I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's to happen next. Hate is easy, love takes courage.

Darling Draco,

To say your father and I are worried about you is an understatement. We are panic-stricken at not hearing from you for over a month; you normally write to us in the first week of term. We do hope everything is alright.

Your father has been visited by some spies at the ministry again. Apparently they still believe that they have a solid argument that he was responsible for the torturing of five muggle's last week. We hope you are still going to your muggle studies lessons, Draco. This is most important. You understand, dear.

The annual dinner party your father and I held went down a feast, as usual. Everyone kept complimenting me on how youthful I looked and your father on his rank-up in the dark lords circle.

Draco ... I'm actually hesitating to write the next part of this letter. If it was not for my complete faith in Astral and the fact that our floo network has been monitored more than usual since the surveillance watch on our family, then I would not include what I'm about to write in this letter. However, I trust Astral to get this to you safely at any cost and to bring back a reply as soon as one is written.

Your father is wishing you to get the dark mark before your eighteenth birthday. The dark lord has been most pleased with your obedience and was satisfied with your torture on the muggle child that was brought before the death eaters last year. However, satisfaction is not nearly enough and to pledge allegiance to the dark lord as you already know, you must take the dark mark before an eighteenth birthday is celebrated.

I know that you are probably most anxious to receive this honour before then so I trust that it will happen very soon. Your father is requesting that he receives a reply as soon as possible.

Love always,

Mother.

I snorted disgustedly and screwed the letter into a ball ready to dispose of. That fucking fleabag Astral had other ideas however and started pecking me mercilessly, nipping at my bare skin with its horrible beak wherever it could. My yelps of pain immediately summoned Lynx who took no time at all in attacking Astral for my honour. But as much as I wanted Astral to be torn to pieces, I needed him to be at his full strength in case ministry owls decided to try and intercept any further letters.

"Lynx!" I commanded, holding out my arm for her to perch on. She gracefully flew away from the scene, leaving a disgruntled Astral to stare at us violently, as if wondering whether to dare to attack again.

I let Lynx off of my wrist while giving Astral a meaningful glare. He turned away and hooted, ruffling his feathers in disgust. I opened up the balled-up parchment in which my mother had written on and quickly reread the entire letter. My eyes went blurry as I tried to will myself not to read the words properly. I hated my mother for bringing up the torturing of the muggle child. To be honest, since I met Katy I'd been trying to forget that I'd done it. She had looked uncannily like her.

But at the same time I didn't care. I mean, why should I? I have no use for muggles; they serve no purpose, it doesn't affect me if they died or not and they had given me this fucking disease. For that they could all die on the spot. But a voice inside told me that I was being harsh and I didn't mean it and I half-believed it. Since I'd met Katy my mind had become a huge contradiction. Beliefs I had been brought up on and newly acquired opinions bounced off of each other in debate and it left me feeling confused as to what I should think.

My eyes drifted over the letter again and landed on the word father. They stayed there while flashbacks raced through my mind, beginning when I was five years old and foolish enough to think that father's insistence that I kept up the family name was his way of showing love to me, to the most recent encounter I'd had with him a couple of months ago when I had known for several years that this was far from the truth. With these memories racing through my mind, I cleared a space on my desk, unrolled a fresh piece of parchment and began writing slowly.

Darling Mother,

Forgive me if you have been worried that I have not written recently. It's just that I've been busy thinking. Yes, I've been whiling away many hours thinking about life in general. Ever since I've been diagnosed with leukaemia.

Surprised, mother? I'm sure you know what leukaemia is. A dirty disease that muggle's suffer from. Only, I'm suffering from it now. Ironic really, isn't it? That your dearest Draco who brought you so much pride and joy for the torturing of a muggle is now associated with them. I'm going to die at the hands of muggle's, mother. How utterly embarrassing for the Malfoy name.

Speaking of which, how is father? I'm sure he is "most worried" and "panic-stricken" as you so eloquently put it, about me. It's a shame that sarcasm doesn't work quite as well in letters or you'd hear it dripping off my tongue as I spoke that line. He doesn't care about me mother, nor do I believe that you believe he does. He wants what is best for himself and doesn't care who he uses to get it.

If I know you right mother, you've probably got that silly, shocked look on your face right now. The same expression you had when Aunt Melinde said she once associated with someone who was a half-blood. I bet you're speechless. But it's true. Father uses everyone he can to get to a better place in life. He's using me as his heir, to ensure that his legacy still lives on when he dies. He's using me to receive the dark mark, to instil further assurance within the dark lord that his allegiance still remains faithful. He's even used you, mother. Yes, he used you to maintain his power. So that the Malfoy name would threaten even more lives when it was backed by the family name of Black.

