RPOV

She spent nearly a month in hospital, fighting back from the absolute brink. She had a cardiac arrest the same day she woke up - something to do with a clot. That meant another three days under medication, waiting for her body to rest and do the healing. I thought that day, I'd lose her. I would have fallen to bits if Danny hadn't told me that I wouldn't help anyone by doing that. If I wanted to go, I had to wait until she got better. It was odd - but none of us even discussed any funeral plans. Not even when we were watching them battle with machines and oxygen, trying to keep her heart beating. Danny was the one who told us that she was going to live. He kept saying, remained adamant she'd survive. His little doll could fight anything. And hell, she could not only fight this, but win too. I think he was terrified of falling apart. He kept himself going by remaining optimistic. I kept going by praying, every day, praying to whoever or whatever is up there, watching us, I prayed. She didn't deserve to die. She had to live, she had so much to do. She said she wanted to be a doctor. She said she wanted to bring life, was absolutely determined to go to medical school.

Of course, when she came round, within days, she was bored of being in bed, bored of hospital rooms. She wasn't allowed, under any circumstances, to leave yet. Her immune system would have been wrecked. They'd started her on the radiotherapy. She could have died if she'd caught a cold. We all had to visit wearing weird gowns and masks. She laughed so hard when she saw us all trooping in. It made her cough, then she fell asleep five minutes later. It wasn't my Mione. Not my Mione, who'd gone out an hour after chemo, and then walked round a castle with us. I asked her doctor how much pain she'd have been in. He said lots. He said he couldn't even begin to imagine how much. He was amazed she'd managed it at all.

When they finished all that hell, all those chemicals, and she started getting stronger, she'd been in hospital for nine whole weeks. She'd missed Christmas, and spring was tentatively peeking out. I remember the daffodils and crocuses were emerging outside her window. And the daisies were starting to show up again. It was March. She was thin, thinner than before, but she still found the energy from somewhere to talk every day. Her hair started growing back. I was terrified lest it should be any other colour than those gorgeous curls I'd loved playing with. It was lighter shade of her original brown, more along the lines of honey-brown than chocolate, but she was just as beautiful. It was already showing a tendency to form little ringlets.

She prayed every single morning, and every single night. She told me she'd nearly lost her faith during the long, dark, cold months, when she thought she'd die, when she thought she wasn't going to win. Sometimes she'd ask someone to sit with her and pray, sometimes she liked to be alone. Sometimes she'd kick me out, make me do my homework. But more often, she'd hold my hand. She wouldn't talk, just hold my hand. Sometimes, during those long silences, she'd fall asleep in my arms, and I wouldn't know it until a nurse came in and told me, or until someone else would warn me not to get up too fast. Harry and Ginny come by, and Bill drags himself in. That was the day she was good to get up and potter about, going for little walks with anyone who happened to be around. They moved her onto the ward and she made instant friends. The nurses loved her, the doctors despaired because she wanted to get up and do more than she could. But Bill came and swept her up, bridal style.

"I got permission from your doctor to sweep you off your feet," he declares, giving her a kiss on the cheek, with she returns with a giggle and a blush. "Wrap up warm, Mione. We're going on a little trip."

I knew what he was doing, we all did. Day out. She didn't have a clue, and he swept her up and carried her to his car.

"Bill, where're we going?"

"Day out, sweets. We're going shopping."

"Bill, I can't - I'm not so good with walking right now."

"Wheelchairs. Or I could carry you." She shakes her head.

"I'll stick with the chair, thanks. Is Ginny coming?"

"Yep, she's meeting us there. You two can spend a ridiculous amount of money while Ron and I go take care of a few things."

HPOV

That girlie day out was exactly what I needed. Ginny and me going a little mad, buying stuff we didn't need but just had to buy. We both fell simultaneously in love with the same long-sleeved tunic top - her in bottle green, me in a deep burgundy shade. Of course, we have to buy it, and then we buy some jeans, and then she moves onto shoes. She gets a pair of killer heels, red with gold detail. I decline. Me, heels. No way in hell. But she coaxes me into buying silver shoes. When I'm going to wear them I will never know. When we meet the boys again, we're happy enough, even though I'm exhausted. We have lots of bags, mostly on my lap, a few hanging from the handles of my chair, which Ginny is pushing. They laugh and shake their heads. I was so happy. Ron took over my wheel-chair from Ginny and pushed me into a café, and Bill insisted on buying me soup and a roll, along with hot chocolate. Hot chocolate. I'd forgotten how good it tasted. The soup was hot and the roll fresh and warm, and it warmed to my core. I was sleepy now, the excitement and the hot food making me long for bed, to curl up and sleep. They bore me back to my bed, and I fell asleep almost immediately.

