Draco cradled her head in his arms, batting away anybody else coming close. No… Not Tori…

"I need to see her, son," said a gentle voice. "I need to know what we're dealing with."

Draco looked up. It was the same medic he'd pushed aside, now recovered with a crooked hat. He wanted to bark at the man to leave, he wanted to curse everyone staring, he wanted to disapparate with Tori and have her eyes miraculously open, hear her laugh.

Drops of rain began to fall from the sky. With each cold droplet landing on his face, Draco's mind cleared a little more. Only seconds had passed since reaching her, but each moment was valuable. This man was her best hope.

Draco nodded his assent, but kept a hand firmly grasping Tori's as the man worked his spells. Her fingers were limp in his own. From a distance, he was aware of Potter and somebody else rounding up the crowd, and more ministry wizards arriving. But he couldn't bring himself to care much about any of them. He waited with bated breath for the medic's declaration.

"She's alive," he finally said, his wand still hovering above her chest. "But we must transport her to St. Mungo's at once. She needs urgent care."

"Is that really necessary?" Draco whispered. The thought of her in a hospital bed, alone…

"Yes." The medic conjured a stretcher. "Who is her next of kin?"

Draco thought for a moment. He realised just how little he knew about Astoria, really. But he could put the pieces together enough to know it wouldn't be her parents.

"Her sister," he decided. "Daphne Greengrass."

"A ministry official will speak with you in a moment," the medic said.

Draco shook his head. "I'm not leaving. I'm coming with her."

"She'll be going straight in for assessment, son, and that could take an hour. Give the ministry official as much information as you can. That'll be best for her."

Draco thought for a moment. "And then I can visit her?"

"I can't make that decision, but I'd say it'll be family only for the first few days."

He fought a growl rising in his chest. "I'll be there in an hour."

The medic hesitated, then decided it best not to say any more. He patted Draco on the back before disapparating with Astoria, leaving him alone in a fresh downpour of rain.

"I had men following the attackers."

Potter's voice. Draco scowled.

"They lost them somewhere near Kent," Potter continued, "but managed to disarm one of them. The wand's being examined as we speak. It's as good as showing his face."

Draco swallowed, a sour taste playing on his tongue. "I suppose you want thanking, Potter?"

"No." He sat beside Draco in the muddy grass, appearing completely at ease. "I'm doing my job. And Astoria's a good friend of Ginny's… she'll be devastated."

Draco stayed silent. In all honesty, he didn't even want to know who had attacked Tori. He wouldn't rest until he'd hunted them down and torn them limb from limb. A slow and torturous death, preferably. And that would land him a cell in Azkaban, whatever the justification.

"I've been helping build a case against Marcus Tatter," Potter said. "Do you suppose he's behind this?"

"How should I know?" Draco asked through gritted teeth. "Isn't that your job?"

"It's my job to ask questions, Malfoy. It's my job to find out who might want to hurt Astoria." Potter took a deep breath. "I hope we can be honest with each other. I'm aware of the new Death Eater group. And I'm aware of the rumours surrounding Voldemort."

Draco grunted quietly.

"He can't come back. I hope you know that. I hunted the horcruxes myself. I killed him myself. His body was burned at Hogwarts. The fact he left a body at all meant he was only human, no more pieces of soul left to hide."

"What are you getting at, Potter?"

"Whoever the Death Eaters are rallying behind, it's not Voldemort. But it could be someone who'd want to hurt Astoria. If you've got anything to share, anything that could help… You'd only be helping her."

Draco thought for a moment. Potter already seemed well enough informed. He didn't have anything more of consequence to offer — Nott hadn't called another meeting, and he hadn't heard any more from his parents. The only thing linking Astoria to the Death Eaters was — aside from himself — the rumours Marcus had spread. But Draco couldn't bring himself to repeat them, to tarnish Astoria's reputation further. He cleared his throat.

"Nothing. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to St. Mungo's." He stood and, before turning to disapparate, addressed Potter once again. "And I'd appreciate if you would release the hold on my Gringotts vault. If my parents truly wanted to leave the country, they'd hardly need to stop at the bank first."

Draco spent most of the evening pacing up and down the marble corridor of St. Mungos. A healer offered him a calming potion — standard procedure for anxious visitors, he said — but Draco declined. He doubted it could even work.

"Excuse me," he snapped at a passing Healer when the clock struck midnight. "Can anyone tell me what is going on?"

She smiled sympathetically. "Who are you waiting on, love?"

Her kindness surprised him. "Astoria Greengrass," he mumbled.

"Let's see… Greengrass…" she flicked through the parchments she carried, tapping her wand and muttering under her breath. "Oh, here. They've just about finished with her now."

