Dear Diary,

Something has happened to me.

I feel different, as if oblivious to the inane measures that I have gone through to retrieve this information.

I shall never forget the wounded look in his eyes when I walked away, but I have been through this before.

Great deeds do not go unpunished. I know that I will look into his eyes and feel a pang of pain; but it is all for the best.

Harry has made his sacrifices; I have made mine.

I would feel no remorse, if not for what he said to me today. He called me a whore.

I suppose I never thought of it like that. I was the gopher of information. Now I am a whore. It is a big jump, but I suppose that it is naturally what would be said. It hurts me, but what would have knife scars to my body are now slow, tender pricks.

I thrive from the information I have been given, but I die from the information I receive.

Hermione.

Draco looked up from the scroll of parchment he held in his hands, his cloudy grey eyes scanning the parchment, gnarled, wrinkled, ancient hands clutching aimlessly at the parchment. Potter, Potter must know. Potter must know that he, Draco Malfoy, his life virtually over, had found the life-book of his Hermione.

A/N-OK, this is the Prologue to the story. Do you like it, think it's bad? I would like to know!

Peaches,

Anya