the tea service throne.

Lucius sensed her irritation but in truth it wasn't his fault. He couldn't have predicted that an envelope would come flying through the window and upend the cup in his hand before unceremoniously bursting into flame. Narcissa often accused him of abusing the tea things when he was in a temper but this was one of those rare occasions when Lucius Malfoy was indeed innocent.

Narcissa finished wiping his robes with the tea towel. She took the shards of the cup from Lucius and made to turn away but he gently grasped her wrist. Lucius inclined his head toward her.

"Cissy," he said softly. He reached for his wand in order to mend the broken cup. Narcissa stopped him in a way that was simple but effective. She arched one delicate blond brow in warning. Lucius took the hint. He released her wrist and held up his palms in a gesture of acquiescence. Narcissa turned to leave the room. On her way out she passed her son, who stood stiffly by the door. She deftly removed the cup and saucer from Draco's hands before she exited the room. She knew better than to leave the men alone with the tea things.

Draco watched his mother leave, a bit peeved that he hadn't been able to finish his tea. He didn't have time to dwell on the fact, however. His father was waving a charred envelope at him.

"Ministry issue," Lucius said.

"Exploding post? They're taking a new tack," Draco replied.

"It's not the purpose of the letter to explode. This is your standard ministry warning. I would say someone was trying to destroy it before the message could be delivered. If I hadn't managed a counter spell this letter would have disintegrated."

"Why would anyone go through the trouble of blowing up the post?" Draco asked.

"I was hoping you could tell me that, boy." Lucius' voice grew cold. He pointed to the partially melted seal on the back of the envelope. "This seal belongs to the Improper Use of Magic Office."

Before Draco could comment Lucius closed the distance between them and grabbed a fistful of his son's shirt.

"I do not need to draw the attention of the Ministry at this critical time, especially for underage magic."

"You think I'm responsible?" Draco asked.

"I've told you a thousand times to be smart about this, Draco. There are certain places that are cloaked from the Ministry's trace where you're permitted to practice magic, but you know as well as I do that the manor has its vulnerabilities. You can't run about with your wand drawn casting spells willy-nilly." Lucius released the front of his shirt with enough force that it caused Draco to stumble backward.

"I'm well aware of the manor's vulnerabilities," Draco said. He did his best to remain poised, but in truth he was seething with anger. "I would also mention that I'm not the only underage wizard, or should I say witch, within these walls."

OOO

"You!"

Hermione bristled as soon as she heard his voice. Clearly he wasn't happy. Well, at least he hadn't called her Cousin Imogene. They were making progress. "You" was much more personal, though he'd succeeded somehow in making it sound like a curse.

She kept walking down the long hall toward the formal dining room. The portraits of the Malfoy ancestors stared down at her with interest as she strode past. The uniformity of their stark faces and pale blond hair made her feel like an outcast. If she hadn't had Imogene to hide behind the weight of her own difference would have threatened to crush her.

Draco was on her within seconds. He grabbed hold of her upper arm and pulled her up short thwarting further progress down the hall. Hermione tensed. The last time she'd been this close to Draco Malfoy she'd punched him square in the face. She fought down the urge to do so now and fixed him with a haughty stare.

"You!" Draco said again.

Hermione nodded.

"Me Imogene. You Draco," she explained slowly. She tapped her chest once and then pointed to him by way of illustration.

"You think I'm stupid?" he hissed, the anger threatening to overwhelm him. His fingers tightened on her arm. Hermione winced but refused to give ground. He was dangerously close to doing her harm, but she knew that she could turn the situation to her advantage. After all, the point had been to draw him out and here he was.

Hermione forced herself to relax in his grip.

"I don't know what to think," she said. "You've avoided me the entire summer. For all I know you're a deaf-mute."

"I am most certainly not a deaf-mute," he said, voice rising in anger.

"I know. I can hear you. I'm not a deaf-mute either." She felt his fingers loosen slightly around her arm. "It appears we have something in common."

Draco stared at her a moment. He was still angry, but the sheer ridiculousness of the conversation caught him off guard. His anger ratcheted down a notch.

