January came and went. I had had to see a healer far too many times for my liking, but it was unavoidable. How else was I supposed to know if the Weasley's Wort had made as much an improvement in my illness as it seemed? There was no doubt in the least however, that it was an extraordinary plant. Already the news of Weasley's Wort was all over the research community, as so far it seemed to be making my illness back off. I felt stronger with each passing week of drinking the tea made from it. With my health, came a spark deep within me. That flickering spark was hope, and to be completely honest, I feared it. I feared to allow myself to believe in the possibility that I was going to live. So I didn't let myself. Harry was very hopeful, though he did not voice it to me. And Draco was like me. He was afraid that hope would be broken at his feet at the last possible moment, but so far that had not happened.  And still, I felt that this could not be ... that there was no way for me to be cured completely. I was not ready to step once more onto the path of life, for I had accepted my fate, and all of the repercussions that came with it. I tried to keep busy, just so I didn't have any time to let my mind wander into topics I preferred to avoid. I tore through the books in my quarters during evenings. Much of the reason for this was that, more than anything else, I was trying to keep my mind off of Laura, and what could have been if death had not been sitting outside my door for these past few months. But I could not stop my thoughts from straying to her. Every time I paused to turn the page she was there.  

      The school was abuzz with talk of the Valentine's Day Ball, which quite frankly sickened me , and made me almost hope I would be too ill to go (almost, mind you), despite Dumbledore insisting that I would have a good time. Unlike the rest of the school, I was waiting in fervent anticipation for something entirely different. Healer Phelps, when I told him of the Weasley's Wort, had told me that my illness appeared weaker. However, he had said that sometimes L.S. tended to back off for a little bit of time before it returned in greater force, though indeed the change I was experiencing was quite significant. He told me to keep taking the wort morning and evening and to return on February sixth for another check-up, and a few tests, because over the course of the month it had seemed to have disappeared completely.  Well, it was February fifth, and it felt as though a bunch of Flitwick's enchanted keys had taken up refuge in my stomach as I anxiously waited for the next day.

       It felt as though forever had come and gone by the time the sixth rolled around, and I met Healer Phelps where we always met: in Albus' quarters. It was difficult to sit still and shut up while he did all sorts of magical scans and he took a blood sample. It didn't hurt of course, but I found it interesting when he tapped the vein in my arm and a tiny little phial filled slowly with my blood. I had to admit it was a bit fascinating, though I still felt I had seen far too much of my blood in the past year for my liking. The rolls of parchment with complex data and figures were all packed away, along with the strange photos of the magical projections of my lungs that he had captured with a special roll of film and some tricky spellwork.

      "Well," he said as I looked at him expectantly, "as with the last time I was here I cannot detect any trace of the illness with what I have here, though your lungs have a little bit of scarring. I agree with you that it's most likely been the wort helping it. However, I cannot be sure it is gone. For, as I have mentioned, Lethifold Sydrome does on occasion go into periods of dormancy like this, and remains unseen until certain things are analyzed in a lab. I can't tell right now, because we'll need to mix your blood with a few potions and further examine your charts."

       "So when will I know?" I asked, trying to not to let him hear the anxiety behind my voice.

      "I'll have the results mailed out to you in about a week, give or take," Healer Phelps assured me as we walked up the staircase into Albus' office. "It will be in your hands as soon as possible. Have a nice day Severus."

      "And you," I said, and he nodded his head toward Dumbledore before throwing some floo powder into the fire and disappearing in emerald flames.

      "So, how is everything?" said Albus expectantly when we were alone at last.

       "He couldn't find any trace of it," I said. "Most of my symptoms disappeared about a month after I started taking the wort, and we increased the dosage a bit for a while before that. Phelps has to do a few tests, and the results should be mailed out to me in a week or so."

       "And how are you feeling?" Albus asked, sounding a bit tired himself.

      "Normal," I said with a sort of relieved laugh. "I feel ... great. But what about you?" I looked upon his blackened hand with concern, and noticed that his sleeve was pulled down as far as possible.

       "Managing," he said softly, though his eyes told me he wasn't doing well at all. "I should last out the year, hopefully."

        "Albus, I'm so sorry ..." I muttered. "I wish ..."

       "What, that you could have done more?"

          I nodded.

       "Severus, from the moment I put on that ring I sealed my fate, and you know that. You bought me as much time as you could." The grateful tone in his voice did not quite disguise the pain far behind it. He was afraid, and I knew it, but only because I saw  the exact thing I had been feeling the past while; that I still felt from time to time when I thought about the future, and reminded myself that I was not out of the danger zone yet.

