"You're fidgeting worse than a first year Severus," Albus said to me as I twitched in a chair in his office Sunday evening.

I scowled back and stopped twisting my hands, only to have my foot begin to tap involuntarily. Had it not been for what lay ahead, I would have been thinking of nothing but what he and Minerva had done the previous day, and probably would have avoided Albus at all costs. Laura and I had gone on as though it hadn't happened. It was easier to do that, and quite frankly I didn't need anything more complicated in my life, for at the moment I was in the midst of a great deal of anxiety. The Healer Albus had spoken to was going to come to the school today to see me, rather than have me go to St. Mungo's, as I would have needed a few Aurors to accompany me and I preferred to avoid the hassle. I hated any sort of appointment, and it did not matter what it was for. Of course, I would simply have to put that aside if I wanted to find out what the hell was making me so sick anyway. Yet in many ways I didn't want to know, even if it did just turn out to be something weird and easily fixed. I refused to dwell on what should happen if my worst fear should be the outcome of the tests.

Ten minutes later, I stood as still as possible with my eyebrow raised while Healer Phelps (surprisingly young for someone so accomplished) waved his wand over me in strange patterns. We were in the sitting room of Albus' quarters, which were attached by a staircase that went up to his office.

"You mentioned you have been dizzy?" Phelps asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully and staring at me as though I were some creature at the zoo. This was why I hated check-ups. A lot.

"Yes," I said rather shortly. "It has been getting worse. Every time I move it feels like the walls are spinning."

Healer Phelps ticked off my symptoms on his fingers as he said them, "Dizziness, fever-like symptoms, chest pains, difficulty breathing (especially during the night), fainting, and coughing up blood. Am I missing anything?"

I thought for a moment before replying that he was not.

"Have you tried any potions?" he inquired.

"All sorts, but they all have little to no effect," I said rather exasperatedly. "I had thought it was some sort of cold, but Pepper-Up did nothing."

His eyebrows were furrowed, whether in thought or grimness I could not tell.

"I have a pretty good idea," he told me as he read the parchment of data that had been collected with a few diagnostic spells. The ink was only just drying, and he placed the parchment carefully on the table. "You'll need to hold very still now, but breathe normally."

He took out his wand and pointed it at my chest, muttering a very long spell which I paid no attention to, as I was too busy worrying. Healer Phelps swung his wand around and pointed it in front of him, and quite suddenly I could see my ribs and lungs projected onto the wall. It looked quite similar to a muggle x-ray. As I breathed the projection moved, black and white and grey shifting before me.

"Oh Merlin, I was right," muttered Phelps, in awe.

"Sorry, but what were you right about?"

"Do you see the white web-like pattern that is stretched across your lungs?"

"Er, yes." Indeed a strange network of thick intertwined lines was reaching over the lower half of each of my lungs. It gave me a deep, unsettled feeling. "Is that ... bad?"

"Yes."

"What are they?" I asked, feeling my heart rate rise.

"There are only two magical illnesses that do this sort of thing, but the other has a distinctly different pattern inside the lungs," Healer Phelps told me as he waved his wand and the projection disappeared. "What cued me in was when you mentioned you wake up frequently gasping for air, and that you are coughing up blood, both very indicative of this illness, especially in conjunction with fainting spells."

"Would you just tell me what it is?" I asked a little irritably, not caring in the least about his thought process.

"Take a seat," he told me with an attempted air of casualness, waving to an armchair before going to grab a book out of the bag he had brought with him.

He flipped through it until he found the page. It looked like a dictionary, only it appeared to be full of medical conditions.

"I am ninety-nine percent sure of what you have, as you exhibit all the symptoms, and the web in the lungs is entirely unique to the illness," he said as he skimmed a few lines in the book. "It's very rare, and I'm afraid it isn't ... isn't good."

"Go on," I said, even though I had an extreme urge to run out of the room with my fingers in my ears and singing Weasley is our King.

"Lethifold Syndrome, or L.S.," said Phelps with a frown as he adjusted his glasses slightly.

"I have never heard of it," I informed him.

