When Scorpius left for his second year, there was an obvious hesitation, a new sense of fear as he left, hugging me a moment longer, his eyes remorseful already. It was getting worse, a fact I knew and had told myself for years. But now he was understanding this too, seeing the scope of it; the allusive sentiment of death now crashing down to reality, no longer a morbid, ambiguous fantasy.

So off he went, to meet his friend Albus, to start his second year. It all should've been well and exciting, happy and carefree. But no, rumors and death hung thick around him like a noose. But at least one of those things could be resolved.

After the whole trunk development, and the slow pulling of more and more incidents from Scorpius, it seemed apparent that he was dealing with more than he wanted known by Draco and I.

And so, Draco tried again to talk to Harry, hoping that maybe now that Scorpius was friends with his son, it might melt his stubbornness.

But no. The same routine charade. Acknowledging the gossip feeds the gossip. Let it blow over. It will be fine. There's nothing he could do.

And so Scorpius's second year progressed, with no alleviation from the ever-present rumors.

In the months while he was at school, I'd changed much. After that night in the washroom, the 'episodes' were daily, whereas they used to happen once every week or so. I was coughing more blood than I'd realized my body possessed.

My muscles were obsolete. My bones frail and prominent under my translucent skin. My body was resigned, finished. Standing down, cowering to the curse. Arguing lamely with my unyielding mind. But even that was beginning to submit.

On the day to pick the students up from the platform, a day that, five months ago I would've refused to be absent from, when Draco expressed why he didn't think I should come, I did not protest. I did not fight.

And though he was the one who was persistent in the idea, I saw his eyes dim at my agreement. My resignation.

When they arrived back home a while later, trunks in hand, Scorpius locked eyes with me. And though I must've looked different, weaker, even more withered since he'd last seen me at Christmas, it was like a hundred year of relief flooded his eyes. As though the knowledge I was still alive was not concrete until he saw me with his own eyes.

"Mum," he said with the same relief in his eyes, and hugged me tightly, deeply. I was surprised to find how strong he was, or maybe he just seemed so, juxtaposed to the weak squeeze I gave in response.

"Scorpius," I said, kissing the top of his head, which was now almost level with mine (he was really growing very fast. . . ). His smile faltered when, while releasing me from the hug, I wavered slightly, not completely balanced. I gained it back quickly, though, forcing my limp appendages to stand firm for once.

He scrutinized me, his relief dulling, worry working its way into his features. I was surprised and crushed to see the faint hint of tears rimming his eyes. I suppose I really had changed more than I'd accounted for.

"I missed you," he said with a smile, the water still glistening at his lower lash line.

"I missed you too," I said with all the lightheartedness, all the confidence, all the okayness I could find.

That was June 25, and by July 8, I found myself primarily bound to bed. I was too submissive to even hate myself for this, to protest unwaveringly against my body. I could hardly walk without my head and limbs becoming paper light, and my stomach filling with lead.

One day, I'd asked Scorpius to read to me, not wanting to admit that reading now caused my brain to jumble and my eyes to tire. Every little thing was different now.

Nonetheless, he agreed happily, and came back into the room with a stack of books nearly as tall as he, and started reading at once. Just like I used to read to him when he was little.

The afternoon of August second, after he'd turned the last page of the book we were reading that week, I took a long look at him, a smile on my lips.

He turned to me, a half smile on his lips too. "What?" he asked lightly.

I sighed and took his hand in mine. "You know, you really are the most extraordinary person I've ever known," I said.

He smiled bashfully, and said, "Mum. . . thanks."

"I mean it." Sitting up a centimeter straighter, I said, my voice full of wonderment, "You have this kind, beautiful heart, and despite how logical and brilliant you are, you're still so optimistic and hopeful, and, and the way you see things, see the world -- I've never seen anything like it. You make the world a better place just by being in it, and I can't believe how lucky I am that I got to have you in my life. You mean the world to me Scorpius." There was a lightness, a happiness to my tone, but the words were heavy, and never more true.

He smiled, and for after a moment's pause, wrapped his arms around me and said, "You make my world a better place too, mum."

Later that night, Draco walked into the room with something big in his arms. I peered up, and asked, "What's that?"

He didn't have to answer, for I saw, as it caught in the dim warm light, it was a record player.