       "What made you put it on?" I asked for a second time that year.

       "Foolishness," was all he said, and after that I knew that he did not wish to speak of it any more.

        "Thank you Albus, for everything," I said.

       He nodded, and I walked over to the door and opened it.

        "I'm sorry I must leave you," he said quietly, just as I stepped through the door. I paused, and I looked over my shoulder, and could not say a word for my voice seemed to fail. But he understood; he saw that I didn't blame him, though he did see the pain in my eyes that had risen at the thought of him being gone someday.

        I nodded, and then I shut the door quietly behind me and went down the staircase, not even dizzy. The pain in my lungs was gone, but there were little things deep inside me that hurt in a different way. I would be alright in time, if I was indeed well again.

      ***

     On the fourteenth, which was a Friday and also the day of the Ball, classes were let out a bit earlier to give students time to prepare for the evening. I myself didn't have much preparing to do, other than to shower and drag from my closet my dress robes, which perhaps might need to be shrunk just a bit. Though I had started to regain a little bit of weight I was still quite thin, and they were bound to be a little loose on me. Anyway, I had some time to spare, and I had been meaning to pay a visit to Molly. I wanted to tell her that the Weasley's Wort had been helping me greatly. I also wanted to inform her that I had caught wind of something quite interesting the other day when talking with Healer Phelps during my check-up. According to him the research department at St. Mungos found her plant extremely interesting, and because of its value in the medical community was considering paying the Weasleys for more plants, and the right to grow more of them, as they were indeed unique. They had not said how much, but I was hopeful that the research department would go through with it.

       I arrived at the Burrow, and Molly greeted me warmly at the door. She ushered me in and made tea, and we soon were immersed deep in a conversation about the Weasley's Wort. She was extremely glad it was helping, and she even mentioned I looked better. I told her that I would feel one hundred percent only when I knew the results. They were due any day, and the gnawing feeling in my gut that something was going to show up last minute made my insides ache with unspoken fear. What if the illness came back? What if Healer Phelps had missed something? Those were the reasons why I had not allowed myself to hope. Molly listened to the concerns that I shared, and while we did not spend too much time on them I appreciated the fact that she really heard me. She listened, and took it to heart. That was one thing I greatly respected Molly for: she was always able to lend an ear and make you feel like you were properly heard. Despite her great listening skills, the subject was changed fairly quickly to avoid such dark thoughts, and instead we began to talk of other things.

        "Ginny's been mailing me quite often, talking of the Valentine's Day Ball," Molly said in amusement. "She's quite excited."

       I grimaced.

      "You're not I take it?" She chuckled a little bit.

      "No. Albus made sure that all the supervision duties were taken care of behind my back," I said a little bitterly. "Which means I'm destined to look like a fool at some point during the night."

       "Oh I'm sure you'll be fine," she said. "Are you taking anyone?"

      I raised my eyebrow.

      "Alright, alright, it was a silly question," she said, rolling her eyes. "You're not going to leave your hair like that, though, are you?" Her question annoyed me a little.

      "Well, I'll wash it," I said scathingly.

     "No, no," she said, waving her hand to dismiss my comment, "I mean that you could use a haircut. A new look could be good for you."

      "No."

      "Oh come on, I've gotten pretty good, what with practising on seven children."

       I stared at her blankly.

      "You can grow it back with magic if you hate it," Molly muttered, looking a little exasperated. "Trust me, she'll think it looks great."

     "And who is this she?" I asked, knowing exactly who she was talking about.

     "Laura, silly," Molly said with a twinkle in her eye. "She's one of the few members of the faculty around your age. I'm sure you'll want to dance with her at least once. Or talk to somebody who isn't as old as the hills."

     "No. Well ... fine. Do your worst," I drawled, pretending to be extremely displeased but actually only being a little bit so.

     She whipped her wand out of her apron. She then summoned an old sheet, which she draped over my shoulders.

     "Just ... don't cut it too short," I said. "I like it longer."

     "Yes, easier to hide, I know," she said absentmindedly. I spun around, and she looked at me knowingly.

      I scowled and looked forward once more without saying anything, and gritted my teeth as she set to work with her wand. Pieces of my hair fell to the floor and onto my shoulders. It made me rather nervous, and I found it a bit difficult to keep my eyes open as I heard the slicing sound of the cutting charm. But I hoped that it would turn out alright.

     "Trust me, you'll look quite handsome when I'm through with you," she said, noticing my unease.

