4th September

I need to begin straight away, it is vital that I reach Draco before he starts to plan. I need to inspire empathy for my position, sympathy for my needs and stay in his memory long enough about them both. Most of all I need to start reminding people that I'm not just a callous murderer, I'm also a person.

And that needs to start inside out. The first sight of any Child Worker is a shock to the strongest of systems. You see a killer in kid's clothing. Painted face, crumpled clothing, dirty or broken nails, poor teeth, bones you can see through the skin- and the smell. Hairspray, sweat, bubblegum, blood. Yes, it's an unglamorous profession until we're shown to the public.

So I spare him that at least. I paint my nails, dry shampoo my hair (a life-send when you only have one bath a week) and cover my hands in cream so that if I have to make an Unbreakable Vow with him I won't sandpaper his skin in the process.

I allow myself a matching scarf to wear over my dress of red velvet roses. A scarf is a luxury in my job. When someone's trying to kill you, they may not even pull out a wand. A scarf is the first thing they'll grab. May as well hang a noose around your neck.

Now all I have to do is find him. This shouldn't be too hard, as I have committed another sin. I sneaked into Harry's dormitory and stole his Marauder's Map. Only for five minutes, but enough time for me to copy an equivalent onto a silk handkerchief in my pocket, then I put it back. I'm not being especially original here; Muggle Resistance women put maps on the backs of headscarves during the Second Muggle World War. I'm just using an old standby.

He's hanging around with his friends, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini among them. Why do teenagers cling to their friends like limpets? What if someone wants private conversation?

I find them by a staircase, jeering at passing students and laughing. I place myself behind a corner- out of sight and out of mind.

I peer around and see Draco Malfoy along with the rest of them, laughing and sneering like it's just any ordinary day. I wonder what's going on in that head of his. Is he frightened? Is he angry? Does he even know what he's doing?

Suddenly everything sticks in my throat. I can't think of anything to say, anything just sounds so awkward and uncomfortable. There's no precedent for this. How does one appeal to an enemy for help? This is useless.

I peer out from the corner and I almost want to laugh. The wheel of fortune turns around and around and the situation from not long ago is the same again. Just where it was me opposite Scrimgeour, not quite part of his world, with him surrounded by his friends, now it is where it is me opposite Draco and his friends, both worlds alien to me. I'm not a teenager enjoying school years; I'm not an adult either. I seem to float like a will o' the wisp, never really fitting in either.

I stay too long staring and the group catches sight of me. Pansy Parkinson gives a smirk and strides over, glad of a new toy to play with. I stand up straight and hold my head up, but it makes little difference as Pansy is still two heads taller. She leers down at me and I stand my ground.

"Morning scarecrow! What are you wearing?" She flicks her finger at my dress. I wrinkle my nose as I brush her off.

"Don't think any boy's ever going to look in the Mirror of Erised and see you there!" I'm almost touched that she takes the time to form an intelligent insult. I stay steely and cold and continue a hard stare; something my father was always very good at.

"That's not what I would look in the Mirror to see."

"What would you, then?" Draco interrupts, almost interested. I give him a smile as if to say "Figure that out for yourself."

He and I walk towards each other, bound by mutual curiosity as though we were about to dance. The silence is testing, and I decide to keep him on tenterhooks for no longer.

"Love or hate, kiss or kill, I'm here to make my mark on Wizarding Britain, forever. You can throw me down but you cannot crush me. And I will be free."

I can see his eyes widen, almost in fear, but he remains composed, locking away his emotions as he always does.

"Well you've certainly left your mark on me," he says huffily. "Got bruises the size of plums." I can remember him making such a fuss over Buckbeak hitting him. Still, nobody's given me grief for beating him up, and I haven't seen Scrimgeour for ages so I guess I owe him.

"Still alive, though," I say quietly. And I can see him mouth "Just."

I turn away from him, pull a face at Pansy and stride off with a smile on my face, knowing full well that all of them are watching me go.

11th September

I hadn't meant to write.

Two hours ago, an attack was made on my life. I'm now sitting up in a bed in the hospital wing, with the mother of all bandages around my head. Around me are milling some of the Order: Minerva, Molly and Tonks.

"Look, it's just an accident," I say impatiently. "OK? I was just going too fast down the steps, tripped and that's that. Just me being stupid."

"I don't think so," says Tonks and Minerva nods her head in agreement.

"I know not everyone's going to be nice and get me with a Killing Curse, I didn't see anyone behind me so they could have been under a disillusionment charm, but it still makes no sense." I pull my cross face.

Sighing, they leave exasperatedly and I flop down on my pillows. I'm almost sociopathic when it comes to lying but it's harder when I'm so tired, and it has nothing to do with sleep. I've had nine hours uninterrupted sleep every night since I've come back to Hogwarts. Normally it does wonders for my health but I'm exhausted from my fall.

The memory is as painfully present as the wound throbbing in my head. I can remember every detail, every time I consciously close my eyes; it's all there, just like the nightmares that used to come, more regularly than food. I'm not yet thirteen and they want me dead.

And I always loved staircases. Circular ones that swept through a room, old stone ones that passed little diamond paned windows. It's cruel when the things you love are turned against you.

I was walking down from the seventh floor and I thought I could hear someone behind me though after I had fallen they had gone. I went faster down the stairs so that I could let them pass.

I never anticipated the push, the shove at my shoulder that sent me toppling head over heels down the flight of steep stone steps. I was surrounded by the pain as each stair dug in, moving and hurting. Each time I turned I saw the bottom step that stuck out like a lip. I knew that if my head hit that, as it seemed certain to do, then my skull would crack and my brains would spill out over the floor.

What a brutal way to die.

I had to hurt myself to save myself. I swerved my head and smacked it on the side of the staircase, the wall. It hurt like crazy, lights popped in front of my eyes and I sobbed with the hurt, the pain and confusion.

I managed to stagger down to the hospital wing before I collapsed.

I know it wasn't an accident. But I can't take justice. I'm going to let them get away with it; they'll have gone empty-handed anyway. No, they would want me to take action against them, get a court case and everything. But that would take too much time, and by then they would have another chance to have a crack at me and this time I don't think I would make it.

I will not have my moves dictated for me. I need to get Draco to realise the danger- that we're both in. I have to swallow my pride, and he has to accept my help.

And ironically, my father will help me in this. He taught me, somewhat unintentionally, the power of a psychological threat.

From the drawer under my hospital bed, I take out a length of black velvet mourning ribbon and I set off to the Slytherin dormitories. I figure out which is his bed, and around the nearest bedpost I tie the ribbon in a big bow, tweaking the ribbon so that the words embroidered on the side in silver are clear for all to see, glistening in the dark; memento mori.

Memento mori: remember you will die.