Prologue...

The sorting hat had barely reached his head but he already wore a cocky grin, announcing that he knew which house he was joining.

"Slytherin!" The sorting hat roared through the Great Hall.

"That's not right. It didn't even touch his head." Ron Weasley whispered to Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy walked over to the cheering Slytherins.

The fire crackled, emitting a warm glow in the simple stone cottage. In silence the lone two occupants sat near, the light outlining a middle aged man with shaggy hair and a scruffy beard that would look more suited for a pub floor if it weren't for his more homely attire. The plain skivvy hugged his surprisingly muscular form and his dark track pants displayed the evidence of more than one coffee spillage in their life time. The second occupant was a young girl no older than primary school. Her wavy hair was equally as dark as his in short black curls as it resembled a bird's nest. Her tiny form displayed well defined muscles and the odd bulge of scar tissue as her well-tanned back was exposed to the fire. She sat tensed, straddling the chair as the man dabbed disinfectant to the raw and torn flesh on her back.

"Next time you must be more alert. Keep your guard up no matter what. Don't let your thoughts and emotions get the better of you unless you want to be no better than an animal using instinct. That is no way to succeed." His husky and gruff voice would have sounded harsh and uncaring had he been speaking to anyone else, but the young girl knew otherwise. Behind that mask of scruffy and unkempt hair was a pair of loving blue eyes that resembled the clear sky. This was simply the way he showed he cared.

"Yes Michael." Her soft youthful face was stony and expressionless like the man who had raised her. Though to her Michael was her father, she had never called him so because he wasn't. Her real father had abandoned her with the only man not completely wasted in the muggle bar. Barely six months old, the hooded narcissist dumped her in Michael's care with a sack of cash and a brief letter of explanation. If that was the true definition of a father she could never group Michael as one.

The loose glass rattled in the window frames as the wind outside picked up. A storm was crawling in from the horizon as they sat in a comfortable silence. His coarse hands gently tending to the flesh wound. He tied off the bandage and packed up the first add kit, making a mental note to stock up again. The young girl stared into the fireplace as she pulled her loose shirt back down. Weakly she thought how she would be sleeping on her stomach for a while.

"Blue," Her gaze was instantly drawn away from the slowly dying embers to lock eyes with her hairy guardian. His beard twitched up to the side giving away his hidden smile. "Your present is on your bed. Happy tenth birthday, Kiddo."

She allowed her own lips to tweak into a small smile as her stormy eyes fought to contain the full extent of her joy. He had remembered. Instantly she ran up the creaky stairs and in through the second door. But not once did she make a sound.

On her pillow laid a small bundle and an envelope. A sense of weary hit her as her eyes examined the forest green ink. Unlike the simple tag on the bundle the letter didn't address her by her nickname. Instead it was her birth name; the name she had been escaping and despising for years.

Miss Leona B Malfoy

Centre of Cut-throat Wood

Buckinghamshire

London

Carefully, as if she were handling a fragile flower, she lifted the envelope off her pillow and turned it over. There, stamped in the wax seal, was the emblem for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dread filled her as she quickly raced back down the stairs. A knock on the door making her run faster.

"Michael." She called, but it was already too late.

The sorting hat had barely reached her head but her face was solemn, already knowing which house she was joining.

"Slytherin!" The sorting hat roared through the Great Hall.

"That's not right. It didn't even touch her head." Albus Potter whispered to Rose Weasley as the young Malfoy walked over to the cheering Slytherins.

Chapter 1...

McGonagall stared at the small girl at the end of the Slytherin table. Their earlier conversation still plagued her mind as the whole school ate the welcoming feast.

Minerva's stern face hid her inner shock and fear. This young girl standing in front of her had done unthinkable things yet her shoulder length black waves created a guiltless frame around her innocent youthful face.

"Miss Malfoy, I believe you understand why I asked for you to take the carriages in order to have this important discussion with me." McGonagall watched the girl with caution.

"I have a few requests." The small voice held maturity beyond her years as the stormy grey eyes locked with Minerva's emerald ones. "And I assume you have some yourself. Perhaps a deal could be struck, Headmistress?"

McGonagall was still confused by the agreement. The young girl had a few small simple requests that were nothing in comparison to the restrictions and extra rules McGonagall had placed on her. Yet the girl nod and accepted them without question. What had been going through her head? Was she really okay with the agreement or was she planning something? For some reason the arrangement left the older women more worried than it comforted her.

She walked in silence down the empty passageway, not even her breath made a sound. It had been months since she had entered Hogwarts and no one had acknowledged her except for the always playful poltergeist known as Peeves. Her teachers avoided bring attention to her. Her classmates rarely realised that she was actually there. In the common room everyone just walk straight past her spot on the windows ledge without a second glance. And she liked it.

Every time she felt someone's eyes on her she tensed. A dull ache would emit from one of her many scars. Michael's voice would ring in her head, telling her to be as invisible as possible and to keep her guard up. Her hands clutched her bag strap with white knuckles in an attempt to keep her almost instinctual reaction from occurring. A sinking feeling weighed down her gut until she was able to escape the lingering pair of unknown eyes.

McGonagall had told her not to expose her secret if possible. This was a comfortable way for her to keep her promise. Keeping to herself was easy. That was how she was raised. Without any acquaintances, let alone friends, she reduced risks of anything happening. (If only she had a way to keep Peeves quiet)

But even she realised that one day that would change. One day she would be acknowledged by another human. One day she would make a friend. One day she would wish to seek another's company. Because she knew that as much as she was okay with or happy being alone, no one could bare solitude, not even her.

And so one day her secret was bound to get out. But until then she would continue to be as invisible as a small spider to the inhabitancies of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Because no one could ever hope to understand all the blood on her hands.