"We have something else in common," he said, roughly. "We're both suspected of underage magic."

Hermione blanched remembering the morning post.

"My father suspects me and I suspect you."

She turned away from him then, but he jerked her back around to face him his hand still gripping her arm.

"It was clever of you to try to destroy the warnings, but you didn't succeed. Lucius is cunning. Nothing escapes him here at the manor. You'd do well to remember that."

Hermione's thoughts were spinning. Ministry warnings. They must've detected the golem spell. How could she have been so reckless? The warnings had been for her, but she hadn't known to destroy them; hadn't anticipated the consequences. Someone had come to her aid.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said at last. Her voice was hollow and the statement sounded false even to her ears.

"You're a clever girl. You know exactly what I'm talking about. You will also understand when I tell you that you owe me." He took a step closer invading her space. Draco thought to intimidate her.

"I owe you?" she asked skeptically.

"You. Owe. Me. I took a punishment that was rightfully yours." He was crowding her and she took a step back instinctively. When her back touched the wall, her temper flared. She would not be bullied. Hermione pushed him and that simple push revealed more than an entire vial of Veritaserum could have. In the split second when her hand made contact with his chest Draco winced. There was a brief flicker of pain in his eyes, but it vanished almost instantly. He recovered so quickly that she nearly thought she'd imagined it. His stance told her otherwise.

Draco's shoulders were thrust forward slightly almost as if he were about to hunch over. It wasn't by any means an unusual posture, but it was clear to Hermione that he was protecting his chest, drawing it away so that it was less of a target. She studied him a moment and in the uncomfortable silence that ensued she realized that he was wounded. He had taken her punishment.

Before she could prevent it her reaction played across her features. Her eyes softened as she looked at him. The tension left her. Her arm went slack in his fierce grip.

Draco felt the shift and his fingers tightened around her arm. He wanted to hurt her as he'd been hurt. He didn't want her pity. He didn't want her trusting that he wouldn't hurt her. He didn't want her trust. It wasn't merited.

Draco's fingers dug into her flesh. He knew she would cry out sooner or later. But she didn't. Instead her eyes slipped closed.

She didn't need to see him in order to trust him to stop.

And then it happened. Draco dropped her arm almost as if she'd burned him.

"You owe me," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. Abruptly, he turned and disappeared down the hall.

OOO

"Up," Lucius said. He was shaking her awake.

Hermione opened her eyes. She'd had this nightmare before; the one where Lucius Malfoy was in her bed shaking her until her teeth rattled. Fear snapped her instantly awake. She scrambled back against the headboard, drawing the sheets up with her for protection.

Now that she was awake Lucius stood. He seemed more annoyed than enraged. Sensing that she was bound to misinterpret his actions he regarded her coolly for a moment.

"You are a child, Imogene," he said at last. "That hardly interests me."

Hermione should have been relieved, but she found that her fear remained. It kept a firm grip on her lungs refusing to let her breathe.

"I can't say the same for my son, however, which is why I neglected to send him on this particular errand."

She noticed that Lucius was fully dressed in expensive black robes which hung all the way to the ground. There was a dark cloak draped over his arm.

"Get dressed."

Hermione didn't move. Lucius tossed the cloak at her and walked to the door.

"I'll be waiting in the garden. You have ten minutes."

He closed the door behind him. Hermione simply stared. It was dark outside. The clock on the mantle told her that it was just past two thirty in the morning. Her heart was pounding. No good could come of this. There was absolutely no legitimate reason for Lucius Malfoy to wake her in the middle of the night and expect her in the garden. Something was afoot; something that required secrecy and darkness; something that in all likelihood was not Ministry-approved.

Her hands shook as she climbed out of bed and dressed. She picked up the cloak. It was heavy and voluminous, far too big for someone her size. It certainly wasn't the garment she would have chosen to wear on a warm summer night. Nonetheless, she slipped it on and was surprised at how light the fabric felt once it was fastened around her shoulders.

