I stepped out of the fire, brushing soot off my shirt. My mother looked up from the Daily Prophet and smiled. I walked forward, smiling. Mum stood up and hugged me.

"Hello, darling."

"Evening, Mother."

Mum patted me clumsily on the cheek. She looked fine, I was happy to see. Her long hair was shiny again, her robes clean and fresh. She smelled as if she'd just come out of the shower.

"Your father's in the dining room." Mum pointed me in the dining room, and trailed in after me, closing the door. Dad was sitting on his usual chair, the head of table. His hair was tied in a ponytail, his blue eyes – so like my own – bright and keen. He looked very calm. He'd really chilled out a lot since the Dark Lord's death earlier this year. He'd thrown out all his old Death Eater robes and was wearing midnight blue robes today, his face clean-shaven and smooth. He didn't stand up to greet me, and I sat down next to him.

"Hi, Dad."

He looked me in the eye. He was calm, but now I noticed a strange edge to his demeanor.

"Hello, Draco."

I shifted in my seat. I decided to get straight to the point, as no one else was talking. Mother was sitting across from me, hands folded elegantly in her lap.

"So, what's the new information?"

"Well. It turns out your condition is not what we thought it was."

I gaped at him. "I'm not veela?" I was bursting with joy inside.

"No. I thought you were too – that it had skipped three generations – but no, this is a lot worse. You have the same condition I do." Dad said, looking me in the eyes.

All joy ceased, and I was filled with absolute, utter horror. "No." I whispered.

"Yes." Dad said, leaning back in his chair. "You will be okay though, because with the treatments you can get nowadays you'll have no trouble. It should activate soon, because you're of age, and have been for a while." Dad paused. "Have you had any pain at all in your chest or in your legs?"

I thought back, to my birthday. "Not that I can recall."

Dad nodded wisely. "When you do, let us know immediately and go straight to Madam Pomfrey."

"I will." I thought for a minute, about what this might mean. I could easily die before I was thirty. My Dad's condition was very serious. It was a Malfoy trait, something that nobody else in the world would have. It usually skipped a generation, but sometimes it didn't, like in my case. By the time you were of age, usually there would be some pain, for an unknown reason. It was a searing pain, like you were being burnt. It was a horrific thing to go through, because after a while, as the pain worsened, somewhere on the body a horrible gash would appear, and then it would worsen, become deeper and bigger, and soon it would become so infected or unbearable you would either kill yourself or die from disease. The only way to cure it was to find someone who could love you, even with the horrific wound, and deal with the aftereffects. It was rather silly, the cure, but nevertheless, that was the way it was. I put my head in my hands and let out a long sigh. It was cold in the dining room, and goose bumps had erupted on my arms and the back of my neck. Or was it just from the reality, the fright or realizing I might actually die a painful death? It wasn't a nice way to die. I lifted my head and saw that Mum had left, and Dad looked close to tears.

"I can't do this." I said, shaking my head.

Dad snapped up. "You have to. You must try and find someone, Draco. If you don't, you know the consequences. You know how it will end."

"I do. I just don't think-"

"You will." Dad said, realizing what I was about to say.

I got up, and left, picking my bag up from outside and going up the stairs to my room. I looked out for Mother on my way up, but couldn't see her. She was presumably in her room. I opened the door to my room, threw my bag on the floor beside my bed and, pulling back the covers, I curled up, fighting the horrible thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me.

(I hope this makes sense, I'm sorry it's short! Next chapter will be a very long one!)