"Is she…" He couldn't bring himself to say the word. Alive? "Okay?"

He didn't miss the crease between the Healer's eyebrows, or the sympathy in her eyes. "She's stable. Her Healer will be able to tell you more on the ward. Second floor, I believe she's booked into room three."

"Second floor?" Draco's eyes narrowed. "Isn't that diseases?"

The Healer only pressed her lips together in a sad smile before leaving. Draco cursed, then whirled around and took the stairs two at a time. He didn't know what the fuck was going on, or what these clearly incompetent healers were doing. There'd been some sort of mistake. If only the sodding Ministry hadn't placed a hold on his vault, surely a generous donation would have been enough to keep informed, and receive the best care. If only.

Another Healer, this one male, waited outside the door to room three. He frowned as Malfoy approached, stretching an arm to block the door.

"Excuse me, this is a private room."

"Is Astoria in there? I need to see her."
"At this stage it's next of kin only, I'm afraid. Are you a relative?"

"I'm…" There weren't really words to describe what they were to each other. "We live together."

The Healer nodded curtly. This seemed to grant disclosure of some information, at least. "Ms Greengrass's condition is stable. The attack has left her weakened, and with undesirable effects, but no fatal harm has occurred. However, we uncovered some worrying results during her testing, and so she'll be staying with us for the time being."

Draco reeled. "What undesirable effects? What… results?"

"I can't say any more at this time. We're not sure yet how long she'll be with us, but we can send an owl to update you if need be. For your housing situation."

The housing situation hadn't even occurred to Draco. It wouldn't feel right to return there alone. He supposed someone would have to feed the owls, and he'd need to pack up his clothes.

"Fine," he snapped, agitated. "Have someone do that."

The Healer nodded once more and returned to scribbling something on his parchment. Draco considered stunning him and making a mad dash for the door, but too many other healers were around. It made it no easier to realise that Tori was right there, separated only by the single wall, and he couldn't reach her. He didn't even know how long it would be until he could see her again.

Every harsh word and hurried departure rang through his skull, compounding until even the pressure of his own knuckles to his eyes could not stop the regret. Draco made a vow to himself, then and there, that he would change. When he saw Tori next, it wouldn't be with his defensive arrogance, or aloof determination. He would take her in his arms and tell her how he loved her. He would kiss her until the world imploded. He would never let harm befall her again.

"Mark my words," he whispered.

I coughed my way back into existence. A thick liquid filled my chest, my throat, and my body heaved and jerked of its own accord to clear it. Water leaked from my closed eyes and everything seemed to be burning, and still I coughed. Firm hands rolled me onto my side, where gravity assisted. Finally, I must have expelled everything, and the coughing ceased. My chest continued to spasm but I was tired, barely conscious, barely alive. When the darkness rose to claim me once more, I didn't fight. The sensation was even more natural than sleeping.

"The mark is bright red, oozing still. It won't heal."

"Did they try to burn the thing from her?"

"No. The ministry found a wand. They… they branded her."

I stirred, suddenly aware once more of my limbs. My life. I tried to lift my heavy eyes, but could see only a blur of white.

"Ms Greengrass? Can you hear me?" I was too weak to respond. "Some more sleeping draught, Lloyd, and dragon-steak. It's unorthodox, but can't hurt to try."

The next time my eyes opened, though it felt like no time at all, my surroundings had regained clarity. A screen beside me showed all my vital signs — a clever charm. The room was white, clinical. Two steel chairs sat beneath the window and blinds. Nobody occupied them. I was laying in a bed, softer than I was used to. The sheets were heavy and soothing. I tried to sit up, but a searing pain jolted up my left arm. It was so painful I let out a yelp, falling back once more.

My arm was bandaged from wrist to elbow, with small dots of blood already seeping through. My skin was far paler than I remembered, as though drained of all colour. Panic rose in my chest, clearing away the last of the grogginess. What the fuck had happened?

The door opened, making me flinch. A serious looking man in white robes entered, his eyes scanning the rolls of parchment in his hands.

"Oh, good," he said, his gaze flicking to me only momentarily. "You're awake."

He set the parchment on one of the chairs before approaching. He lumos'd his wand, then brought it in front of my eyes, waving it in and out of my vision.

"How are you feeling?"

A small cough tickled my throat. "I'm… I'm not sure."

"You've suffered quite an ordeal." He scribbled something with his quill, clearly satisfied with my eye response. "What can you remember?"

"Falling," I admitted. "From my broom."

The Healer shook his head. "It wasn't any old fall, Ms Greengrass. You were attacked."

I blanched. "By who?"