A week later, they discharged me, making an appointment with the consultant in a fortnight's time. Two weeks later, Ron took me back to the beach, and sat me down. It was a sunny day, bright and clear. The wind had a little bite to it, but all in all, it was pleasantly warm. April was almost over. Easter was done with. Summer was around the corner, and I realised what that meant.

"It's been less than a year since I found the lump," I say to Ron, matter of factly. "It was September. Such a lovely day it was."

"It seems longer."

"I feel old," I say, looking at the waves. "I don't feel seventeen. I feel like I'm in my fifties, like I've lived my entire life in a year. No wonder Lily was always so furious about her cancer, it makes you feel old. And yet, in a way, I have something to be thankful for, out of this mess."

"What?"

"I got you, didn't I? I got cancer, but I also found you. I feel like I've aged a life time in a year - but at the same time, I found you, and I've found a life. Everything seems brighter now. Colours seem more beautiful, the wind feels better on my face. The sun feels warmer, the rain feels wetter, the grass seems softer. I think I do have something to be grateful for."

"You're always positive."

"I have to be. That's what got me through it all. I had to believe I could win. I had to believe I had the balls to look Death in the face, and tell him to take a hike, I wasn't ready yet. I was ready to go under when you told me you'd stay." I am silent for a time, watching the waves roll up the beach, making a soft rustle over the sand. "Why did you stay?"

"Because it was you, and I love you," he says, very calmly. "And I've never been so great at doing what I'm told." I laugh, and pause.

"No, that's true. Do you mean it?"

"Every word. Especially the bit about loving you."

"Good. Because now I can say that when I got cancer, I found the rest of my life."

"What's that look like then?"

"He has red hair, and blue eyes."

He took me to prom. He danced with me like I'd break into little pieces if he was anything but gentle.

Five months later, when September had come again, I was quieter. It was the month after we started our final year at school, and university was fast becoming a reality, instead of a distant dream. We never left Scotland, in the end. We didn't want to. I had Ron, and Mum and Dad had jobs and new friends. Danny had Charlie as his best mate, and he and Bill were fast becoming firm friends. And only I knew about the girl in his Philosophy seminars, who he was flirting with. I already felt like I'd known Ginny forever. The leaves are turning red, around the edges. Autumn has come, and winter sets in quickly here. But I don't feel sad. No, this year, I feel alive. Somehow, as this year dies, I feel more alive than I ever have before. It's odd, but this year feels like a brand new start to life. When I came here last year, I was so wrapped up in myself, so preoccupied by death, I didn't leave time to actually live. I wasn't actually alive. I have spent the last year somehow dead, and now I feel like this is the time to make that up. But as I sit here, writing this, I look at the leaves, and I don't think about the death of the year. I feel like this is when the year truly begins, when life starts all over. The start of school always feels more like new than January, and September somehow seems right. A year ago, I was diagnosed, and this year, I've come back to life. I think September will never stop being significant. And this year, I know it will be better.

As I close my diary, I look at it. I've filled up every page now. There's no more room left. I never kept a diary until the diagnosis. And now it's defiantly over, now I've been given the definite all clear, this would be a good time to lock it away. That's it now. The diary was the escape I needed, and now it is the closure. Not even Ron has been allowed to look at it. So I will lock it away, and I will think of it every day, locked safely in my desk drawer. I will think of this past year, and I will remember how lucky I am. I will remember that life is precious.

I will remember, every time I feel the wind on my face, that it means I am alive. And as my mother calls up to me, and I go out, she cuddles me close. Ron is leaning against the open door of the school bus, and I run up the steps, and we wave goodbye to my mother.

Yes. I am alive. And it feels so good.

A/N: I swear I didn't know how long it had been since I updated this. I'm so sorry. PLEASE review me anyway, even though I don't deserve it. This is finished now. I will maybe write a sequel, but I don't know. I doubt it. Does seem to be this thing, especially with Potter fics, that they don't get many reviews! Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but reviews make me happy. Well, thanks for sticking by me!