Disclaimer- don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter 1) Breathe No More

I've been looking in the mirror for so long

That I've come to believe my souls on the other side

All the little pieces falling shatter

Shards of me

Too sharp to put back together

Too small to matter

But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces

And I bleed

I bleed

And I breathe

I breathe no more

Evanescence

The pain has gone now, replaced by a curious sensation of floating. I am floating, floating through nothingness. Usually situations like this scared me. Not knowing what was going on, it made me uncomfortable. If I didn't know what was happening, how could I control it? But for some reason I didn't feel that way this time. Maybe its cause I'm dying.

It's a year ago today. I think I'm the only one that remembered. Snape didn't remember and the Dark lord certainly didn't, but I did. One year ago today, I woke to my mothers beautiful, terrified face and was told that I had been sent for, by him. Well there's only one 'him' we ever talk about in our house, so I knew at once what she meant. I couldn't understand why she looked so frightened. But my mother was not stupid. She was not the wife of Lucius Malfoy for nothing. If only I'd payed attention to her. She once sent me a letter, the usual you'd expect from a mother to their only child, away at school. Sweet but also reserved and formal, as is her way. Then at the very end she wrote a sentence I'll never forget. She said 'we can get away if you wish. I know people that will shelter us. Say the word and everything can end.' Of course I was not stupid either. It didn't matter how far I ran, he would always be able to find me. So I stayed.

But I am getting off track aren't I? Its such a curious place this. It's almost as though I'm reliving my life over this past year. I can see it all perfectly, that first ever audience with the Dark Lord. I was so arrogant, so sure that he had singled me out, at the age of sixteen due to my extraordinary skills. It never occurred to me, till long after that he was just trying to get back at my father for failing his ministry mission. But by then it was too late, far too late.

And so I blindly accepted his mission and agreed to kill my ridiculously soft headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. I thought it would be so easy; after all he was an old man, far older than anyone else I knew. And he would be expecting attack from outside the school. He would never suspect that one of his own students would try to off him. I was so young back then, so incredibly young and stupid.

Severus appeared in a deserted alleyway in wizarding London. It was pouring with rain still and he looked about, wanting to get this over and done with quickly. He had considered taking the body back to Narcissa but decided against it. It would be better she didn't see the mangled wreck her adored son had become.

"Hey you!"

Severus whirled about wand out but it was only a young wizard calling out for his friends to slow down as they walked along the brightly lit street. Pocketing his wand Severus suddenly felt angry. Draco should have been out there with them, laughing, high on his own youth, not the mud brown and blood crimson body at his feet.

Sighing Severus glanced one last time down at his godson, before getting ready to apparate. But just before he disappeared something made him look back. And as he did he spotted movement, ever so slight. Draco's chest had risen. He was breathing, which meant he was still alive, though not for much longer if something wasn't done.

I cried out and despite myself, two tears leaked from beneath my tightly shut eyes. Another whistle followed by a sharp crack as the firewand whip connected again, and again I cried out as my skin ripped apart and I felt blood trickle down my back. It seemed to go on forever but later I was told it was only ten whips I received. Finally the masked Death Eater had muttered 'Finite" and the glowing leather that had burst from the end of his wand, retracted and vanished.

They sent me back by portkey to Hogsmeade. I don't know quite how I made it up to the castle, seeing as I was rather out of it from blood loss and pain. I guess it helped that most of the school was at the quidditch pitch, watching the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match that I was supposed to be playing in. I didn't care wether Slytherin lost. There were more important things to worry about, like the fact I had just had my first report to the Dark lord and had just learnt, first hand the power of his displeasure. On hearing that I hadn't yet succeeded in mending the cabinet and also about my botched attempt to send Dumbledore a poisoned necklace, the Dark lord had ordered them to give me ten firewand whips as 'encouragement' to speed up the process. And now I knew just how much the Dark lord cared about his followers. The answer was zero.

I had stopped in at the common room quickly to pick up a fresh change of clothes; my own being ripped and bloody, then made my way gingerly to the prefect's bathroom.

The floating feeling doesn't feel so great now. It's actually making me feel a bit ill, and the pain is starting to come back. Why won't it go away? If I'm dead I shouldn't be able to feel anything.

She didn't know where to run. She couldn't go back to the common room; there were too many people there. Behind her she could still hear Ron's shouts as he tried to fight off the canneries she had sent to attack him. There was only one other option in the fork before her, to take the right hand turn toward the prefect baths. A bath, that's just what she needed right now, a calm relaxing bubble bath. So ignoring the tears that kept traitorously sliding down her cheeks, she hurried to the bathroom, gave the password and pushed through.

He looked up as she entered, frozen. Obviously he had just gotten out of the bath as his hair was dripping wet and he was wearing only a pair of loose black pants.

"Whatever happened to knocking, or don't muggle's do that either?" He finally sneered seeming to regain some composure. Taken aback she couldn't think of anything to retort with so merely just stood watching him, aware that she still had tears glistening on her cheeks. After a few moments he reached over to pick up his shirt and as he did something on his arm caught her eye. On his forearm a section of skin was burned black, branded she knew suddenly and without doubt by the dark mark. Harry was right, all this time. He really was a Death Eater and none of them had believed him. She must have let out a gasp or something because he glanced at her as he carefully pulled on his shirt and did up the buttons. Finishing the last one, he picked up his things and walked towards her till he was close enough for her to smell his musky cologne.

"And mudblood?" Despite herself she looked up into his silvery grey eyes. "You tell anyone and I'll personally see to it that it'll be the last thing you do." And with that he pushed roughly past her and exited the bathroom.

A long bath and good cry later and she was standing before the mirror using her wand to twirl her hair into more manageable curls when a glimpse of red caught her eye. In the corner of the room, half kicked under the sink was a shirt covered in something crimson. Picking it up she almost dropped it when she realised the red sticky liquid was blood. It had rips all across the back and a good measure of dirt as well as blood. Why was it covered in blood? Was someone hurt?

There was a scent almost masked by the metallic smell of dried blood and sweat, a musky smell, the same musky smell as his fancy cologne. With a start she let go of the shirt and exited the bathroom.

Hermione woke from a dream to a tapping. Looking at first in confusion to the door, it took her several moments to realise it was instead coming from the window where an owl was trying to keep flight while tapping on the window at the same time. Quickly she slipped out of bed and ran to let the owl in. Quickly removing the letter and shooing it back out the window, Hermione fervently ripped open the envelope and scanned the letter. It seemed she had been right. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table she decided it was early enough to be up and began getting dressed.