"The ministry are identifying the perpetrators as we speak." He flipped his parchments once more. "You had a few standard injuries from the impact. Broken ribs, collarbone, knee-cap. All fixed straight away. But we discovered a couple of more… long lasting ailments."

I swallowed, dreading each word before it came, but feeling reassured all the same. Something about this Healer seemed so capable, so expertly informed.

"Your bandages need changing," he noted. "I'll send a memo to Lloyd." He scribbled away as he spoke. "The attacker's curse would have caused little physical harm to most people. A stinging sensation, maybe a bit of blood. Nothing intended to land you in here."

I blinked. "Okay."

His eyes were suddenly warm, compassionate. "Ms Greengrass, there is no easy way to say this. You have been branded with the dark mark."

My breath quickened into hyperventilation. I glanced to my arm, and back to the Healer, unable to connect his words to the bandages slowly turning red. No words came to my lips. There was nothing I could say to convey the horror I felt, the sickness churning in my stomach.

"A calming draught," he said, tipping the contents of a small amber bottle into my mouth. I swallowed the potion in big gulps, the room beginning to spin. I closed my eyes when I'd finished, waiting for my gasps to slow, the tightness in my chest to cease.

"They… they did that to me?" I finally asked, the last of the trembles leaving my body.

"Yes. Thank you," the Healer accepted an armful of bandages, and a pot of green-tinged meat. "As I say, though incredibly traumatic, such an act would not harm another witch or wizard the way it has you."

"Why?" I asked.

His eyes held that same compassion again, as he began to unwind the bandages on my arm. "We have analysed your blood. Thrice over, in as much depth as we can manage. There are… severe abnormalities. Surely symptoms you have noticed yourself?"

"My nose bleeds," I realised.

"And your wound healing?"

I winced as he worked. It felt like the entire skin of my forearm had been burned off, peeled away.

"I'm a bleeder," I admitted.

"A sad truth. We have traced your abnormality, and we believe it to be a blood curse."

My brows twitched in confusion. "What?"

"It seems to lie in a dormant gene, activating only sporadically through the generations. We cannot trace it back, nor can we isolate it for removal."

"Okay," I said. "It doesn't cause me any trouble. Really. The nosebleeds aren't even that bad."

The Healer raised his eyebrows, and peeled the last bandage free. I gaped in horror at my own arm. If I hadn't been lying down, I would have surely passed out. The entire length of skin was red, raw and welted. Beneath congealed blood and pus, barely visible in its current state, the dark ink of the mark was just decipherable. As though sensing the fresh air, and rejoicing for it, the entire wound started to dribble more liquid.

The Healer cleaned it with water from his wand, then slapped a huge slice of dragon meat to cover the wound. The instant relief brought a moan to my lips. It cooled and calmed the burning flesh, feeling like it was drawing the pain out from the skin.

"It's improved drastically," he said. "At this rate, the bleeding should cease in a week or so."

I sheepishly looked away. "I suppose I should amend what I said. It hasn't caused me any trouble until now."

"Ms Greengrass, this is going to get worse." He kept his tone light as he cleaned up the scene, but the same sadness was in his eyes. "You will begin to deteriorate. From what we know about the condition, your life expectancy is… low."

I took a deep breath. "How low?"

"It really depends," he frowned. "The deterioration has a compounding effect. I cannot say for certain but, judging by the effect of this curse, I'd estimate another year. Perhaps two."

Horror bubbled beneath the surface, numbed by the calming draught still active in my system. It was an unnerving feeling, having the terror there, but being unable to feel it. I think I'd rather have allowed it to run its course, but that wasn't an option. Maybe for the best.

"There are options," he said quickly, as though trying to alleviate the gravity of the news. "There is an excellent healer in France, Laurens Deau. He specialises in blood malediction, he's truly the best in the world. I can make a referral. But I have to warn you, he is expensive."

"What isn't?" I said, trying for dry humour. He pulled the dragon steak away and began to bandage my arm up once more. "And if I go to see this Laurens Deau, what will my chances be?"

He stayed silent for a moment. "I couldn't say. But, far better than if you do not. We have no treatment options here."

He finished wrapping my arm then left, assuring me somebody would bring some food soon. I stayed numb from the calming draught, nibbling absent-mindedly on a bread roll when it arrived. The benefit to this lack of emotion was the ability to think logically, to process my stages of grief with a clear head. One year to live…

I would never have children, I realised. I'd never given the matter much thought before. Those stages of life had always seemed so distant. I would never marry. I'd never advance in my career. Everybody I knew would grow old, would continue to experience every joy and sadness life had to offer. The world would keep moving, new ministers would come and go, and I would miss all of it.

"Tori?"