The cloak seemed to adjust itself to her. It took into account her height and weight. It had even taken into account her concerns about the temperature and adjusted the gauge of the fabric accordingly. Hermione felt that familiar curiosity well up inside her. She couldn't help herself. There was a half empty glass of water on the stand by the bed. She picked up the glass and dumped the water on to her sleeve. The sheen of the fabric changed slightly. Hermione watched the water bead on the cloak's surface and then evaporate. She'd remained completely dry.

It was fascinating but she didn't have time to investigate further. She pulled up her hood, pocketed her wand and turned to leave the room. Hermione caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on her way out. It was then that she noticed cloak's pointed hood. Her step faltered.

She was wearing the cloak of a Death Eater.

OOO

"You're late," Lucius announced.

Hermione tucked her hands into the opposite sleeves of the cloak. It was better than keeping them at her sides and allowing them to shake uncontrollably.

"Draco, how late is she?" Lucius asked.

"Eleven seconds." Draco was leaning against a tree several feet from his father. She couldn't see his face. It was hidden by the hood of his robes.

"I apologize for being late. You asked me to meet you in the garden. The manor has a number of gardens and you weren't specific," Hermione said.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Ah, but you are a novice, Imogene. I keep forgetting. Draco, you should have made our guest better acquainted with the grounds. It is I who must apologize to you for my son's failings."

Hermione nodded, infinitely wary of a Malfoy bearing an apology.

"Come," Lucius said. He started along a cobbled path which led out of the well-manicured English rose garden with the expectation that they would follow. Lucius's expectations were always met. Tonight was no exception. Hermione watched as Draco stiffly pushed himself from the tree he'd been leaning against and fell into step behind his father. She followed the two of them down the path which, after several twists and turns, led them into the woods surrounding the manor.

Huge, ancient trees closed ranks around them. The once cobbled path became a trail which was overgrown in some places and merely fraught with bracken in others. Lucius easily avoided the roots and vines which leapt up into the path. It was clear that he knew the trail well and his familiarity with his surroundings bred haste. He set a punishing pace through the forest.

Every so often Lucius would turn and glance at them over his shoulder checking their progress. The hood of his cloak would shift and Hermione would catch a brief glimpse of his white blonde hair spilling from beneath the hood. It took on a silvery hue in the moonlight. The strands of hair were the only part of him that caught the light. The rest of him was absorbed in the blackness of his robes.

Draco drew no light at all. He kept his hair short. There was no chance of it leaking from the edges of his hood. It occurred to Hermione that Draco's short hair was purposeful. It was one of the ways that he set himself apart from Lucius. He'd inherited his father's hair but he would keep it in his own way. It was a subtle but effective rebellion, painting Lucius's mane as the vain indulgence of an aging wizard.

The trail began to climb uphill and Hermione realized as she struggled to keep up that they were hiking in earnest. Her feet seemed to find and tangle in every root and branch that fell across the path. There were several times when she had to race to catch up to Draco and Lucius after freeing herself from particularly stubborn brambles.

The night wore on, the moon shifted in the sky and still they walked. Hermione noticed that she was closing the distance between herself and Draco. Either she was getting better at negotiating the treacherous path or Draco was slowing a bit. Another minute or two of walking and she'd be even with him. His pace was slackening.

Hermione glanced ahead to Lucius to determine whether or not he'd slowed. Lucius was in fact drawing away from the two of them. She turned her eyes back to Draco and studied him carefully. His figure was swallowed up in the cloak for the most part but she could see the odd set of his shoulders, the slight hunch.

At last she drew even with him. They walked in step for several strides and then he began to fall behind. Hermione could hear his labored breathing. She stopped and turned to look at him. His face was obscured by his hood and his hands were tucked up in his sleeves. He was hidden from her, and while the cloak hanging from his limbs was designed to conceal, it couldn't disguise the fact that he was in pain.

"Keep moving," he ground out, seeing that she'd stopped.

She did as instructed, her legs moving forward mechanically. Hermione listened to his flagging step behind her. They went on this way for several minutes. She began to turn toward him again.

"Don't," he said.

At his warning Hermione fought the urge to turn. She looked up ahead and saw that Lucius had stopped at the crest of a hill. He was watching the both of them as they approached.

Hermione dropped her head forward so that her hood covered her face. Very quietly she spoke. "Straighten up. Your shoulders give you away."

