Chapter 6: The Flowers in Spring

It was unfair that Prince's was becoming lovely with the spring. The snow was melting and running to the river, which was swelling in its banks, becoming vivid and lovely. Crocuses and flutterbushes and snapping-dragons were blooming outside, and I had ample opportunity to become familiar with the flowers. I was spending every spare moment outside, for Prince's was the site of a terrible outbreak of sanguis.

I can still hear the sound of it now. It begins as a cough, a wet, crackling sound that starts at night and does not leave. By that evening the victim will be coughing blood, hence the name. As the blood increases the sufferer's control over their magic diminishes, leading to some terrifying displays of power.

Half the school had emptied at the first signs of sanguis, those girls who were lucky enough to have family who would take them home. Half of those who had remained fell ill, as sanguis is very contagious and no one knows why some fall ill and some do not. The school was a terrible parody of its usual state, filled with murmurs and moans and coughs. The attic bedroom we all shared was scrubbed sterile by house elves, and smelled of vinegar and peppermint for days. We healthy remained there, while the sick were moved to the classrooms. All classes were canceled. Instead, we spent initial days wandering the forest and playing flights of fantasy.

On the fifth day, when all the fires were burning hotter than they had all winter to comfort the shivering girls I overheard a conversation between Miss Meadows and Miss Ellery in the garden. I had escaped with a novel that I wished to discuss with Luna, who was out looking for plimpies. I was deep in my story when their voices caught my attention.

"We've only half a dozen healing potions left," Miss Arden said to Miss Ellery as they were strolling by the garden wall. I ducked behind a bush as they approached, hoping not to be noticed. It sounded as though they were discussing the state of affairs, and I was desperate for information. Desperate enough to eavesdrop on something I knew I should not be eavesdropping on.

"It is as I feared," Miss Ellery said, and let out an almighty sigh. I could imagine her- her posture erect even now, only her eyes betraying how tired she was. "We have run out of medicine and have no money to buy more."

"But surely Professor Snape will provide us with it if we tell him the state of the school," Miss Arden protested.

Miss Ellery laughed, a brittle sound. "Professor Snape fled for the countryside the moment he heard reports of sanguis in town. And he declined to inform us that his own housekeeper had been affected. I have owled him several times, and no owl has been able to find him. No, Miss Arden, we are alone."

"I cannot watch all these girls die," Miss Arden said, and my heart almost stopped.

"I cannot either," Miss Ellery said. "And I will not."

Miss Ellery's voice was determined, and that evening she announced that all of us who were remaining behind were to serve as healers to the afflicted. She told us that if we were not affected, we would not be. We needed to trust her on this. We must have faith.

I was uncertain. I had only read about afflictions in novels, horrific stories made more horrific for the entertainment of the reader. It seemed that in staying behind we would be left blind or lame or otherwise marked by the disease, unless we were pure of heart. Then we would be spared, and some handsome wizard who we had been ministering to would fall in love with our goodness and wish to marry us.

This was the story I knew of illness, and I was scared for my own fate. There were no wizards around for us to minister to, and I was not pure of heart. I still had wicked thoughts about Professor Snape, whose neglect had caused this catastrophe, and my Aunt Umbridge, who would be filled with gratitude if I died. But I had come to trust Miss Ellery, who had given me many times real kindness. And so I joined the other girls in agreeing that we would be healers.

Healing, we soon found, was difficult work. We were put on shifts. Some shifts we served the afflicted. We vanished blood and scrubbed sheets and sponged faces over and over with cold water. When magic was let loose, when a girl would begin to breathe fire or conjure ice from the air, we called for a teacher and were hurried on to the next patient.

I did not enjoy the shifts working as a healer. I did it because it was my duty, but I only ever felt pity and anger. I was not like Luna, who was tender and kind. Luna would read stories and sing songs and when girls were lucid would ask them questions about their families and lives before Prince's. I was not sympathetic. I was only efficient.

When we were not on healing duty we were sent to scavenge the forests, looking for heartbeets and aconite flowers and mandrakes. This was dangerous as well, because the plants we needed were often poisonous, or had poisonous look-alikes. But it was a relief to be away from the stuffy rooms surrounded by the sick. I tried to convince Luna to go on these expeditions with me, but she demurred. She was needed where people were, she told me. She set charms and traps for fantastical creatures to snare the sickness, and she needed to watch them. She told me all this without judgment, giving me the freedom to leave. This generosity of her spirit was part of why I loved her so dearly.

