Author's Note: To whomever added me to two c2s, thank you! And my enduring appreciation for the small bunch of you who consistently review -- it does an author's heart good.

For those curious as to how Ron learned to use the "felly tone," crazy-emerald-blue wrote her version of the story; it's up at her profile.

And finally, once again, decompression sickness is a real illness, and my thanks to Wikipedia for clueing me into the physics of it. (Of course, it's a Muggle encyclopedia, so they don't know about the potions wizards and witches have to treat it . . . .)

I awoke, as many Hogwarts students before me, in the Hospital Wing. My first vision was my mother's concerned face.

"Mum?" I croaked. Then I remembered when I was, and I cringed. Had I blown it?

But Ginny looked unruffled by this gaffe, just relieved that I was awake. "No, Susan, it's Ginny. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I said. "Hermione?"

"She's okay," Ginny said. "I think she's okay. She hasn't come round yet."

I struggled to sit up but found I couldn't. "Shh, drink this," Ginny said, offering me a blueish potion.

I took a sip and found I felt a little better. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

I thought back, though it was difficult. "I remember . . . Hermione's bubble exploding. Giving her mouth-to-mouth. Destroying the lorgnette. And then --"

"So you did destroy it?" Ginny asked, her eyes alight with happiness.

"Yes!" I said. "I'm sure there's a piece of it somewhere in my robes."

"Oh, thank heavens. The boys hoped -- but they weren't sure."

"However did they get us to the surface in time?" I wondered.

"A VERY strong Tractus charm," Ginny said. "Probably too strong. That's why you're ill -- it's decompression sickness. If they hadn't gotten you to Madam Pomfrey so quickly, you two might've been paralyzed."

I shivered. "How did they get us back?"

"Harry Side-Alonged you both in turn," she explained, "right up to the gates of Hogwarts. Then he sent his Patronus to wake Madam Pomfrey. I don't think he cared how much trouble he got into."

"Is he in trouble?" I asked anxiously.

Ginny shrugged. "No one's in much of a mood to punish him. McGonagall's got a faint idea of what he's doing, and she prefers to turn a blind eye to the rulebreaking it entails."

I nodded, then found I couldn't do much else. Before long I'd slipped back into sleep.

When I awoke next, it was Neville's figure I saw. He must've been there for a while, because he wasn't watching me, just sitting doing his Charms homework.

"Hi," I croaked.

Immediately he sat up, knocking his books and parchment to the floor. "Susan!" He leaned forward and took my hands, which -- I hadn't noticed before -- were icy cold. In his grasp, they warmed quickly.

"How're you?" I slurred.

"How am I?? Let's start with you."

"'M okay," I lied. "Jus' a little wuzzy."

"You sound like you've been through the wringer," he chided, and gave me the selfsame blueish potion Ginny had pressed on me before. "Drink this; Madam Pomfrey says it'll help pop the bubbles in your blood."

"Bubbles?" I asked incredulously. I felt dizzy, and was in no mood to be toyed with.

"I don't really understand it either. Just drink."

I did, and again, I felt a bit better afterwards, good enough to sit up in bed, though it was rather painful. "Why are you here?" I asked, trying not to sound hurt or suspicious.

Neville frowned deeply. "I'm here because I'm your boyfriend."

I flinched at this, and he saw. "But you -- at dinner --"

"I know. But just because I'm angry with you doesn't mean we've gone south," he said, a little desperately.

"Why're you angry?" I said.

He peered at me. "Do you not remember, or not understand?"

I thought back to our conversation in the greenhouse. "Understand. Not understand, rather."

He sighed. "Susan, are you sure you want to do this while --"

"Go 'head."

"Fine, okay. I'm angry because I put my cards on the table, wore my heart on my sleeve, whatever, and you seemed . . . distant."

At that moment, surprising both Neville and myself, I burst into tears. Neville crouched low over me and dried my cheeks off with his thumb. "No, no, I knew this was a piss poor idea. It can wait till you're better."

"No," I moaned. "It's not that, not at all. You -- don't -- understand."

"Understand what?" he asked anxiously.

"I want to be with you, I do. But I can't not go back home."

"I know, I know," he crooned. "I'm sorry I was shirty about that bit. I'm more concerned about what happens after you graduate."