I flicked my head up to see Daphne at the door. Her face was red and puffy, her hair dishevelled. I smiled as much as I could manage in greeting. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed my sister, but now I knew how limited my time was, I wanted to spend every moment I could with her.

She ran to the bed and threw her arms around me. I couldn't lift my left arm for the pain, but I returned the gesture with my right, holding her close. We hadn't embraced like this since we were children.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," I promised.

She pulled away and fresh sobs erupted, tears spilling onto her cheeks. "Healer Mistwate told me everything. I can't… I just can't believe it…"

I didn't know what to say. It felt too odd to console her for my own diagnosis.

"Mother and father should have had it checked years ago," she whispered. "We could have treated it early, given you more time."

"They did," I reminded her. "When the nosebleeds started. The healers said it was normal."

"They should have pushed harder!"

"They couldn't have known, Daph."

"I should never have left." She shook her head. "I've been so selfish."

"I've kept busy," I said, half-truthfully. "You wouldn't have seen much of me anyway."

"I've been a terrible sister, Tori. Even after you were fired from the Prophet, I didn't think to see you. I've just been so caught up with my own stuff, I…"

I recognised the wide eyes, the guilty expression. "What's going on?"

She bit her lip but didn't answer.

"Daphne," I warned. "Tell me."

The words tumbled from her in a great rush. "I met someone. And he's completely wrong for me in every single way, and I haven't been able to tell anyone. Mother and father can't know, they can't find out, and even you…"

"Why?"

She took a deep breath. "Tori… He's a muggle."

The calming draught must have dulled my facial expressions, as she stared incredulously at my blank expression. Though a flicker of surprise ran through my mind. I hadn't been expecting that, of all things.

"Draco told you," she said.

"Draco?" My brows twitched in confusion. "How would he know?"

"He saw us in London." She wrung her hands together. "It's why I had to keep away. I was so sure he would tell people, that I'd be a pariah."

My mind reeled. Draco had known. And he'd never said a word to me.

"Say something," Daphne begged. "Please."

"It's… fine," I answered honestly. "Who cares if he's a muggle?"

"It's tricky," she admitted, as though she'd been longing to voice such things aloud. "He seems incapable sometimes. Having no wand."

"I can't even imagine."

"But he's so sweet." And then her eyes lit up, her face coming alive once more. "I wish you could meet him."

"Then I will."

She shook her head. "I'll have to end things. I'll have to move back in, take care of you before-before it gets too much."

"No." My voice was firmer than I was used to using with Daphne. "Don't change things for me. I want to see you happy. You've got a whole life before you, Daph. I'd be insulted if you wasted it on me."

"But, Tori-

"Just visit more," I said. "I want to see you. And I want to meet this…"

"Rob."

"Rob. Besides," I tried to keep my voice as casual as possible, "I have a housemate anyway."

She glowered. "You moved somebody into my place without telling me?"

"He needed somewhere to stay, and I had all the extra room, so-

"He?" she shrieked. "A boy?"

"Well he's over seventeen, so technically a man."

Daphne groaned, putting two and two together. "Please, please tell me it's not Draco Malfoy."

I glanced down at my bedsheets, mumbling something incoherent.

"You're unbelievable!" I felt the inevitable tirade coming, but she sighed and calmed herself. I must have looked even worse than I felt, for her to be so gentle. "So what, are you two dating?"

"I don't know. Honestly, not after this."

"Why?"

"I'm a death sentence." I tried to laugh, but it stuck in my throat. "I'd be a waste of a year at this point."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. Anyway, it's confusing and complicated with Draco. I can't waste any more time trying to figure it all out."

I instinctively placed a hand on my left arm, then flinched at the pain.

"What's that?" Daphne asked, frowning.

I gaped for a moment. The Healer must not have told her about the mark. I pulled myself together, thinking.

"Just a graze," I lied. "From the fall. It's worse than it should be, because of my… malediction."

We continued to make small talk for an hour or so. The sky outside the window darkened, and I could tell by Daphne's frequent glances she needed to leave.

"Go," I told her. "I'll be fine. I need a decent sleep, anyway."
"You've done nothing but sleep," she rolled her eyes. "I'll be back in the morning. Do you need anything before I leave?"

I shook my head. Then-

"Actually, could you bring a quill and some parchment? Three rolls. I need to pen an article."

"You never stop working," she said, but brought the supplies as I'd asked.

We hugged goodbye and then, instead of sleeping, I stared at the blank page for a moment. The diagnosis had lit a fire inside of me. It only kindled, only warm embers at this point. But I was determined to stoke it, and let it grow, let it roar. I was determined to reclaim a power I'd never had.

And I would start with the article against Marcus.