"Most haven't, as it's quite rare. There have only been about thirty reported cases in the last twenty years, all scattered across the globe. Before that the disease hadn't been discovered, and even now we don't know the cause. There have likely been more cases, but if muggle doctors do feel they can make a diagnosis, they generally diagnose it as Tuberculosis, when in fact it isn't that at all."

"So what can be done about it?" I asked hopefully.

I felt my stomach clench when I caught sight of the look on his face.

"Well, you see ..." he said in a very quiet voice, "There is no treatment for it."

"Will it get better on its own?" Please, please say yes ... say yes ...

Healer Phelps looked at me, and then at the book in his lap. "I'm sorry ... nobody has ... you see, the survival rate, it's zero."

"Zero," I said faintly, feeling as though I was not here, but somewhere far away. "So ... so I'll die."

"There's nothing I can do," said Phelps softly. "I'm sorry. Right now the healing community hasn't found anything to treat it with."

I was silent for a moment. But I needed to keep talking, and I wasn't sure why. Perhaps I felt that if I just kept talking, just stayed in this room I could pretend it was all a dream. "Why is it called Lethifold Syndrome?" I asked softly, feeling out of breath; even more so than usual.

"It's named after the magical creature, I'm sure you're familiar with it?"

"Yes."

"Well, they often attack and suffocate their victim in its sleep, and as patients with this illness tend to wake up gasping for air, it was ... fitting."

"It'll be like drowning in air, won't it?" I asked uncertainly, my voice rough, my heart beating.

"That ... that is what the reports say, though I've never met someone who has had it," said Phelps shakily. I could tell he didn't often inform people of their impending death. "The symptoms ... they'll get worse and then ... Do you want to know?"

"No, but tell me." Maybe I didn't want to have to spend all my time wondering how it would happen.

"Your lungs will eventually close up as the illness slowly spreads. The way it takes over is similar to a fungus, though it does not spread through spores, or anything like them. The rest of the symptoms will progress as well, particularly dizziness and fainting spells."

"How long ... how long do I have?"

"The best case scenario, I'd say ... maybe seven months."

We were silent for a very long time, it seemed. I couldn't think.

"You haven't had any relatives that have had this, have you?" Phelps asked suddenly.

"I don't think so," I croaked. "Why?"

"Well, it isn't contagious, but there's been a bit of research pointing to people having a genetic predisposition to it. There have been links with other cases. If one person in a family is diagnosed with it, chances are somewhere along the line another will be."

After another long silence I said hollowly, "I suppose that is it then. Nothing else to discuss."

"Yes, I suppose so," said Healer Phelps, looking blue. "Feel free to contact me at any time, if you have questions or ... or just need to talk about it. Albus will know where to find me." He cleared his throat.

I nodded.

"I'm sorry, I wish I could do more," said Phelps genuinely. With a weary look he went up the small flight of stairs and through the door to Albus' office to floo back. I heard them talking.

I sat stock still in the armchair, the voices floating down through the crack beneath the door. And then my brain unfroze and the thoughts started pouring in, slow at first, but picking up momentum until it felt as though the room was slowly filling with poison. My stomach churned with each thought.

November ... it's November. Seven months. I might not make it to Harry's seventeenth.

Draco will lose another guardian.

Harry will too.

They'll be alone.

Who will be strong for them?

Draco will have to face the Slytherins without me.

Harry will have to face the Dark Lord without me.

How can I tell them this?

It was like the time that the Dark Lord buried me alive, but this time I knew there was no hope, no emergency portkey to take me far away from this; just a slow, painful death.

I swore I could feel the remaining blood drain from my face as my stomach gave a lurch, my heart beating frantically. I ran for the bathroom as I heard the sound of Phelps flooing out of Albus' office. I fell to my knees on the round purple rug by the toilet and threw up.

Alone. Who will be there for them? Albus will be gone too.

I heaved again, shaking all over.

Haven't we all been through enough already?

My breath came in gasps and I rested my clammy forehead on the cool porcelain. I heard footsteps. I was glad I had managed to close the door. I didn't want Albus to see me like this. I retched again, my eyes stinging. My hair stuck to my face and mouth. I gave a heave, but I had barely eaten all day for my nerves.