"I want to be with you," I said again, half-drunk off his scent and my incapacitation.

Now he smiled. "Will you come with me after you graduate, then?"

Perhaps if I'd been healthy and in my right mind, I would've told him right then and there that there was no way we could be together. But I was neither of those things, so I said, "I'll go anywhere you go."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted them, but it was too late: Neville had already leaned down to kiss me gently. Then he told me to get some rest, and I dutifully closed my eyes and listened to the scratching of his quill against parchment. Something, probably that blue potion, quelled my roiling mind, and I was asleep in a minute.

The third and final time I awoke in the Hospital Wing, it was Ron who greeted me. He was watching me intently, and upon my regaining of consciousness, he smiled in abject relief. "You've come round!"

"Yes, again," I added. "How's Hermione?"

"Much better," he said. "Her theory is that in reading Whossisname's Creed she actually invoked some sort of protection that kept her from the worst of the decompression sickness. I've no idea if she's right, but it sounds good, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," I said, smiling. It was often impossible not to smile when Ron was in a good mood. "So she's back in action?"

"Yeah," he said, "and I have to say, she would've been miffed to miss class today."

"Class!" I cried. "Is it Monday already?"

"'Fraid so," said Ron. "I'd hoped, as a family member, you could be counted upon to rejoice at that fact."

"No!" I said. "I had a Transfiguration quiz today!"

He laughed. "You just destroyed a piece of You Know Who's soul, and that's what you're worried about?"

I relaxed a bit. "All right, well, when you put it like that . . . ."

"Hermione told me all about it," he said, his voice a bit hushed now. "That was brilliant, how you saved her."

I shrugged. "She'd have done the same for me."

"If she hadn't lost her fool head," Ron retorted, grinning broadly now. "Hermione, well, she's the cleverest witch in all of Britain, but she panicks too easily."

I chuckled at this, and noted that my lungs weren't burning. "I feel better," I said, a little proud of my recovery.

"Great, we'll spring you as soon as we can. In the meantime, I brought you some real food," he said, producing a chicken salad sandwich and some crisps.

"Cheers, Ron," I said gratefully, and tucked in, not having had a real meal in days. "You're a lifesaver."

He colored at that a little, then patted me on the hand in a brotherly way. "So're you," he said gruffly, then left me to finish my sandwich alone with my thoughts.

As Ron had promised, I was released from the Hospital Wing that evening with a few more doses of my anti-decompression sickness potion. Madam Pomfrey did one final diagnostic spell on me, then shook her head as she proclaimed me fit to go back to classes. "What you lot get up to, I just don't know," she said, but I thought I detected a hint of approval in her stern voice.

It was late when I finally got back to the common room, but to my surprise, Neville was waiting there for me. I hesitated when I saw him, but he motioned for me to come over and sit by him.

"All right?" he asked by way of greeting.

I nodded. "I still feel a bit queer, but Madam Pomfrey says my symptoms should be gone by tomorrow night."

"That's good," he said, and took my hand. I relaxed for the first time in a week and settled my head on his shoulder. "I missed you," he continued after a long quiet moment.

"I missed you too."

"Let's not fight again, yeah?"

"That sounds perfectly lovely."

There was another long silence, and then he spoke again. "I'm sorry I came to you in the Hospital Wing like that. I should've just let you be."

I shook my head. "It's all right."

"No, it wasn't right. I was just so -- I mean, I overheard Harry and Ron talking about you and Hermione, and I -- I panicked. I was convinced you'd -- you'd die or something, and you'd never know --"

He stopped, forcing me to ask, "Know what?"

He flushed and turned his head away. I touched his cheek gently. "Know what?" I repeated.

He turned back, and his eyes were bright. "That even if you wanted to go back to America and stay there, even if I'd never see you again, I still couldn't -- I want the rest of this year with you, Susan, no matter what comes after."

I kissed him instead of answering him. If I'd spoken, I would've told him everything, and the truth was, I wanted to believe that I had a choice in this matter. I wanted to pretend that I was just going to America for a year before joining him in Ireland or wherever he chose to go. I wanted to forget that my life lay a dozen and a half years away, in some distant future that would not include him.