The forest was blooming, and it was here that I could feel young. Out in the air I believed that sickness would not touch me, that the sanguis would be defeated. We lingered longer than we were supposed to, sometimes playing games of spello-tag or having mock duels. In a normal situation we would be scolded for lingering, perhaps beaten with a switch. But our teachers were so preoccupied with nursing the sick that our behavior was scarcely noticed unless we were directly in front of them. After we would return and we saw our teachers, haggard and tired, and heard the moans of our companions, I would feel wracked with guilt for my lack of haste. I would then volunteer to help process the plants, and assisted Miss Meadows with the potioneering.

Finally, I thought with a grim sense of satisfaction, I was able to put the knowledge I had been storing to good use. I helped cut and stir and brew and bottle, and my skin smelled of crushed sage and camphor for weeks after. Outside I felt untethered and while in the classroom I felt fearful. While brewing potions I only felt necessary. As more girls fell sick I was put to brewing more and more, until it became my chief duty.

Some girls recovered, lingering in sickness for a week before the bleeding slowed, then stopped. They were weak and pale afterward but were unscarred. We saw recoveries first. That is what made the first death so horrific.

It was a young girl name Romilda Vane. I had not been fond of her- she was self-important and boastful. But her bleeding cough turned to a bloody nose, which led to blood coming from her eyes. And then waves of color and energy started to linger around her bed, like some horrific combination of Aurora Borealis and the legs of a spider. When she died the energy lingering by her rushed through the room with a furious boom, sending a shock through the body of all present.

I had never seen someone die before. Luna took it with particular difficulty. She had been nursing Romilda, and had hope. Luna had always been a pillar of strength for me, and for me to have to be strong for her was a new sensation. She was quiet, oh so quiet through dinner, scarcely eating the cheese and apples we were given to take to the garden. Her stomach was rumbling, and I begged her to eat, but she could not be convinced. She was only calm and sad, composed and remote. It was only once the call for bedtime rang out that her composure cracked. We had been sharing a bed during the outbreak, as my bedmate Hannah had been rushed away by her parents and Luna's bedmate Helen was still recovering from sanguis. After the candles extinguished I began to hear sniffing.

I reached out to Luna and wrapped my arm around her. Her back was to me, and I was folded into an awkward position, half holding her. She began to shake, and turned towards me. In the light of the moon streaming through the shades I could see the tears.

"Hermione," she whispered, and I pulled her close to me, wrapping both arms around her. This was an awkward feeling, but she would do so for me and so I would do so for her.

"I should have been able to save her," she cried, and her soft voice broke into sobbing. "She was my charge, and I failed her."

I could not convince her otherwise, that she had given Romilda the best care possible, that she had given her love and grace in her final days. That Romilda may have died no matter what, but she died not feeling alone. But none of those words were sufficient, and I held her, stroking her hair until she fell into a still sleep. It was as if I was siphoning her grief into my body, for I could not sleep at all that night, no matter my exhaustion. Luna, who was even more tired than I, slept like the dead.

Romilda was not the only girl who was lost to the sickness. A few more followed the next week, then three in one day. We held funerals for each girl individually, but they were short and sparsely attended. The locals were staying as far away as they could from the school to avoid contracting sanguis. We were given a chance to say goodbye, gathered in a small classroom. Miss Ellery would read to us a poem. I can still remember the opening for the poem she read for Romilda's funeral:

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

We bid our goodbyes, and then we were ushered out of the room. The evening of each funeral an enormous bonfire was lit in the garden where we were not allowed to go. The ashes were cleared away the next morning. No one spoke of this, the peculiar necessity of burning our bodies.

Nine girls died of sanguis. The final was Luna.

She was the final girl to fall ill with sanguis. She began to cough one night two weeks after Romilda had died. She was immediately moved to the ward that was now almost empty, for all the other sufferers had either succumbed to the sickness or had returned to the land of the well.

I was not allowed to be with her. No one was. Sanguis was a terrible disease, but it generally disappeared quickly. That Luna should be struck with the sickness after everyone was recovering was a worrying matter. Our teachers told us nothing of this, but I was determined to know everything. And so I evesdropped, making certain to be hidden behind a window of the teacher's parlor, where I thought they might speak.

