I know what you're thinking. What? Two chapters in three days? Yeah, don't get used to it. The only reason it happened is because the two chapters were originally one, until I realized how ridiculously long that chapter would be.

Tons of thanks to Maggie, who is so good about telling me what sucks and needs to be changed. Also, for helping me beat Scorpius into submission and just accepting my neurosis and impossibility to be satisfied with how I write Harry. You're the best, Maggie, and I know how you like to be referenced in author's notes. :)

This chapter is brought to you by the letter A, for Angst! Enjoy!

Tending Roses - Chapter 4

Much as I wanted to follow both Rose and Scorpius to their houses immediately and demand to know what was going on, I did not. Instead, I forced myself to wait three days.

Three days was a rule Rose and I had come up with a few years before. On each break, but especially summer breaks, we would give each other three days to recover from the end of term before we made plans with one another. Three days to spend with family and recuperate. I waited three days, though they were the most difficult three days I'd ever spent waiting for anything. And on the morning after the third day, as early as was socially acceptable, I Apparated to Rose's.

It was my Aunt Hermione who opened the door. "Al!" she said with a smile. "What a pleasant surprise! We didn't know you were coming." This struck me as slightly odd, as "three days" had been a tradition for at least four years.

"It's three days," I reminded her. "I'm here for Rose." The smile on her face froze for an instant, and then became softer, sadder. I felt the first twinges of foreboding.

"Rose didn't tell you," she said, and it was almost a question, almost but not quite.

"Tell me what?" I asked, distinctly wary now. Aunt Hermione sighed.

"You'd better come in, Al." Yeah, those words didn't bode well.

A few minutes later, when I was set up at the dining room table with a glass of lemonade, and Aunt Hermione was seated across from me, I finally asked, "Where's Rose?"

"She isn't here," Aunt Hermione said gently. "She's in Russia, Al." I stared at my aunt.

"Russia?" I finally got out. I was shocked. I couldn't wrap my head around this. What on earth was Rose doing in Russia?

"You know she's friends with Ivanna Krum, yes?" I nodded dumbly. "Well, Ivanna's been planning a World Tour for most of the year now. She's been inviting Rose periodically, but Rose consistently turned her down. But . . . I don't know, Al. I think the end of school hit her harder than she thought it would. So when Ivanna came to make a last ditch attempt the day after Rose came home, she said yes. She spent most of that day packing, and they left for Ivanna's yesterday. It was all very sudden and very fast, and I'm sure that Rose is, as we speak, writing letters to everyone, explaining. I'll be very surprised if you don't hear from her by the end of the day."

I nodded, staring at the water beading on the outside of the lemonade glass, nodding more because I knew it was expected of me than because I was really agreeing with or understanding what my aunt was saying.

"For the summer?" I asked finally, and Aunt Hermione's look was pitying as she said, "No, Rose agreed to the full trip."

"Two years?" I gasped out. "She's left for two years?"

"At least," Aunt Hermione said apologetically. "But I've seen their itinerary, and it's incredibly ambitious. I'd be surprised, knowing those two, if two years doesn't turn into three before the end of it."

I stared at the table, my mind reeling. Rose, my careful, methodical, plan-everything-in-advance cousin, just packed up and left for a three-year trip around the world? It didn't make any sense, and it was the most out-of-character thing she'd ever done.

"Al," Aunt Hermione said gently then, laying a hand over mine and breaking me out of my reverie. "Don't be too hard on her, okay? She's not as lucky as you. She's still figuring all this out."

I opened my mouth to respond, though I had no idea what I was going to say, but that's when Uncle Ron started yelling from his study, "I will kill him!" and stormed out into the dining room, a letter crumpled in his hand. "I don't know what Harry thinks he's trying to pull, but this is ridiculous!"

With an apologetic look to me, Aunt Hermione said, "What's Harry done, Ron?" Uncle Ron threw down the letter and pointed at it.

"Look who he's put on my training squad! If he thinks for one instant that I am going to consent to train that boy, then he—"

"Ron," Aunt Hermione broke in forcefully with a pointed look at me. Uncle Ron saw me sitting there and immediately swallowed whatever he'd been about to say.

"Al," he said with forced calm. "I didn't see you there."

"It's all right," I said, standing. "I was just about to go, anyway. Thanks for . . . thanks." And I beat a hasty retreat, my mind still in a muddle, but one thing was clear. I had to talk to Scorpius.

I stopped at home first, just to see if Aunt Hermione was right, if I'd somehow missed a note from Rose. But there was nothing in my room and no sign of an owl. I poked my head into Dad's study and asked after the morning post, just on the off chance something had come there. "A letter for you from Rose?" Dad asked, frowning. "No, I don't think so. Were you expecting one? I thought today was your third day thing."

