AN: I don't know if I'll be able to post on Thursday. Right now, I have plans which may interfere with posting. If they fall through, I'll be around though.

Thank you for all the support! It is very deeply appreciated!

"Are you certain this will work?" Severus sat on his bed, his legs outstretched. Even when lying down, his legs were light purple. He'd almost forgotten what they looked like when they were white.

"I haven't met a magical object which reacted poorly to this diagnostic spell," Hermione answered a she pulled out her wand. "All it does is analyze the object and allows me to talk to a magical object, at least as much as anyone can communicate with one. It shouldn't affect the object's magic or the way it operates."

"What if the rose is different?" He kept his eyes on the flower floating in the glass jar. "We don't know anything about this curse or what controls the rose. For all we know, magic of any kind could cause all the petals to fall, killing me instantly."

"True," she turned to him, unease in her eyes. "Which is why it's up to you to make this choice. If you're afraid of the consequences of my magic touching the rose, then we can find another way to research it. Otherwise, this may be our best chance to get any kind of data from it."

Severus looked at her, then at the rest of his bedroom. Hermione had spent the last few days cleaning it. No longer were books strewn about, but were neatly put on shelves. The glass shards had been swept, and the scratched portrait of him had been repaired. For the first time in years, it felt more like a bedroom than a mausoleum.

Then, he looked at the flower. If he remained on this course, he was guaranteed to die. A few years ago he'd made an uneasy peace with this fact. Now, he wondered what life may be like if he wasn't under the sway of the curse. If he somehow managed to outlive it, how would his life be?

He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "If I'm going to die, I may as well do so fighting for my life. You may cast the spell on the rose."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he answered. "Just don't expect a share of my fortune if I perish. I refuse to pay the healer who led to my demise, unintentional as it may be."

"I couldn't care less about your money."

"You may feel differently if St. Mungo's doesn't rehire you due to your abrupt departure."

"I can get a job elsewhere," she replied. "Even if it took me some time to find new employment, I've saved well."

"I'm glad to hear that. I would hate for you to be destitute and decide an arsenic sandwich for me was your best way out of poverty."

"I'd never use arsenic," she smirked. "I'd use antifreeze. Wizards wouldn't know to look for it in their autopsies."

He raised an eyebrow. "Should I be afraid you've thought this through?"

"No more afraid that you are of anyone else who enjoys a good murder mystery."

"I never took you for a murder mystery type person. I always thought your main genre would be romance."

"Don't get me wrong, I enjoy romance, but I like to shake things up every once in awhile. Reading about perfect relationships grates on you after awhile, especially when you spend all day dealing with spouses who have charmed each other into cats because they were arguing over who ate the last tuna sandwich."

"And here I thought your job was dull."

"Once you've treated it the fiftieth time, it becomes routine."

"You must think our world is dysfunctional if all you see is people at their worst."

"I don't look at it as dysfunction, but as desperation," she explained. "I see people at their most desperate, and I try to give them hope. That's the rewarding part of my job."

"You excel at giving people a modicum of hope, even if it is only minute," he admitted.

"So you have hope?"

"I have enough to let you near the rose."

"True." She returned her attention to the flower. "I suspect we're both procrastinating on analyzing it."

"Indeed."

She raised her wand and opened her mouth.

"Granger."

She paused and turned to him.

"If something happens, know that I am grateful you gave me another day with Scorpius and Isabella. I will always appreciate that," he answered in a soft voice.

"If this works, you will have many more days with them."

"It's the 'if' which concerns me."

"We don't have to do this. There are books I haven't looked at, resources I have overlooked. We can find another way if you don't want me to cast this spell," she offered.

"No, I want you to analyze the rose," he answered in a strong voice.

"Okay," she took a deep breath but did not move her wand.

"Granger?"

"What?" She turned to him.

"You, you don't believe the curse will affect you, do you? If you cast the spell, will you be infected too?"

"No," she answered. "I'm not touching the object, nor am I asking for its magic to fuse with mine. I'm merely conversing with it."

"It will not affect you?"

"No, there's no evidence of this spell affecting the one who casts it."

"Very well then."

She turned to the rose, but did not move or speak.

"You should cast the spell before one of us changes their mind," he said.

"Right," she turned to the rose, took a deep breath, and waved her wand. "Tandafir, tandafir, arāta-mi secretele tale."

The rose glowed a brighter shade of pink. Hermione's eyes grew as her body began to flush. Severus' heart raced, though not from an arrhythmia. This interrogation could kill him. The death may be quick, or it could be prolonged. He had never wanted to know how his body would react to the final petal falling, and now he didn't want to know.

There were other fears, ones which were more pressing. Hermione could share in his fate by interacting with the curse. Could he live with himself if he condemned her to this heart problem? If they were both ill, how quickly could they save each other?

Worse, if he died, could Hermione ever forgive herself for her role in his demise?

His stomach churned as the rose dulled. She blinked and exhaled.

"Are you well?" He asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes," she turned to him. "I'm very well."

"Is there anything wrong with your heart?"