I was correct. That night they gathered and began to toss about wild theories. Miss Phryne was worried that we had an entirely new version of sanguis, one that did not follow the old rules. Miss Arden thought that perhaps Luna was suffering from an entirely new disease. Miss Meadows thought that Luna had done something to herself, that no one else ought to worry because the girl had always been strange. Here I had to grit my teeth to stop contain my rage, and I was so focused on my fury that I almost missed Miss Ellery's response.

"Whatever the cause, she is a girl who is sick," Miss Ellery said, and I imagined her glaring at Miss Meadows as I wished to. "And therefore we will offer whatever comfort we can to her."

The days that followed were strange days, listless and dreadful. The school slowly emptied, as girls who were well returned to families that wanted them. No one who had left initially came back, and I privately thought that no one ever would. The only ones left were the unwanted. Luna's father owled every day- he was in Sweden and unable to return, but he begged for information of her. I wrote him a few letters, telling stories of our times here at Prince's. Miss Meadows and Miss Phryne taught classes, but we all found it difficult to focus, and Miss Meadows in particular scolded us terribly. Every day I begged to go see Luna, but every day I was denied. Instead I spent my time buried in books, searching for a cure. We had been left with a stockpile of potions to fight sanguis, but their effectiveness was not guaranteed. I spent several nights reading by smuggled candles, trying to find a better potion. There were only vague ideas. This seemed cheap, and like a dereliction of duty by potioneers. I could not shake the opinion that if I had more time and resources I could find something that would heal Luna.

On the sixth day of Luna's sickness I was sneaking downstairs to find a different, more helpful potions tome when I saw that Miss Phryne, who was guarding the room, was asleep. It was the opportunity I had been hoping for. Slowly, slowly, as quietly as I could, I snuck past Miss Phryne and opened the door.

Luna was alone in the room, one bed in the stone classroom where we were instructed in transfiguration. A fire was lit, but she was shivering. I crept towards her and took her hand in mine. It was purple in color.

She coughed, bright red appearing against the white sheets, and her eyes flew open. "Hermione," she said, and she smiled, her lips chapped. Sickness made her appear even more fey than she had before, her eyes larger and her skin more translucent. Golden bubbles began to rise from the floor.

"Oh, Luna, I missed you. They would not let me come see you."

"You should not have risked it," Luna said, and then coughed again, a wet, splintering sound. She grabbed a handkerchief to mop the blood that her cough had dislodged. The handkerchief was also white, a disquieting sight. Who had thought to dress her in white? "But I confess I am glad to see you."

"I tried earlier, but I could not get through the door." My excuses tasted flat in my mouth, but I needed her to understand how much I had wanted to see her. "I've been researching potions. There is a blood replenishing potion that could help while you are recovering."

Luna shook her head. "Potions will not help me now. But how lucky am I to see you before I go."

My whole body went cold. "Will your father come get you, then?"

Luna smiled, and the air around her seemed thicker. "No, Hermione." Her face was filled with calm. "I am grateful that I am able to see you before I die."

"Luna, no."

Luna only continued to smile, her face serene. She could have been telling me about nargles once again.

"It will happen, Hermione. I do not think I was ever meant to grow old. Death is so close I can feel it. I am not afraid," she continued, seeing the anguish on my face. "Death is only what comes next. I am ready. But I will miss it here," she said and glanced around wistfully. "I do love the flowers in the spring."

"Luna-"

Luna squeezed my hand. "Just stay with me, please. I do not want to go alone."

If she had asked me to tear my heart out of my chest with my own hands I would have, and done so gladly. I laid next to her, wrapping my arms around. She was so warm it was like holding a furnace.

"Would you talk to me?"

I would have told her anything. Her voice was getting hoarse, and I began to tell her stories. At first they were fantastical stories, cobbled together from novels I read. Lands of tiny people and lands of giants and flying horses (thestrals, Luna murmured when I began speaking of them). But I soon ran out of stories of the fantastic, and I began to tell her stories of my life, of Aunt Umbridge and John's cruelty, of not being hugged until I met Luna, of what I knew of my parents, who were a squib and a muggle and who had died when I was young.

My voice caught as I thought about my own misfortune. I had lost my parents, and now I was losing the only person I had loved. Luna heard the catch and squeezed my hand again.

"Do not lose hope, Hermione," she whispered. "You have life and love ahead of you. I can see it. Do not forget that you are deserving of it."

