"Shit, Tori, are you okay?"

Blood gushed from my nose without warning. I felt the thick stream, saw the red pouring onto the cream velvet sofa of Laurens Deau's waiting room.

"No," I tried to say, spluttering as the liquid ran into my mouth.

I worried more about the state of the white carpet, now turning a deep crimson by my feet, but Daphne mistook my concern.

"Help!" she called, pressing her own robes to my face to try and stop the flow.

I tried to reassure her, but my head suddenly felt woozy. I became confused. Was I supposed to put my head between my knees for dizziness, or keep it upright for blood flow?

"Tori…?"

New hands, too big to be Daphne's, took me expertly beneath the jaw.

"Okay," said a reassuring voice — French, male. "Astoria, I am going to drip some potion into your mouth. Is that okay?"

I nodded, my eyes blurred with tears. The blood spilled into my mouth when I opened it, but I gulped back anyway, desperate for this to stop. It was painful. Embarrassing.

The hands lifted my eyelids in turn, and I saw the face of who I assumed to be Laurens. He was a handsome man, in his late forties, with serious brown eyes and a moustache.

"How long has she been waiting?" he asked.

"Um, we arrived maybe ten minutes ago-

"Since her diagnosis."

"Oh." I heard Daphne gulp. "It's been almost two weeks."

"Astoria? I want you to try and open your eyes."

I did as he asked and found, to my relief, the world had come right-side-up again. The bleeding had stopped, and I took Laurens's offered handkerchief to clean myself. The stains were gone — he must have vanished them.

"Does this happen often?" Laurens asked, frowning.

"Most of my life," I confessed.

"So badly?"

"No." I racked my brain, recalling that night with Draco. My chest panged at the thought. "My last one wasn't this bad."

His face dropped in concern. "Come into my office. Let's have a chat."

We stepped into the clean, white room with polished oak floors. A receptionist arrived, levitating a tray of pumpkin juice with her wand.

"Drink, please," Laurens waved a hand. "You need replenishing."

My body craved the juice from the first sip, and I downed nearly the whole glass unintentionally. Daphne's hand shook as she reached forward. Colour had not returned to her face. I wondered how bad I must have looked.

Laurens seemed to notice too. "Can I offer you a calming potion?" he asked her.

Daphne shook her head, hands still trembling. "No. I'm fine."

"Astoria," he turned to me, "ordinarily we'd begin with blood samples, which you've been kind enough to already provide in the waiting room." I returned his smile meekly. "I have your results from the hospital in London. We'll compare the two, to check the rate of deterioration. I'll also perform a few other tests," he lumos'd his wand and checked my eyes as he spoke, "and once we have a grasp on the severity, we can look at treatment options."

"How long can you give her?" Daphne spoke in a hushed whisper.

Laurens' face grew serious, deep creases appearing on his forehead and around his eyes. "Judging by the severity of the bleed, I'd estimate around six months if Astoria proceeds without treatment."

My blood ran cold. "Six… Six months?"

"St. Mungo's told her at least twelve."

"Blood malediction is a rare specialty." Laurens polished his wand and retrieved a briefcase of different vials and potions. "Had we not administered the clotting potion for your bleed, the blood loss alone may have been fatal. Thankfully, it happened in my office."

My breathing came too fast and too sharp, from the top part of my chest. I fought to calm myself, but panic flooded through me. Six months.

Both Daphne and I stayed silent as Laurens poked and prodded my limbs with his wand, trying different balms and ointments on my skin. We locked eyes only once. The sight of my own terror reflected back at me. The receptionist entered once more, handing over several scrolls of parchment.

"Okay," Laurens finally said, having scanned them several times. "Astoria, I have good news."

I couldn't hope. Couldn't dare allow myself to hope. Not yet.

"There are several things we can do," he continued. "Firstly, and most importantly. We must minimise blood loss. Take extra care. No activities with a risk of injury."

"No Quidditch," Daphne said sternly.

Laurens nodded. "No broom riding at all, if it can be helped."

I scowled at the ground. I'd only just reconnected with my love for the game. How was I supposed to swear it off for good, spend the rest of my short existence wrapped in cotton?

"If injuries do occur, you will need more clotting potion." He handed me a small crystal vial, exactly the same as he'd administered in the waiting room. "This is bewitched to refill after every use. Keep it on you at all times. This is very important." His eyes fixed intensely onto mine. "Even a small bruise may turn deadly without it."

I took the vial. "Okay."

"There is another matter of blood loss to take into account," he continued unabashedly. "Witches who cease menstruation can extend their lives by up to two years. However, in the process of doing so, there is a risk of infertility."