"It still is our anniversary," he said, extending a hand toward me. I took it, and he pulled me up with surprising ease.

The static subsided from the record, and an angelic voice began to sound. He lifted me up a bit higher, and set me back down in such a way that my feet were standing on his toes. My hand still in his, the other around the back of his neck.

As the music progressed, getting more beautiful, more complex, the woman sang of how an Augury sang the day her love left her.

I looked into his eyes, those clear, gray eyes I loved so much, and giggled. It'd been ages since I'd danced. He smiled back, and pulled me into a kiss as he walked around the bedroom, carrying me about in a little waltz.

I rested my head against his chest, the little silver heart pendant on my neck clinking lightly. the moonlight spilling in through the windows, the hypnotizing voice of the singer, those beautiful gray eyes.

"I love you," I said.

Kissing the top of my head, he said, "I love you."

*    *    *

The next morning I found myself nearly unable to open my eyes. Like when you're in a dream, and your eyelids are heavy and your vision blurred, and your subconscious renders you powerless against it.

However this was real life.

    I tried to open my mouth to speak, but I could expel no words.

    There was something different, something off about the air, something off about me.

The world felt different, shifted. My head was already pounding, but it was in a muffled sort of way. The pain in my chest, my limbs, while just as ever present, was also muffled, distant.

    Perhaps I looked different. Perhaps the difference was palpable, for there was a light tapping at my shoulder, and a frantic and desperate version of Draco's voice said, from somewhere far off, "Astoria, Astoria -- are you -- are you alright?"

    I wasn't sure how to answer, for it seemed my voice didn't much feel like working. So, concentrating all my energy, all my focus into the movement, I nodded my head twice, the movement small and vague, my lashes fluttering against my eyes.

He sighed a shaky breath, taking my hand in his. The world was dark for a bit, like waking up too early, your mind somewhere between consciousness and blissful, stubborn sleep. Like drifting in warm water, effortlessly, peacefully. . . .

At some point, another touch signified itself to my brain. A grip at my hand. "Mum, mum it's me," a very shaky, very battered Scorpius said. I smiled, or atleast, I thought I did, but I was unsure if my lips copied the movement.

I was in the cozy, warm, dark place again, until another touch at my other hand, this time made by Draco, woke me again.

I opened my eyes as much as possible, but it was straining, and difficult, my lids so heavy, the dark so very warm.

There they were, Draco and Scorpius, kneeling beside me. There they were. I noticed they were crying -- the both of them.

"Mum -- it's --" words cut by a sharp sob "-- it's okay -- we'll--" another cry and sniffle "-- we'll be okay -- we'll be --"

The grip on my hands became harder on both sides, and I could now get a clear look at the both of them. "I love you," Draco said, his voice uneven. Scorpius was biting his lip, his eyes and cheeks red and damp.

There they were. The two greatest loves of my life. Their eyes were all I could focus on, those beautiful gray eyes, and in a matter of moments and years, they faded and swirled away.

"I love you." A soft breath.

"Astoria --" A familiar voice calls. A soft, beautiful voice I haven't heard for some time.

Standing somewhere white, somewhere clear and clean and soft and comfortable, my eyes are now in full control and I'm seeing everything in ways I never have, so bright, so beautiful, so luminescent.

I look down the length of my body. I'm fuller, I'm brighter. I gaze up and down at my arms, now peach colored and strong. I flip my hands before my eyes, no longer sheer skin and pointed bone.

The tugging aches, the disorientating weakness, the wilting strain, gone. I'm light, I'm weightless, I'm strong.

"Astoria," she calls, coming into view.

"Daphne --" I say, running, bounding over to her, taking her hands in mine.

I laugh, as does she, as I look in those familiar, dazzlingly bright eyes.

But my laughter halts as I realize. "Won't they need me? I'm, I'm not ready," I say.

She tucks a curl of once again shiny and rich hair behind my ear, letting her hand trance down to my chin. She smiles warmly. "You're ready. They're ready."

I nod. I know this to be true. I see their faces in my mind and smile, as Daphne comes to my side, taking hold of my hand.

"Come. It's time."

I nod again, opening my eyes, exhaling.

We walk forward, and I hold them in my heart. Always.