"Severus?" called Albus through the door. "Are you alright?"

I heaved once more and ignored him, too lost in the whirlwind of thoughts running through my head.

"Severus?" called Albus again, this time a little more urgently.

I took a shuddering breath. "Seven ... Seven fucking months!" I croaked as loudly as I could before I was overtaken by another wave of nausea.

"I know," was Albus' muttered reply. "I know."

"What am I going to tell them?" I said as I trembled all over and gasped for air. "I didn't think ... I never thought ..." that this would be irreversible.

Silence met my ears, and I retched again. Was this all really happening?

Albus sat outside the door almost the entire time. It was a little bit easier knowing someone was out there. He only left once to get a potion for me to drink. He passed it in, and said it calmed the nerves and would help my stomach. I wouldn't have cared if it was a poison; I still would have taken it. My brain was too muddled, and I was in too much shock. When I finally emerged he stared at me a moment; at my grey skin and wide eyes.

"I want you to stay here tonight," he told me gently, gesturing to the sofa with a pillow and blanket.

"Alright," I muttered in a daze. The calming potion was working, and things grew even fuzzier. I think Albus was worried at how easily I was agreeing.

I collapsed into the soft cushions, aching all over from exhaustion. Albus looked at me for a moment, and then to his crippled hand.

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?" he said with a weak smile.

I nodded.

Both with one foot in the grave and too many things to do before it all ended.

***

Whatever Albus had given me had me fast asleep for a long time, which was surprising. I awoke in his dimly lit sitting room, completely forgetting what had happened. I propped myself up on my elbows, wondering how I got here. With a moan I remembered and sank back on the pillows. Maybe this is all a dream ... I'm not ill at all. Just tired. I fainted again from exhaustion and that's why I'm in Albus' quarters. That's it. But I knew that wasn't true. I just wished it was. I repeatedly told myself that such a situation couldn't be happening, and that it wasn't. I couldn't convince myself.

After what felt like forever, I glanced at the clock. Good. I still had plenty of time before breakfast. I slowly got up and stretched, pushing all my thoughts away. Well, as best as I could anyway. Then I went up the small spiral staircase that led to Albus' office. He was sitting at his desk, scribbling away with a quill. He looked up after finishing a line.

"Morning Severus," he said quietly. I was glad he hadn't tacked on a ‘good' to that, as I didn't feel this morning was good at all.

I found it hard to speak, so I just nodded.

"Are you teaching today? Or would you like to take the day off. You haven't taken leave in years; I certainly wouldn't mind finding someone else for a few days. I do need to have a chat with Horace anyways."

"I'm not taking any days off if I can help it," I snapped back at him. That and I wasn't willing to let Horace Slughorn back into a place which was now my domain. I never did care for him much.

"Very well then," he replied with a sad smile.

Most people I knew would probably have made me take the day off, considering last night's events. Not Albus though, for what he understood was that sometimes the best thing that can be done for a shaky frame of mind is to resume regular activities. Keeping busy doing normal things. For anybody under circumstances like mine there would be too much empty space to fill on a day when one wasn't working. And Albus had every reason to understand. He had been treading carefully for a while as well.

"I'll be in my office for the better part of the day," Albus told me as I went out the door, "should you wish for someone to talk to."

"Albus ... I think it might be better if very few knew of this," I said, having trouble making my words heard.

"I shall exercise great caution," said Albus. "But you had best tell the boys."

"I know," I said, swallowing thickly. And with a swish of my robes I was out of the door and headed to my quarters to prepare for the day. I suddenly felt I couldn't eat breakfast.

***

All through the day, as I paced the classroom and had students continue to work on their potions, I heard the words of Healer Phelps ringing through my head. It was like my skull was empty but for those horrid phrases. There was one phrase however, that decided to stick even more than the others for some odd reason, though it had nothing to do with my impending doom. He had mentioned something about some families having a higher chance of getting Lethifold Syndrome, and in many cases, if one in the family has had it, somewhere down the line another would eventually. I had very few relatives that I actually heard from (majority of my mother's side disowned her for marrying a muggle) and my mother made sure we didn't associate with my father's side much due to the fact that they were just plain poison. Therefore, I really didn't know. I wasn't sure why I was spending so much time contemplating whether or not I knew someone who had had it. Perhaps it had something to do with the nagging feeling in my gut.

The bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson and the fourth years filed out. I sat at my desk, awaiting the arrival of my third year students. I caught sight of a coffee ring on the worn wood of my desk, and I ran my hand over it for a moment. Along with my action, came a memory.

A black haired women frowned slightly and bent down to examine the surface of a battered looking end table. She looked rather mutinously at a stained ring left on the wood.

"Aww Mum, I wouldn't worry about it," said a dark haired boy of about thirteen. He had come down the rickety stairs carrying a stack of books, which he set down in a cauldron that was resting in a battered trunk with a deep scratch down the side. He closed it, revealing the name ‘Prince' engraved on a tarnished piece of metal upon the lid.

"I know hon," she told him. "I just wish Tobias wouldn't set his drinks down straight onto the wood."

"Most often he's too drunk to care where he sets his bottles," the boy scoffed, an air of bitterness about him.

She looked like she wanted to reprimand him for talking about such things, but was too tired to do so.

The woman straightened up and surveyed her son proudly for a moment.

"Oh my, Severus, I hadn't realized you grew so much this summer," she exclaimed.

"Do you think I'll be taller than Tobias?" asked the boy hopefully, his thin chin rising with pride.

"I think so, but only if you eat your greens," said his mother with a laugh.

Severus looked at her with a grin and said, "I knew there was a catch."

"Well, I should say so," - she shook her head -"look how skinny you are!"

He looked at her as if to say ‘you're doing it again'.

Her eyes were laughing as she said, "Well, you certainly do need to put on some meat here ..." She reached over and tickled his side, catching him by surprise and making him yelp with laughter.

"Muuummm," he said, leaping away, "I'm too old to be tickled!"

"Oh but your arms are too skinny," she said, tickling him again, this time under the arms. She was surprisingly quick. "You're too skinny here ... and here!"

Then she swept him into a hug while he laughed.

"I love you Severus," she whispered into his ear, her breath a little bit short.

"I love you too Mum," he muttered back after a second or two, all laughter gone as they stood in silence in the tiny sitting room.

She pulled away, and held him at arms distance again. "How I get by without you each year, I never do know," she said rather tearfully before glancing at the clock. She reached into her pocket for something to wipe her eyes with.

"Mum, what's that on your handkerchief?" asked Severus, looking puzzled as he stared at the red blotch, standing out starkly on the white embroidered cloth.

"I cut my hand yesterday on the broken latch on the gate," she explained calmly, stowing the handkerchief in her pocket once more.

Severus looked relieved, and then he lifted his trunk.

"Are you ready?" She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"Yes," he told her, looking around the room once more, a melancholy sort of happiness upon his face.

It took me a moment to realize my mouth was open in amazement. I closed it just in time, for some third years had begun to file into the classroom. They paid no attention to me.

I had never considered that Mum lied to me. If she did in fact lie, then that meant she had been sick even then, just before I had left, my third year of Hogwarts ahead of me. She had sent me letters, telling me she wasn't feeling well, but until that cold winter day I never knew how serious it was. Mum died in February in a muggle hospital, a few hours after her letter (sent the muggle way as we did not own an ow,l and unlike me she didn't have access to school owls) informed the headmaster. I had been lucky enough to arrive before she did pass away. The muggle Healers hadn't been able to help her, and they had had no idea what was killing her. I never did find out what illness it was, and was sure that she never knew it either. How could she know it was fatal? They would have been able to do nothing for her at St. Mungo's, even if Tobias had allowed her to go there instead of the muggle hospital. Was this the answer to what I had always wondered in the back of my mind? Deep down I knew it was, for she had been coughing before I left for Hogwarts, and she hadn't been moving around as much, now leading me to believe that she had been experiencing dizzy spells. In some ways I wished it had remained a mystery, because now I knew that they could not be mistaken in what I had. It was what it was, and the Lethifold was coming for me. I just hoped I could outrun it long enough to finish a few things.