"They're not the only ones; I've got other people on my side, better people!" Draco Malfoy, The Unbreakable Vow page 303 of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

8th November 1996

The next week passes in a haze of grief and confusion. Every morning I wake up and drag myself into being. Everything takes so much effort. I have to slow everything down, taking things one step at a time.

Press on, I think. Don't look back. Look forward. Because looking back turns you to dust and nothing more. There is only tomorrow left now. Isn't that what you always wanted? To live?

I get up. I dress. I guard. I have breakfast. I guard. I have lunch. I guard more. I have dinner. I read. I guard. I go to bed. I have nightmares. I sleep. I have more nightmares. Rinse and repeat.

Everybody tactfully keeps their distance. Dumbledore sends for me less and less, deciding that our plan should be one in which only Draco and I are involved. He tells me nothing of what he has been teaching Harry in their classes; and for the first time I am not inquisitive and simply keep my distance.

Everybody else merely keeps away or talks only in mundane banter. Especially when I start to wear Joan's old clothes.

Draco and I have met more frequently over the past week, but have so far not said more than two words to each other. If any of this has taught him anything, it is that the danger is very real. To him; and also to me.

Yesterday was the day that I said my last goodbye to Joan. 24 years of life ended in a draughty chapel not far from Dufftown. I was as stiff as the pew I was sitting on, and quieter. I barely moved throughout the entire service.

Albus spoke at the funeral, another thing I am grateful to him for. His words carried me off to another place; another time. This only hits harder when I remember again and again that I will never see Joan laugh or smile again, that I will never see her old or surrounded by her grandchildren. Her life has been stolen and nothing I can do or say will change anything.

I have lost the game again.

Draco stands beside me at her grave; long after everybody else has cleared off, taking their condolences with them.

He pinches my hand lightly to let me know that he is there, but I don't so much as turn my head. I remain fixated on her tombstone.

And the bluebird sang

From above the tree

It sang for you

And it sang for me

It sang for the happy

It sang for the free

It sang for the hope

It so wanted to be

Once you were happy

And now you are dead

But I'll never forget

The life you led

Joan Mary Stanley

6th May 1972-1st November 1996

"What happens now?" He says, almost as if he were addressing the grave itself.

"Is this the end of the line? Do you just go on the way you did before, ignoring the people who are hurt by your endless schemes? You've certainly done as much harm as you have good. When will the lives you sacrifice be worth the lives you save? Where do we go from here?"

"We go on as before. May I remind you that I have an objective to fulfil here; I need to get you out of this alive."

"And how many people are you willing to let go of in the process? So far we've achieved nothing and we've almost killed Katie Bell. You are so caught up in this war, in what you are doing and planning. I know you. You will not be content with merely assisting in defeating the Dark Lord. You want to completely eradicate him, to crush him like a bug under your foot; he is so much everything that you despise. He is the focus of your anger. How do you know that you are even right?"

"Of course I know that I am right. I would not risk everything for something of which I was not absolutely certain."

"So you know that you are supporting the right side or making the right decisions? You say you fight for "the good" but you don't fight like one of them. Don't you know how dangerous you are?"

"Look, do you want to make a plan or not?" I snap. I wish he wouldn't step into my head like that.

"OK then. What's plan B?"

"Poison." I can't believe that I am doing this, discussing the murder of my mentor at my own sister's grave. But then, I suppose that I have grown to find that very little shocks me anymore.

29th November

Dumbledore has sent for me again, and I am about to turn over the cards that I have shuffled when Horace Slughorn comes into the office and I instinctively sweep the cards into the drawer underneath the table to hide all evidence of Seeing. Another secret. I don't have skeletons in my cupboard, I have a whole cemetery.

He's looking very mischievous and merry, and there's a gleam in his eye that is either early Christmas festivity or one brandy too many.

"Ah, evening Headmaster. May I borrow this young lady? Christmas decorations don't put themselves up, you know!"

I thought that was what a wand was for.

"Really?" I say innocently. "It's still November. A bit early to be putting up decorations, wouldn't you say?" I know he doesn't really want help with decorations. He wants to know what Albus wants for Christmas.

"No harm in being prepared!" He wags a finger at me playfully.

"Marion, you may help Horace with planning his Christmas party. Just the sort of distraction that you need."

Reluctantly, I slide off my chair and follow him out of the room to his office.

"Now my dear" he says as he takes a seat behind his desk. "I need your help in finding a Christmas present for Albus."

How did I guess?

"Not a book," I say automatically. "Did you know, one year he got twelve signed copies of the same first edition?"

