"Of course, that makes the person behind this even more dangerous in a way, because they don't seem to care how many people they finish off before they actually reach their victim." Hermione Granger, Elf Tails, p378 Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

22nd December

I find myself getting more and more excited as Christmas draws nearer. This year I must face festivity without her smiles, her jokes and her joy. But Adelaide is still alive; and since her mother has gone I remember seeing more and more of Joan in her. The way she tilts her head when she asks a question, as if the query will look different from another angle. The upbeat in her voice, Joan's flesh-and-blood legacy, the stamp that Joan made on the world that could never be removed.

She had been such a comfort to me; even though she didn't know. Even though she may never really know me. I always felt uplifted with her, as if my life has a broader, a higher existence. I felt- almost like a child. For all the misery there is in the world, there will always be that one last smile,that lives in spite of itself.

I thought that maybe I might be free. That I could visit her. At least allow myself that hope.

I was humming to myself as the owl dropped the letter on my chair. I thought nothing of its formal manner until I had slit a corner and glimpsed the writing underneath.

Scrimgeour. I braced myself, one hand on the window sill, sitting on a chair as I slid open the paper to read my next orders, my next sacrifice.

I write to inform you that your niece, Miss Adelaide Lucy Stanley, has been transferred from her former residence, along with her guardians Mr. and Mrs. B. Stafford, to Mayhill House in Swansea, Wales, due to security reasons.

You will not be permitted to engage in a visit with the family over the course of the festive period, also for the reasons mentioned above. Due to the probability of owls being searched, no letters may be exchanged until the Ministry has deemed it clear of hazards.

This letter will self-destruct in 30 seconds.

No family. Alone again.

I crumple up the letter and fling it across the room; and as that even that proves unsatisfying, continue to defile the parchment further until it obeys its own command and promptly destroys itself.

Christmas Eve

"Ron! Don't you ever let me see you throwing knives again!"

Molly says this just as I slip through the kitchen. Awkward.

Like other members of the Order, I will be staying at the Burrow for Christmas Day- but I couldn't stop myself from snatching myself a few extra hours at the Burrow. I've learned what a precious thing happiness is, so I'm determined to get what I can when I can. I have no idea if I will live to see another Christmas.

Joan didn't.

For the first time in weeks, I've had the chance to get Draco out of my mind- but the plan still lingers in the back of my head. I keep expecting an owl to crash through the window, or for Kingsley to rush in any minute shouting "Dumbledore's been poisoned!"

All this time I have been waiting. But one day my chance will come.

And when it does, I'll seize it and never let go.

Christmas Day

I slip a dress over my head. It has a swirly swirt, but I'm not tempted to twirl. It's lovely, but I don't feel the urge to dance around the room pretending to be a cygnet from Swan Lake. Not any more. On the spur of the moment I take it off again and just sit in my room staring at the wall. I don't want to wear it any more. Feels like a shroud.

I put on a jumpsuit which feels sturdier and nod at myself in the mirror. Much better.

After lunchat the Burrow, who should turn up out of the blue but Percy Pig himself? And Scrimgeour. I'm determined to avoid Scrimgeour as much as I can get away with. But obviously, he's not here to see me. It's Harry he wants to see, of course.

I'm desperate to eavesdrop, but the ground is covered in snow, making footprints highly legibile. I peer from around the corner of the curtains in the window to find out as much as I can. From what I can see, things aren't going very well.

"What are you doing?" I jump and spin round to face Percy Weasley. I wonder how long he's been watching me. Then I contemplate whether or not he has been watching me at all, as his glasses are completely obscured by what looks like mashed parsnip.

"I might ask you the same question, Perce. Why are your glasses coated with what looks like masked parsnip?"

"The twins and Ginny," is what he offers by way of explanation. He looks crestfallen; and more than a bit frustrated.

"No need to look so downtrodden, Perce. They love you really."

"Oh yes? And how do you know this?"

"Because mashed parsnip was all they could bring themselves to throw at you."

I leave the house at around eight o'clock, it being winter it always gets dark much earlier so shadows greet me as I begin to walk out of the house and along the road.

I Apparated to a place a little under a mile away from my destination. I never Apparate directly home, I have always preferred to walk the familiar paths that lead there. The familiarity is soothing in an ever-changing world.

Until something make me stop dead in my tracks.

It is said that it is a sign that you know a person very well when you can tell their indentity by the sound of their footsteps.

I hear a footstep that is very familiar. One that I have been listening out for for all my life. The shuffling stomp that silences all sanity from my head and life in my heart. The step that means it is time to stop and wait and fear.

I'd die a thousand deaths, if only to never see those eyes again. Those cold grey eyes, that mirror so well my own. That tell me of the fate I am bound to, what I am certain to become.

If I'm not as mad as him already.

Now I know that hell truly is on earth, as the blood that courses through my veins, the blood that chaines me to him runs cold. I draw a knife from inside my coat; and in the glimmer of its reflection I catch a flash of blond hair and that eye. It is a belief that the mirror reflects the soul; and I can see only him. It's always been him, him and me both bound to destroy what the other created. Both killed by the one they were meant to love.

I cannot run. I cannot hide. I can only turn and face what Fate has dealt me.

For in the shadows of the street lurks my father.

Waiting for me.