Draco paused in mid-step but heeded her advice. She heard him draw in a breath and hold it in his lungs as he drew his shoulders back. He released the breath slowly through clenched teeth in a soft hiss of pain.

When they reached Lucius at the top of the hill Draco stood ramrod straight, his breathing calm. Hermione wondered what this act must cost him; clearly less than what it would cost to have his father see him faltering.

Hermione looked out over the dense forest behind them calculating the distance they'd traveled. To her shock the manor was still visible and it appeared relatively close to their current location. Given the amount of time they'd spent walking they should've covered more ground.

Hermione's eyes turned to Lucius. It occurred to her that he'd been leading them in circles. Their current location was less than an hour's walk from the manor but they'd spent nearly twice that time on the trail. A part of her wondered if the walk itself hadn't been some sort of test of endurance.

Her thoughts were interrupted however, by faint noise filtering through the copse of trees which lined the crest of the hill. Lucius led them through the trees and the noise became more intense. It crystallized into identifiable sound, the sound of screams.

The hill overlooked a valley below. The valley was a patchwork of fields dotted with modest cottages. All of them were on fire. Black robed figures moved between the burning structures chasing Muggles at wandpoint. Jets of colored light flashed through the dark night. Bodies dropped, lifeless.

Hermione pulled herself as far into her cloak as she possibly could. She let her hood fall forward and squeezed her eyes shut. Panic welled up inside her. It was the dead of night and she was witness to murder. She heard Lucius's voice as if it were coming from far away. It was difficult to hear over the roar of the blood pounding in her ears.

"One thing you will learn. There are a good deal of superfluous people in the world. It falls to you to eliminate such redundancy."

Without a word, Draco drew his wand and walked down the slope into the fray.

Hermione's eyes blinked open. Lucius was staring at her, his hood tossed back revealing his face.

"What is it you're made of Imogene?" His voice was pitched low but she heard every single word.

The answer rose unbidden to her throat. Polyjuice. She choked it down. It wasn't the answer Lucius was looking for. It wasn't the answer that would allow her to continue to draw breath.

Her feet began to move. She was running down the slope with her wand drawn, stumbling and sliding. As soon as she reached the valley floor all was chaos and confusion. A wave of heat from the burning cottages reared up causing Hermione to stagger back a step. She'd moved in too close to one of the houses. The charred frame of the cottage lay exposed as flame consumed the outer structure leaving a scorched skeleton in its wake.

Out of the corner of her eye Hermione saw several Muggles dash from behind one of the cottages. They ran full tilt toward a wall of trees skirting the edge of the valley, clearly looking for cover. There had to be a way to help them without drawing the attention of Lucius and the other Death Eaters. Hermione shadowed the Muggles, keeping an eye on them until they reached the relative safety of the trees. Once there they had at least a fighting chance of staying hidden. Perhaps there was a way for her to herd the other Muggles in that direction.

Hermione heard footsteps pass close behind her. She whirled to see a Muggle woman and a young girl scurry past her using the thick smoke from the multiple fires as cover. Hermione gave chase casting a poorly aimed jelly-legs jinx. It missed them by a mile as she had intended and had the added effect of steering them toward the trees. As long as she kept up the appearance of pursuit the woman and her daughter might have a chance at escape. It was a good thing Hermione knew a little something about keeping up appearances.

What she hadn't anticipated was the anger. Just before the young girl and her mother disappeared into the trees, the girl turned and threw a rock at her. It caught her in the shoulder and spun her around stinging wickedly. Of course they Muggles were angry. They were being hunted for their lives.

There was a commotion coming from the opposite edge of the field. Hermione squinted through the darkness. Dark robed figures streaked across the landscape and there seemed to be a sudden increase in the number of spells being cast. Jets of red and green light shot through the air.

Hermione circled to get a closer look. Aurors. Ministry aurors had arrived on the scene. Relief washed over her but it was short-lived as a powerful spell streaked in her direction. Hermione ducked narrowly avoiding injury. Aurors were dangerous when you were wearing enemy colors.