I gulped. "How high?"

"Up to eighty percent."

Unbidden images of Draco flashed in my mind. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. I'd never yearned for children. But somehow, a future felt incomplete without the option, at least. I pictured toddlers with his platinum hair, running around our feet with toy wands. Learning to ride a broom. It was stupid. It was completely irrational. Daphne would kill me if she knew what I was thinking. And if I died, it would all be for nothing anyway.

"Can-can I think about it?" I asked uncertainly.

"Don't be stupid," Daphne snapped.

"It's alright," Laurens held up two hands, palms facing out. "Take your time. These are big decisions."

"Is there anything else we can try?" I asked.

"There is an experimental treatment. It can be painful. But so far, in our trials, we've extended the life expectancy of malediction sufferers by an average of ten years."

Ten years!

"Yes!" I blurted. "I want that one."

Laurens laughed a little. "It is costly. And it must be administered here, in my office, on a regular basis."

"Let's do it," I nodded. "Let's do it today."

"We must ask the payment clears Gringotts first," he said. "We will send an owl to arrange an appointment."

"So if she goes through with this," Daphne said, "and accepts all the treatments… What can we expect?"

"There is no cure," Laurens said gently. "We can only slow the deterioration, and Astoria's is already advanced. But if Astoria accepts every treatment, I can guarantee three years at this stage. Anything further, I'd need to see samples as we go."

The reality of the situation niggled at my brain. "And how… how much is this all going to cost?"

"Don't worry," Daphne cut in hastily. "I'll arrange payment from my vault."

I frowned at her. Our parents would need to approve withdrawals so large. And if they found out she was funding my life at the moment, they'd inevitably cut her off, too. Then we'd both be screwed.

"Perfect," Laurens said. "Astoria, we'll send further details by owl. And do not misplace your clotting potion," he added seriously. "It not administered straight away, it could shorten your three years to three minutes."

I'd never been the best at remembering things like that. But from Daphne's glare, I could see she would not allow me to leave the thing lying around.

She wrapped her arms around me as we left. I patted her on the back, somewhat awkwardly.

"You don't need to mother me, you know," I said.

"Don't be stupid, Tori." She sighed and pulled away. "How do you feel?"

"Relieved," I admitted. "But still terminal."

And it was true. The immediate weight had lifted from my shoulders, so I no longer felt stooped over and crushed by my life sentence. But it still lingered a few inches above, hovering, waiting to press down slowly as my time continued to tick away. There was only one person I wanted to see in my relief. One person I wanted to disappear into, and find the comfort I so desperately craved. But how could I explain any of this to Draco? And how was it any less cruel to have him endure three short years, all for nothing? If anything, it would only drag his pain on further. I shook my head, trying to shake the thoughts free. And then, the more pressing matter returned.

"But Daphne, how the hell are you paying for this?"

"The vault," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully.

"Our parents will need to approve withdrawals of this size."

"I'll take care of it."

I grasped her by the elbow, speaking in a low voice. "If they find out and clear your vault, too, we'll both be in deep shit. All the articles in the world won't be able to pay for something like this."

"Tori, relax. Let me handle it. I promise I won't let you down."

There was something shifty in her eyes. I clenched my jaw as she extended her arm, ready to disapparate.

"What aren't you telling me?"

She spun around, clearly thinking I'd drop the matter once back in England. But even as she opened the door to the house, I pressed on.

"Daphne, if there's something illegal going on, I need to know."

"I kept the owls fed," she continued, as though I hadn't spoken. "And your mail's on the table. I wasn't sure if you still read the Prophet, so I kept them anyway."

I glanced over, shocked to see both owls were still there. Draco hadn't taken his. That pained me in the loneliest way. He hooted as I walked across to the cage, nibbling me affectionately as I fed them both treats. It was like being closer to Draco, in a way. And a selfish part of me delighted at the excuse to see Draco again.

No, I decided. I shouldn't. I couldn't. I wouldn't.

The sharp crackle of paper snapped me out of my thoughts. Daphne was scrunching up one of the Prophets, her eyes wide and wild.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said too quickly. She pulled her wand free.

Not a chance. I accio'd the paper into my own hands before she could damage it any further. She cried out in fury, but I was already smoothing it on the table. No more fucking secrets. No more 'protecting Tori.' I had the damn right to know, to not be kept in the dark.

I blinked twice at the front page, worried my own thoughts were turning into hallucinations. But Draco never looked like this in my mind. Never so pale, so sunken, so angry.

Malfoy family awaiting trial for illicit activities, the headline read. Expected Azkaban sentencing.

My stomach dropped. No, not Draco…

I would not let it happen.