"Yeah, it was," I said, trying not to sound as upset and angry as I was becoming. This had something to do with Scorpius and Rose and whatever had happened between them. I knew it. "Never mind. I'm heading to Scorpius's."

And I turned to go, but Dad stopped me with an, "If you're going to be stopping by the Malfoys, would you be willing to save an owl a trip?" And he sorted through a stack of letters on his desk til he found the one he was looking for and held it out to me.

"Sure," I said, reaching for it. "What do you need from Mr. Malfoy?"

"It's for Scorpius, actually." I gave him a bemused glance, then read the front of the envelope.

"Why are you writing to—?" I started to ask, but then I saw the return address. It didn't say "H. Potter." It said, "Dept of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Division." And as I stared in disbelief at those words, I suddenly understood what Uncle Ron had been yelling about. Or more specifically, who Uncle Ron had been yelling about. And it was confirmed in the next moment when Dad said, "It's his acceptance letter to the program. He had a very strong application."

I couldn't breathe. I was frozen with shock, stunned into breathless silence, a strange and foreign feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. Dad's voice brought me back to myself. "Al?" he asked, sounding concerned. I forced my head up from the letter. "Al, you knew about this, right?"

I forced myself to shake off the stupor and answer as normally as possible. "I – yes, of course. The Aurors. Sorry, Dad, it's been a weird morning, I'm a little – I will happily deliver this letter. Excuse me." I'm not sure, but I think something decidedly not resembling my normal tone snuck in at the end there. And before I could give Dad a chance to figure out that everything wasn't fine, I strode from the house to our Apparation point.

When I appeared at the edge of the Malfoy's estate, I no longer bothered to mask the black look on my face or do anything to curb the hot, hard anger filling the pit of my stomach. I knocked forcefully on the door, pounded on it, really, hard enough to feel the sting all along the edge of my hand. Mrs. Malfoy opened it, took one look at my face, and said, "Oh, dear. I think my son is in trouble."

I gave her a tight smile. "I'm afraid so, Mrs. Malfoy. Is he in?"

"In his room," she said, and stepped aside to let me in.

The door to his room was standing open, so I strode in without preamble.

"What the hell did you do to her?" I demanded, deciding to start with the issue of Rose and work my way up to the "lying about being a teacher" point.

Scorpius had been working on a letter, and I startled him, which gave me a grim sort of satisfaction. At the very least, I'd made an entrance. He looked up at me, frowning. "May I ask how you gained entry to my house?"

"Your mother likes me," I said shortly, in no mood for this. "Now would you mind answering my question?" Scorpius leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"What did I do to whom?" It was a delay tactic, and I damn well knew it.

"To Rose!" I said forcefully, and at the mere mention of her name, I saw his jaw tighten in a way that was totally bewildering to me.

"What makes you think I did anything to her?" he asked, and there was no mistaking the stiffness and edge in his voice. The question was also defensive as hell. "Did she say something?"

"She's gone!" I thundered, and that, finally, got some sort of tangible reaction out of him. He sat straight up and stared at me.

"What do you mean, she's 'gone'?" he asked. "Where is she?"

"She's in Russia," I said, not bothering to keep the anger from my voice. "With Ivanna Krum. They're going on a World Tour. An extended Tour. For two years. Or more."

"And what makes you think I had anything to do with it?" he asked pointedly. Not, Why would Rose do such a thing? Not, I can't believe this, is everything all right? Not, Are you okay, Al? No shock, no disbelief. Just that one defensive question that was really beneath him to have asked.

"Because they left two days ago, Scorpius, and I found out about it this morning. Apparently, Ivanna's been asking Rose to go for months, and Rose has always turned her down, until the invitation came the day after graduation. Then she was more than willing to accept. Aunt Hermione said she left in quite a rush. Couldn't wait to get away."

"And you think it was me she was trying to get away from," he said then, and yeah, I thought I'd made that pretty clear. But if he needed me to spell it out for him a little better, I was more than happy to.

"I know she was trying to get away from something. Rose doesn't act on impulse–"

"And how do you know this was an impulse?" Scorpius demanded. "How do you know she hadn't been planning this for a while and just not told anyone?"

He couldn't have given me a better opening if I'd asked for it.

"Funny you should ask that, actually," I said in a stony voice, pulling Dad's letter from inside my robes. "I have something for you. From my father. Said he'd save the owl the trip since I was coming here anyway."

"What – what is that?" Scorpius asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"It's your acceptance letter," I said angrily, throwing it down onto Scorpius' desktop as hard as I could. "To the program I didn't know you'd applied for."

He looked up from the envelope at that, demanding, "Damn it, Al, is that what's got your wand in a knot? That I didn't tell you I'd applied to the Auror program?" Like it was no big deal. Like I was overreacting. Like he hadn't spent two years lying to me about this.