"No. Can the same be said of you?"

"I feel well enough." He glanced at the rose, which maintained all its petals.

"Good."

"What did you find out about the rose?" He asked.

"From what the magic in my system told me, it is connected to your heart. The more petals which fall, the worse your condition will be until the last petals falls, and your heart stops beating altogether."

"I could have told you all that. What is the cure?"

"It says your heart must heal and beat again. After that," she frowned. "The magic became hazy. There's something it was hiding from me. I tried asking it, but the connection faded before I could ascertain an answer."

"But your heart is well?"

"It's more than well. I have no reason to believe the curse affected me."

"That's good because I don't think that thing could've been more vague if it tried."

"Dark spells are rarely overt in how to cure them."

"Yes, but this blasted thing is outright taunting me! My heart must heal?" Severus pointed to the rose. "It's that bloody thing which is killing me! My heart's beating too much because of that ridiculous thing. How can my heart be cured if the rose is making my heart beat too quickly?"

"The rose is speaking in a riddle," she replied.

"Riddle?"

"Yes, a heart can be metaphorical, such as representing that which loves."

"Love," he muttered, Angelina's words echoing in his mind. Even before the curse he knew he was unloveable. He didn't need a plant to tell him that. If he was unloveable, how could he ever learn to love?

"So, that makes this easy," her face lit up. "You just need to express your love more openly."

"I thought you said I expressed it well with the Malfoys."

"You do, but perhaps you need to spread love to more people."

"That will be difficult being cooped up in this palace."

"We could always leave."

"No," he answered. "I appreciate my solitude, and I do not want to be out amidst muggles."

"What about wizards."

"I don't want to return to Britain."

"Yes, but what about France? Are there any nearby Wizarding communities?" She asked.

"No, which is one reason I chose to live here," he replied. "There is a tavern where witches sometimes go if they are traveling, but otherwise it is away from the prying eyes of the Wizarding World, which I appreciate."

"Yes, but if you need to get out and show love…"

"Do you want to explain this curse to a muggle?"

"Fair enough," she scratched her chin. "Perhaps there's something you're struggling to make peace with."

"I'm struggling to make peace with this curse," he noted.

"I know, and I wish it wasn't so with you. Still, if you can find some way to find healing so you can more completely love."

"To be honest, I don't know who I could love more. All the people in my life know I care for them, save you."

"I know you care." She sat beside him. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have saved my life when the wolves attacked."

"That is hardly love," he answered. "That's pragmatism. Lucius wasn't going to hire another healer, so I needed to save you."

"You almost died for me. That goes beyond pragmatism. That's downright caring."

"Perhaps," Severus looked at the rose. "I am still unsure about your analysis of the spell. Our definitions of love may not match that of the rose. In the end, the rose determines if I live or die, not us."

"I agree I've missed something." Hermione scratched her chin. "Still, we should focus on the people we have closest to us. If you can love them, we may be able to appease the rose."

"It is worth a try," Severus admitted. "At worst, we give the Malfoys some good memories of me before I die. If I'm lucky, you may leave not thinking I'm a complete git."

"I don't think you're a complete git." She gave him a small grin. "You may be 75% git, but that is not a complete git."

He gave her a playful scowl. Before she could respond, his heart began to race. He took a shaky breath before pointing to the rose.

Another petal had fallen.

"Oh Merlin, do you think I've killed you?" Hermione almost shouted as her body went white.

"No," he answered. "This feels like a normal speedup."

"But this could be my doing!"

"No, I haven't had an arrhythmia today, meaning I was overdue for one. It may be nothing."

Both of them stared at the rose, fearful of that next dropped petal. When the flower remained still, both released the breaths they'd been holding.

"Do you want me to stay here?" She asked as she help him lay flat on the bed.

"I would like that, yet I would also like some ice chips," he admitted.

"I can get some for you now." She stood.

"Also, if you could massage my legs, I'd be appreciative."

"I will," she replied before darting downstairs.

Severus took a deep breath as his heart slowed, only to bang against his chest. His mind wandered to Angelina's words stating he could not love, then to Hermione's insistence he could. It wasn't clear which witch was correct. Hermione gave him hope that perhaps Angelina was mistaken about his inability to love. Perhaps a part of him could love.

Yet how could he give love if he'd never experienced it?

"Here are your chips," Hermione sat beside him, a blue cup in her hands.

"Thank you," he sat up just enough for her to take one and place it into his open mouth. Then, she handed him the cup and began massaging his legs.

"Let me know if I'm pressing into you too hard," she began.

"No, it's perfect," he answered. "You are taking excellent care of me."

"I always take care of my friends."

"And I'm your friend?"

"Of course you are," she pressed into him harder. "You may be my snarkiest friend, but you are becoming a good friend."

Severus smiled. "The feeling of friendship is quite mutual."

As she continued to touch him, he took another ice chip, silencing the voice in his head which said he could not love. Romance had never been an option for him, but he could be a friend. In the end, that was its own kind of love, even if it would never satisfy the rose glistening in the moonlight.