I so wish that I could have been at the dinner party. You have no idea how much I used to enjoy seeing guests pay compliments to you and father and then issuing hearing charms and hearing what they said behind your back. Of course, I was angry that they had the audacity to belittle you in your own home and it usually resulted in an embarrassing public trip jinx for them. But at the same time, it excited me a little. Because even when I was your good little angel who could do no wrong - because all I ever did was nod and obey - I still resented you both for making me do it.

Father pushed me so hard and you never stopped him. I was never good enough for him. Even when I got five Outstandings in my O.W.L's, all he mentioned was the fact that annoying little Granger got nine. When I caught the snitch in last year's quidditch final which resulted in Slytherin winning the house cup, all he mentioned was the fact that Potter had beaten me to it all the other times. And I hated him for it. I hated you both for not loving me so much that you couldn't have been proud of me and put everything and everyone else aside just once. No comparisons with mudbloods or Potter or anyone. I used to wish that you would just be proud of me on my merits alone.

By the time you get this, I'll probably be dead. No doubt father will call upon for me to be murdered. Would you really put it past him to dispose of me to maintain his dignity, and be honest mother. You see, father and I have the same logic. If I died, he'd get slack brought upon him from the ministry and they would ease off a little, resulting in praise from the dark lord. However, if I died from a muggle disease, father would be the laughing stock of the wizarding world, only he wouldn't get to see the smirks because the dark lord would dispose of him with the unforgiving curse straight away. As I said, father and I have the same logic. And if it is that obvious to me that that's what father would do to make sure his head would still rise above others, then I have no doubt in my mind that he'd have any guilt in carrying out that form of action.

So in short, thanks, but no thanks to the dark mark offer. I'd probably not be eligible any more, anyway. Not with this fucking thing inside of me ...

Tears fell onto the parchment and I watched entranced as they spread across the slightly crinkled material like tiny little veins breaking off into small, different directions. I didn't even realise that they were coming from my eyes at first, so hypnotically enthralled I was with them. I couldn't feel anything inside of me, I felt like I was on an out of body experience or something. I knew I was sitting there, but I couldn't comprehend anything or make myself do anything other than stare at the words I'd wrote and the tears that were staining them. There was almost four years of built-up resentment and bitterness in that letter and it had left me emotionally numb.

Of course, I was too much under the strict thumb of my parent's to send it. I hastily scribbled an alternative letter.

Mother,

Everything's fine. Just busy revising for my N.E.W.T's, that's all. I need to get top marks to make you and father proud of me. Can't have filthy mudbloods thinking that they're better than a Malfoy and yes, I'm still attending Muggle Studies lessons.

About the dark mark,

I stopped and chewed on my quill anxiously. I still wasn't ready to make a decision, not as important as this, so soon. I needed to stall them with a sufficient enough excuse.

Wouldn't it be best to get it on the eve of my birthday? That's when the mark burns more thoroughly. It has more meaning, especially if it is timed exactly right with the twelfth chime of midnight. What better way to celebrate this event?

Tell father to consider it,

Draco.

I re-read it five times before deciding that it was the best excuse I could think of. It wasn't a lie either. I just hope that father wouldn't be furious that I dared question his, or the dark lords authority. Hopefully, they'd think that it was a tremendous idea and satisfied that I was showing initiative. I looked wistfully at my previous letter that was still tossed to the side. Reading it again, there was so much that I wanted to include, but didn't dare. However, there was one thing I needed to mention and I added it in quickly before I could change my mind.

P.S - Someone here is apparently suffering from a dirty muggle disease. Leukaemia, or something. What do you know of it?

I thrust it over in Astral's direction who took it in his claws, making sure he delivered me a deep scratch at the same time. I watched him fly away with the letter as my heart beat uncontrollably. Okay, so it wasn't the same as including everything I had written in the previous letter, but I had actually told my mother that I - well, a fictional character at Hogwarts - was suffering from a muggle disease. I had one tiny ounce of hope that she'd be sympathetic, that she'd advise me to befriend them and make sure they are okay. But as I watched Astral become nothing short of a dotted speck in the sky I knew I had no such luck. She'd despise it.

If only she knew the truth.

"How are you feeling Draco?"

"Fine."

"So would you say your symptoms have occurred more than ever, or have they lessened since you started the chemotherapy?"

"Stayed about the same, I guess."

