The Half-Blood Rose

Chapter One: Strigoi's Malaise

July, 1993

Malfoy. It would have been useless for Beatrice Blackthorn to pretend she didn't recognize the name. In fact, how could she forget it? After all, Malfoy was the name of one of the people she had cared about most in her life while at Hogwarts. She remembered it as clearly as daylight; there was nothing inconspicuous about that name.

"Carlotta, Draco Malfoy—is he a new patient?" Beatrice asked one of the nurses, thoughts rushing and clashing in her mind like a pack of flustered Cornish pixies. Draco . . . Who is Draco? She thought. Unless . . .

A pompous, imposing voice. "I want my son to receive only the best medical treatment. This is urgent! Bring me the best healer. Now." Beatrice recognized that voice. It was familiar . . . Already she was frozen in anticipation, wondering if it was whom she thought it was.

Lucius Malfoy strode hurriedly yet keeping his composure, an air of flustered arrogance in his face, as he pushed open the doors for the emergency department of Saint Mungo's Hospital. Behind him was a blond child who looked like a miniature Lucius, except his skin was red and peeling and his eyes were red. The child looked scared out of his mind, but he tried to hide it in a frown against whomever set eyes on him in his condition. Something grave had come over him.

Carlotta Hinkle, one of the head nurses, began, "Sir Malfoy, please calm down! I assure you there is no need to panic. You're looking at the head healer of Saint Mungo's." She gestured to Beatrice. But before she could gesture, his gray eyes were already locked on her.

"You . . ." The singular word escaped him, his eyes wide in surprise. A strange expression washed over him, a sort of confusion, indignation, and a ghost of pleasant surprise.

Beatrice froze in disbelief. Lucius, after all these years . . . She thought. He hardly managed to have aged. He looked older, but not much different. He was wearing an elegant, black cloak with silver decoration. His silvery-blond hair was still long and past his shoulders. His gray eyes were penetrating and fiendish, though she knew they hadn't always been that way. They bore into her dark hazel eyes, a sizzling jolt running through her insides, and she stood frozen in his gaze in what seemed like forever to her. But she had to snap out of it, there was no other choice, and even though surprised she had to remain professional.

"What can I do for you, Sir Malfoy?" She asked, her expression frozen, internally battling her emotions from letting them show.

"My son, Draco—" he began, turning to see him with an air of pity. "He's been afflicted by some sort of ghastly condition. I demand to know what this is. He hasn't eaten in days." His voice quivered a bit. She couldn't tell if it was from the shock of seeing her here or emotion for his son.

Beatrice looked at Draco with concern, who was moaning in distress. She observed that his canine teeth were longer and sharper than any normal human's. His ears were pointy and his skin seemed badly sun-damaged. The irises of his eyes were red and his facial structure was also peculiar. Oh no . . .

"Not to worry, Sir Malfoy. We will take care of everything," she reassured. "You say that he hasn't eaten?"
"No, not a single morsel in days. Says it tastes disgusting."
"Any unusual changes of behavior?"
"Yes. He hasn't been sleeping all night, and he's fatigued during the day."
"I see. Draco's skin looks very damaged. Was it a sunburn?"
"Yes! He went outside for a brief while and returned looking like a crisp and wailing like a banshee. You must tell me what this is."

"Sir," She started, the pronoun feeling strange, but not stranger than pretending Lucius was a stranger to her. "If I am not mistaken, Draco seems to have contracted an ailment called 'Strigoi's Malaise'. This is the first case Saint Mungo's has seen in a long time—"