A dark figure in a pointed hood cut across the field running toward her. Hermione tensed and gripped her wand. She had to remind herself that the sight of a Death Eater approaching wasn't cause for alarm in her present circumstances. The sight of a Death Eater approaching meant the arrival of a possible ally. That thought made her stomach churn. It went against every fiber of her being. It was just one of the many complications of being Imogene.

As the figure drew closer she noticed the stiff set of his shoulders. It was Draco. He reached her within seconds.

"Aurors," he said, as he grabbed her arm. No sooner had he reached her than several spells arced toward them. Hermione's cloak flared out of its own accord. She felt the fabric billow around her as she and Draco ran toward the trees for cover. It took Hermione a moment to realize that the cloak was deliberately flaring out in order to misdirect the spells being aimed at her. The fabric danced to protect her sensitive to her fears.

Draco reached the trees at last pulling Hermione behind him into the thicket. Her robes snagged on the low brush as they entered the woods slowing Hermione just enough so that she had time to cast one last glance over her shoulder. All but one spell remained to chase them, the others having missed their mark. The final spell was impossibly close. She barely had the shield charm in place when the spell collided with it, its impact driving Hermione backwards into Draco.

The two of them stumbled in a tangle of wands and robes. The only thing solid enough to stop their momentum was a large tree which Draco met with his back. Hermione heard the impact and felt herself come up short against him, her elbows digging into his chest and stomach. The eerie silence that followed was almost as frightening as the spell they'd just narrowly evaded.

Hermione straightened and stepped away from him. She turned to look at Draco. He leaned back against the tree, hood covering his face. He wasn't making a single sound. The silence burned her ears.

Draco's legs folded. He slid down the trunk and slumped over on to the ground. Hermione pushed her hood back and knelt beside him. She carefully rolled him over on to his back and pushed the hood from his face. Her suspicions were confirmed. He was unconscious. And he looked bloody awful.

His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat and he was even paler than usual, bloodless. Dark hallows stood out beneath his closed lids. His breath was shallow, but steady.

Hermione's hands were shaking as she bent forward to inspect the damage. She opened the front of his cloak and felt the shirt beneath. It was damp but whether from blood or sweat she couldn't be sure. It was too dark. She lit her wand and stuck it point up in the ground beside her.

The faint light revealed the buttons on his shirt. With unsteady fingers she unfastened them. She'd only just begun the task when the fabric gaped to expose the bruised and damaged skin beneath. The dark discoloration began just below his collar bone and continued toward his navel.

She knew that he was hurt, but she'd had no idea how badly. She ran her fingers gently along his collar bone and let them slip down over his sternum. His flesh was swollen and distended. Welts rose across his ribs and his entire left side was a bruised mass of damaged muscle. Blood seeped beneath the skin in filmy blisters just below his heart.

Hermione closed her eyes, her hand resting against his ribs. She couldn't look at his injuries any longer. They threatened to upend her stomach. They'd already succeeded in catching the breath in her throat.

There was movement. He was squeezing her fingers, crushing them where they sat resting against his ribs. Hermione opened her eyes to see Draco staring up at her, suddenly conscious. It took him a moment to make sound, breath and pain mingling in his throat in one ragged exhalation.

"You," he said.

Hermione leaned forward. Imogene's dark hair fell over him, the ends brushing his bruised flesh. Relief flooded her.

"Me Imogene," she said softly.

"You," he said again. His eyes were clouded with pain. She wasn't entirely sure how coherent he was, especially when he reached up to take several strands of her hair between his fingers. "You were in my room."

Hermione blanched. He was more coherent than he had any right to be.

"You're injured," she said, changing the subject. "We have to get you to Lucius, tell him that you're hurt."

"He knows," Draco said.

"He'll know how to heal you."

"He'll heal me when he sees fit." His eyes caught hers and stopped the protest rising in his throat. Lucius knew. Of course Lucius knew.

Hermione freed her hand from the grip of his fingers and plucked her wand from the ground. That was when he saw it, the look of utter determination on her face. It was pure, undiluted will. He'd seen that look before. It was as familiar to him as the taste of pumpkin juice. It was the last thing he remembered before he blacked out.