"Really?" Slughorn begins to look a bit anxious; I know he was thinking along those lines. "Well, what should I get for him then?"

"Something edible." I say instinctively.

Because it is easier to poison food.

I can feel the vague beginnings of a plan forming in my head. I know Slughorn well enough- anybody could tell- that if Slughorn intended to give a gift of something tasty, chances are he would keep it for himself. I hesitate at the idea of poisoning a good man- but if he does take it, then it won't be so bad will it? Of all people, Slughorn is the most likely to survive poisoning. He teaches Potions, for goodness sake; and he has self-preservation down to an art. Anyway being continually pestered by Death Eaters would. He'll have antidotes everywhere to grab at short notice. And it's not like I'm going to make things difficult for him. I'll make sure that the poison is bezoar-curable, and any idiot knows that the first thing you do when you think you've been poisoned is to take a bezoar and stop moving. And if that doesn't work then you probably wouldn't know the antidote anyway. Also, it'll be a poison that works slowly enough to give you a chance to grab the aforementioned antidote.

If my heart were truly in this, I could have made it so much harder. There are some poisons that are completely asymptomatic; you don't you have been poisoned until it's too late. Something that makes you foam at the mouth, yes, that'll be the one I choose. That's an obvious enough sign for someone to pick up on.

"Hmm… let's see now- I know of someone who sells the most delightful oak matured mead, it is truly delicious. Do you think he would like some of that?"

"I'm sure it will be most fine."

19th December

"You sure this is the right poison?"

"Positive."

"Works quickly, does it?"

"Knock him stone dead in a minute."

Draco takes the bottle and the bluish liquid inside it swirls gently, lapping the sides of the bottle.

"This time, as you have said, there must be no more mistakes. I will poison the wine myself."

I grit my teeth to stop myself from saying something which I think I would regret later.

"Fine. Your call."

"When will I be able to reach the mead?"

"Slughorn's holding a Christmas party; it'll be a good excuse for you to be near his stuff."

"Indeed. I want you there; keep an eye out for any trouble. If you sense any trouble, you alert me, do you hear me? Knock some furniture over, whatever. "

21st December

I am one of the first to arrive at Slughorn's party and the lack of people allows me full scope of the place. The soft hangings in warm colours bathed in reddish light gives the room a rather soporific feel and from Slughorn I should have expected nothing less. If there is one thing in common between a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff it is the ability to plan and host a social gathering, if with slightly different motives.

I sneak behind a thin hanging and curl up on the floor, my pocket clanking against my leg. I sincerely hope that I am not searched tonight for it would be hard to explain away why a party guest could possibly have a syringe containing chemicals in the pocket of her dress.

I shuffle further back as the first of the guests begins to enter. The usual crowd, the Slug Club, and King Slug himself.

I stiffen as I see a vampire called Sanguini making his way towards me and some other girls, looking hungry. His friend shoves a pasty in his hands, but somehow I don't think that will sedate him for long so I slip out of my hiding place and go to "mingle" with everyone else, delighted to note that my dress is virtually identical to at least half of the room. I should slip past unnoticed.

I hear Hermione talking about McLaggen and for a moment I'm tempted to eavesdrop, as I am far too interested in other people's lives for it to be healthy.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot Severus so I decide to make myself scarce. I am just debating whether it would look conspicuous if I nicked myself a snack, when Filch comes stomping in, dragging- by the ear- Draco.

What the hell is he doing here?

"…lurking in an upstairs corridor..."

What? Anyone would think he was keeping tabs on me. Honestly. Has he no faith in me?

But my inner ravings are interrupted when I notice that Harry is now looking at Draco- and since he notices everything and everyone, now is my chance.

I tread carefully around the side of the gathering, where it's all eyes on Draco now; and race for his private drinks cupboard around the corner in his office, grateful that my flat ballet pumps make no more sound than a light patter.

I can feel the adrenaline rising and I have to force my hands to be steady as I grab the bottle around the neck and ease in the hypodermic needle. My fingers throb, my knuckles turn white as I slowly squeeze the plunger down. Quickly replacing the bottle I stride out of the office by a side door and quietly join the party, as though all I have done is powder my nose.

I have a sinking feeling as I bump into Luna:

"Oh hello. Haven't seen Harry, have you?"

"No, he's gone to the bathroom."

I can feel my finger instinctively twitch the corner of my pocket. What does Harry know? What's he going to find out? I can't stand here and wait for everything to be unravelled. Any look could be the glare of prying eyes. I don't want him to find out. He mustn't find out or everything is ruined.