      Twenty minutes later I drew in a deep breath and she held a small mirror in front of my long nose. I was surprised.

      "Er, it actually ... looks good," I said honestly, breathing a sigh of relief.

     "Yes, I threw some layers into it," she said. "Your hair is actually quite thick you know. I would have liked to have cut it shorter."  

      I told her I was glad she didn't, and then continued to examine my reflection in surprise. The back was a little bit longer than the front, and it flipped up just a little bit at the ends. It actually looked good, and to tell the truth it was a nice change. It was a fair bit shorter too, and at its longest point in the back was about three quarters of the way down my neck. It felt weirdly light.

     "That will catch her eye, I guarantee," said Molly, and I didn't even bother to defend myself. Whatever. Molly was just Molly sometimes. "What are you planning on wearing?."

      "Dress robes ... what else would I wear?"

      "No no, what colour are they?"

     "Black." As if anyone expected me to wear any other colour.

      "Hmm," Molly said thoughtfully. She was looking at me as though I was a hopeless case.

      "What's wrong with black?" I asked a little defensively, taking her expression as an insult.

       "Oh there isn't anything wrong with the colour really ... but you look so depressed in black. It makes your pale skin look paler, and then you look sick. You'll look much healthier in a different colour."

       "I look depressed no matter what I wear," I said, rolling my eyes as she waved her wand to sweep up the hair. "And I'm supposed to be dying, remember? I somehow doubt any other colour is going to make me look too much healthier."

       "Oh I don't know ... it would be a bit funny to see the students' faces if you showed up in a different colour, nothing drastic. Navy, perhaps?"

      Okay, she had a point. It would be hilarious. Not to mention, none of the faculty had seen me wear anything but black. She smirked, knowing she found just the point to throw at me to convince me. She was freakishly good at persuading people. Seven children will do that to you, I suppose, I thought.

      "I only own black dress robes," I pointed out to her.

     "Lucky for you I know a spell to alter the colour. In a family of nine you have to learn to make clothing last and work for all occasions. Why don't you get them and I'll show you?"

      "Do I have a choice?" I said, rather amused actually.

     "Of course not." Her eyes were laughing. I really did want to see the spell done however, as I never did master colour changing spells. They were quite difficult to pull off well, as you had to get the fibres properly dyed throughout. So it was with quite a bit of curiosity that I laid my dress robes over the chair when I returned after flooing back. I had wrapped them in an old cloak of mine to keep any ash from getting on them. I folded it up and put it off to the side.

     "Watch this," she said with enthusiasm. She waved her wand, and I watched as a dark blue blot began at the hem, and then slowly bled into the black and swirled up to the top of the robes. It took a moment or two, and when she was finished with the spell I snatched up the fabric to examine it, my nose nearly touching it as I studied the fibres.

     "This is incredible," I muttered. "How did you learn how to do this so well?"

     "Years of practice," she said, and by the tone of her voice I could tell this was no understatement.

      The colour suited the robes well, and I was debating actually keeping them that way, if only for a night.

      "Trust me, they'll look great. Your hair is so black the light reflects off it a dark blue, and with the navy robes you'll look very sharp."

       "Well, I might as well not let all your work go to waste ..." I muttered, trying to sound reluctant. She just shook her head in exasperation.

       "So, do the boys have dates to the ball?" she asked, clearly giving up on trying to get me one.

       "Well, Draco and Hermione are going together, naturally."

        "Ah yes, that's right," Molly replied. "And Harry?"

        "As for Harry, who knows ... he's got his eye on someone, but I only have theories." I paused for a moment, reflecting on how cautious he had been as of late on the topic of the Valentine's Day Ball. "I suppose I'll see tonight, assuming she said yes."

      "Well let's hope he doesn't fancy that girl Pansy Parkinson," joked Molly. "I've heard a little bit too much from my boys on just how horrid she is."

       "Merlin forbid," I muttered, not finding it quite as funny as Molly. "That would be a scandal and a half." Luckily I believed Harry to have better taste than that.

       "Well, I'd say you should get going if you're going to get ready on time," said Molly, looking at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.

      "It's six-o-clock!" I said in disbelief. "I've got two hours."

      "Oh yes, but you'll want to practice your dance moves," she said with amusement.

      "Or lack there-of," I scoffed before walking over to the floo.

       "You can't dance?"

      "Well ... I can a little ... my mother taught me the summer I was thirteen," I said. "I have a long memory. I'll be fine."

      "Are you sure, I can teach you -" she said.