"And how did you respond to the treatment earlier today?"

I scratched at the bandage around my arm. "As well as I could to having a needle and syringe stabbed into my bones," I said mildly.

Dr. Warner shuffled uncomfortably in his seat and wouldn't quite meet my eyes and at that exact moment I knew that something was wrong. My heart gave a slight lurch and my mouth dried up. I tried to speak but my tongue felt like it was made out of sandpaper. Eventually Dr. Warner found his voice.

"I've been looking at your files Draco and -"

"Yeah?" I interjected quickly.

"Yes. And its apparent from your records -"

"What records?" I interrupted again. I knew what he was talking about but I didn't want him to continue this conversation. I wanted to run back to my bed and bury my head under the covers forever.

"Your hospital records, including the results of your earlier bone marrow test," Dr. Warner explained patiently. "It's apparent from them that your body has not responded very well to the treatment."

A single droplet of sweat ran down the side of my cheek from my head. "Okay," I said evenly. The doctor studied my face closely to see if I knew what was coming. And I did.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" I asked as plainly as I could. My heartbeat was racing at a million miles an hour and I thought I was going to be sick.

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all," Dr. Warner said quickly. "But I must impress on you the point that I'm about to make. Chronic leukaemia is a slow and progressive form of leukaemia. It is possible to have suffered from it for months, sometimes even years without knowing. Obviously this hinders the possibility of a high success rate as there is no way it can be diagnosed quickly. We do not know how long you have suffered from leukaemia and I don't think we will ever find out either." He sighed and his eyes flickered downcast before meeting mine again. "This, and the fact that your body is not responding well to treatment means there is very little chance your body's cells will be strong enough to fight."

I knew. I knew it was inevitable anyway. But hearing something that I'd known all along from a different source still packed a punch to the gut. I didn't know what to do. I felt like screaming the office down. I felt like whipping my wand out and causing utter destruction to the world. No, I wanted to destroy something beautiful with my bare hands. I wanted to disfigure something like my life had been disfigured.

But I didn't. Folding my arms calmly I looked Dr. Warner squarely in the eyes.

"I'm not giving up," I said directly. "If this thing wants to grow inside of me then it's going to have a hell of a fight to put up with. Because I will do everything possible to beat this monster. It's not going to win."

The genuinely pleased smile from Dr. Warner assured me that I'd made the right decision.

"We've got to stop meeting like this!"

I knew that I looked like an idiot, standing there with a huge grin plastered onto my face, but I couldn't help it. I was beginning to feel that whenever I stepped out of Dr. Warner's office, meeting Katy was a routine. This time however, the culprit was her brother Jake and I must admit to selfishly pushing aside several stabs of guilt over the fact that Katy was currently busy in conversation with her mother leaving me alone with him.

"Oh, it's not so bad," I smiled widely. Jake's grin flickered slightly and I quickly added, "at least I didn't have a ball thrown at my head this time."

Jake chuckled. "Yeah, sorry about that, Katy has bad aim!"

"Don't blame your sister on your rotten ball skills," I replied. My mouth ached from smiling but I couldn't help it. I hoped it didn't look too obvious.

Jake stole a glance at his sister who was now trying to break from her mother's grip desperately to run over and talk to us. Her mother smiled a pained smile at me. She looked older and more haggard than the last time I'd seen her. I couldn't help but feel a slight wave of panic wash over me. I numbly waved to her.

"She's doing great," I said softly.

"Yeah, I'm really proud of her," Jake said, still looking at her. "It's hard to watch but," he turned back to me, "I believe in her."

I nodded. "So do I." It could have only been for a couple of seconds at the most but it seemed like Jake and I gazed into each other's for several hours. The hustle and bustle of the hospital faded and we were the only ones in the entire world. He was so achingly beautiful. It was his genuineness, his obvious admiration and protection for his family, especially Katy, that made him stunning, not just in looks but in personality too.

"Jake, Jake, Jake," Katy said breathlessly, bounding over to us with a pleading grin plastered onto her face, "Mom asked if you could take me to the park and I want Draco to come too, Draco do you want to come, say yes, say yes, say yes!"

"Yeah sure," Jake and I both said at the same time. We looked at each other and smiled shyly.

"It's just ... Really hard, you know?"

I nodded earnestly. I really did know what Jake was talking about as we both swung absentmindedly on the swings, watching Katy play with a boy on the climbing frame.