I kissed her hand. "There is no hope without you."

"You are wrong," Luna said, and there was kindness and humor in her voice. "Your life will be long. It has scarcely begun. Do not be afraid."

I was so afraid. I was not afraid of death- if I died it would be nothing, I thought fiercely, for I could be with Luna and my parents again. But I was afraid to live without her. It was like she could sense my thoughts, for she grasped my hand and brought it up to her chapped, rough lips.

"Hermione, promise me that you will never succumb to that darkness. Let yourself live in love. Promise me."

I would have promised her anything. And so I did, and she relaxed into my arms, spasming only whenever she coughed.

I had run out of stories, but she did not seem to need them anymore. Her inhalations were raspy, and she was beginning to breathe color. She grasped my hand as her breathing became more difficult. Finally, as the light was breaking, she closed her eyes.

"I love you, Luna," I whispered. She smiled, and then exhaled. Her breath was visible, a pale blue, which transformed into a sparrow. The sparrow flitted around the room, then flew out the window, and Luna was still.

I was discovered at some point later, I cannot say how much. My own gown was decorated with Luna's blood, and my breath was gasping.

"Is she," Miss Phryne asked delicately. I opened my mouth to answer and instead burst into tears. I was taken to a separate chamber to bathe and was given a dreamless sleep potion, and fell asleep before I could turn in bed.

Luna's funeral was the next day. There were very few of us left- me, a few younger girls, and Luna's bedmate Hannah. Luna deserved a parade, a procession. I was angry at the world that she would not live in as many people's memories as she ought to.

Luna's father had arrived by then, a trembling, grey-haired man. I introduced myself as his correspondent, an introduction that seemed to mean nothing to him. He, too, seemed destroyed by this turn of fate.

Miss Ellery cried during the funeral. She spoke about Luna's kindness, about her generosity, about her fearlessness. She read, too, from a muggle book, words that I now have etched inside my heart.

Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm; for love is strong as death

That night I watched the bonfire from the window. No one paid attention to me, lost to my misery. They were all wrapped up in their own. Late at night, when the moon was high and the bonfire had long been extinguished, I snuck downstairs and out into the garden. The fire was still smoldering and the taste of smoke was in the air, and the thought of this being the remains of Luna's body made me feel sick. But she would do this for me, and so I would do it for her.

There was a garden shed that was filled with tools. There I grabbed a shovel and returned to the pyre, using it to grab ashes. As disturbing as this being her body was, the worse thing would be for her to be vanished, taking away every trace of her body.

Our favorite corner of the garden was one where the wall was lowest, and there was a view of the nearby forest and a bubbling creek. Here too there were flowers- snowdrops and moon-lilies and daffodils. She used to go here as soon as she could in the mornings to dress her hair with flowers, which would wilt over the day. It was here, I was certain, that she would want to be.

It was a still night, still cool but with a hint of the coming warmth of summer. We had spoken many times about what we might do in summer- the places in the forest to explore, the rumor of a swimming pond that was magically sheltered from male eyes. We would never have our summer together. But here at least she could rest in beauty.

Before my courage could fail me I sprinkled the ashes over the flowers. I fell to my knees when I had finished, resting my forehead on the earth. I imagined what Luna would say here about my dramatics. She would tell me there was no reason for distress, that she will not leave me. She would remind me of beautiful things in life. She would instruct me to not stop.

"I promised you," I whispered into the earth. "I promised that I would live. And I will."

When it was time to return I grasped a handful of moon-lilies, Luna's favorite. Back upstairs I pressed them into the novel she had been reading, a volume from the small circulating library at Prince's. I still keep them there today, perfectly preserved, a beautiful life taken too soon.

a/n Thank you so much for your patience with me. This was a particularly difficult part to write- I've never killed off a character who I loved, and it was far more difficult than I thought it would be.

The poem for Romlida's funeral is the opening to "Remember" by Christina Rossetti. I was looking for something that fit the time and Rossetti's always lovely poetry felt perfect. Rossetti started publishing just a few years before Brontë's death, so they're contemporaries, but barely. If I were a more precise writer I would have kept looking, but I imagine that most readers of a Jane Eyre Dramione AU fanfiction will forgive me. The reading for Luna's funeral is from the ending of Song of Songs. I went with the King James Version for the feel and rhythm of the language.

More soon.