"All my friends at college talk about how annoying their little brothers and sisters are and I just want to tell them to appreciate them. It really breaks my heart to know that Katy probably won't live to see her next birthday." Jake paused. "They really don't know how lucky they are. You don't know what you've got until it's gone. I've never heard such a truer statement."

I nodded again. I felt a bit useless not offering any advice but I felt that I needed to tread carefully as so not to upset him.

"Do they know about her?" I probed gently. Jake shook his head.

"I don't want them to know," he said quietly. "Some things are ... Just best kept to yourself."

I nodded for the third time. "I know," I said understandingly.

I heard a small sob catch in his throat and I looked at him anxiously. My heart broke in two as I watched him drifting vaguely on the swing with his head drooped low. His shoulders were shaking and his face was buried in his hands. It was so awful, I wanted to sweep him up into a huge hug and tell him everything was going to be alright; that Katy would get better, beat the leukaemia and everyone's life would go back to normal.

But I didn't want to lie.

"Hey," I said, reaching a hand over and placing it on his shoulder. "It's ..." I paused. I didn't know what to say. It wasn't going to be alright and he and I both knew it. I squeezed his shoulder and rubbed it soothingly. "It's shit. It's just fucking unfair."

Jake looked up, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. He sniffed and gave me a small embarrassed smile. "It's life," he said quietly. He gulped and looked over at Katy through tear stained eyes. "It's just hard to watch her waste away in front of me while I'm living so healthy. What I wouldn't give ..."

He didn't complete the sentence. He didn't need to, I knew exactly how he felt. Because if I could take Katy's leukaemia away from her and bear the double load of hers and mine combined, I'd do it in an instant.

"Jake why are you crying?" Katy asked running over to us, her small face contorted into a look of concern. I looked over at Jake who had an angry expression on his face. What was his problem?

"That," he fumed, "is none of your business!" His face broke into a huge grin. "Do you know what happens to little girls that don't mind their own business?" He tickled Katy who shrieked with laughter.

"Stop!" she pleaded. "Draco, help!"

I held my hands up. "Hey I don't want to get tickled by Jake too!"

But I wouldn't say no to his hands roaming over my body!

Katy managed to break away from her brothers grip and ran off towards the slide. Jake jogged after her, turning round and giving me a wink. I smiled back. As I watched them play together, all their worries in the world temporarily gone, it reminded me of my childhood days. I didn't have much chance to experience what muggle children, or indeed normal children, did. I was never aloud to play in the park and I often used to watch other children enviously as they ran around laughing and enjoying life. I walked over to the roundabout, the laughter of Jake and Katy growing fainter, and sat on it alone, pushing myself around half-heartedly with my foot on the ground. Suddenly I stepped off and started pushing it around really fast before jumping on and looking up towards the sky. The candy-flossy clouds were becoming a swirling haze mixed in with shades of brilliant blue. I felt so weightless, so free, like I had no responsibilities at all. I threw my head back and laughed, my worries temporarily melting away in my childlike trance.

Hi guys! I think I'm going to wait a while before uploading the next chapter. This is the second time in a row that I've put a chapter out which I'm not entirely pleased with, but hopefully you guys liked it.

I've got a couple of reviews lately that addressed some questions and I feel that I need to answer them, so to clarify a few things that people have asked about the story or the story process so far:

With leukaemia being a muggle disease, Draco found out that he cannot cast any incantations of any kind to hide something that it has caused. This includes symptoms like bruises, bleeding and his hair loss, which is why he's taken to wearing a hat ... For the moment.

And for the next two questions, I must admit that before writing this story, there wasn't an awful lot I knew about leukaemia. Upon learning about it more and more however, I've gotten much more involved in learning about it, but still, all the information I know is just "text-book" information - it's not first hand.

I do not know enough about it to be able to answer every single questions like: Why didn't he need a parent or guardian's consent in order to get medical treatment? I really thought that you could get medical attention by yourself from the age of sixteen. I had no idea that it might be otherwise. I'll try and resolve this in the next chapter.

I'm also not informed enough to be able to answer this question: How come Draco is feeling better from his chemotherapy? I know some stuff about chemotherapy, and from my experience, all it actually does is make you feel a lot worse for the time you take it. Again, I had no idea that it makes you feel worse, from what I knew I thought it made you better. I apologise if I've got several facts wrong, but hopefully it's still realistic enough to make you want to keep reading!

Anyway, thanks to: cmere2, insidemyworld, mesentente, melaminestel, princesspepper, astheyrefalling, ura, drivelikebandits, machiavellianorange, grey malwell, kaylyn, sheree, lucine and ran for all your comments. Love you all, from Jordan x x