"Yes!" I shouted, angrier with him than I'd ever been. But that wasn't it, not really. And I didn't want to lose my temper, I wanted to talk about this calmly and rationally, so I forced myself to take a deep breath. "No," I said then, softer but no less upset. "It's just – this isn't a decision you make on a whim. This takes planning, and preparation, and – I didn't know."

I didn't want to have to explain further than that. We'd been best friends for seven years; I wanted Scorpius to understand why it hurt so much for me to learn about this the way that I had. And thankfully, we hadn't been best friends for seven years for nothing.

"I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want people to know I'd applied if I didn't get in," Scorpius said softly. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want anyone to think I'd gotten in on anything other than my own merit. I needed to do this on my own."

He looked at me then, and I couldn't pretend that didn't make an awful lot of sense. Damn him for having good reasons for his actions. I could feel the anger draining out of me. I've never been a particularly angry person; it takes a lot to get me to the point I'd been when I'd come to the Malfoys', and I was already losing my hold on it.

"I'm sorry," he said then. "I just – I did apply to be a teacher, it's my back-up. I didn't lie to you, I just–"

"A lie of omission is still a lie, Scorpius," I broke in quietly, not looking at him. I didn't want to outright accuse him of anything, but that was a pretty feeble justification, and he needed to know I wasn't buying it. When I did chance a look at him, he looked guilty and upset, ready to apologize again, but I knew he'd be apologizing for the wrong things, so I waved the unspoken words away. "I'm not mad at you over this," I told him. "I think the fact that you're going to be an Auror is brilliant, and it makes perfect sense. I just – I can't help but wonder if there's anything else you've conveniently forgotten to tell me."

I was giving him the opening. More than that, I was standing at the gaping double doors, ushering him across the threshold. All he had to do was take the step. I was ready to forgive and work to help him fix whatever had sent Rose halfway around the world. All he had to do was tell me.

But he didn't. He kept looking down at whatever letter he'd been writing before I'd come in, and then finally he met my gaze, but he still looked lost, like he didn't know what to say, so I helped him out. "What happened with Rose, Scorpius?" I asked, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Did you ever tell her?"

It wasn't an accusation, not anymore. I just, I wanted to know. I wanted him to tell me, to trust me, to be as open with me about this as he'd been about (almost) everything for our whole friendship.

"Rose and I were never going to work, Al," he finally said, and Gods, it was a frustrating answer because it was no kind of answer at all. "It took me too long to realize that, but that's the way it is. We were never going to work. There are a lot of different reasons why, but–"

"Like what?" I asked, pointed, blunt.

"Like the last thing I've kept from you," he said softly, and I felt a sense of foreboding at his words. I didn't think I was going to like whatever he was about to say. "I should have told you about this a long time ago, Al. About something that's going to happen in a few years." I crossed my arms and waited, and finally he said, "Her name is Honoria."

I sat there, waiting for more, for any kind of an explanation, but no, that was all I got. Until I asked pointedly, "Whose name is Honoria?"

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and said the last thing I'd ever expected to hear from Scorpius. "I suppose, technically, you'd call her my betrothed."

I stared at him. I could do nothing else. Finally, after a good twenty seconds of white noise in my brain, I managed to get out, "Your — betrothed?"

"Are you familiar with the Bonding Ceremony?" he asked then, as if this were any other day, any other conversation. He might have been telling me about some new Transfiguration theory.

"I'm familiar with a highly antiquated and outdated ceremony of that name wherein parents promise their newborn children to one another in marriage like we're still stuck in the eighteen hundreds, but I know you can't be talking about that Bonding Ceremony."

He sighed, then, agitation finally showing as he stood to pace the room. "Your descriptions of 'antiquated' and 'outdated' aside, yes, that's the ceremony I'm talking about. I am currently sworn to a young lady named Honoria Ridgeton by virtue of vows we both made when I was eleven. In three years, we'll be Bonded, and the year after that, we'll marry."

That last he said with his back to me so I couldn't see his face, and I knew it was by design. I stood as well, anger flaring once more in the pit of my stomach. "How long have you known about this?" I demanded. There was a long pause before he answered, as if he knew I wasn't going to like what he had to say.

"We were promised when I was two."

"So, your whole life, basically," I said immediately. "Certainly as long as you've known me. And when you were professing yourself in love with my cousin? The two and a half years you spent obsessing over her? All the while, engaged to someone else? And it never bothered you or seemed like something worth mentioning until now?"

I saw his fingers clench and unclench at his side, and I knew he was holding back his temper, but I really couldn't bring myself to care. My mind was reeling with shock, anger, betrayal.

"Of course it bothered me before now," he snapped. "Why do you think I kept putting off telling Rose? Al, I have been warring over this for a long time."

"Not enough to tell your best friend about what I would classify as a pretty substantial part of your life," I shot back immediately. "How the hell could you have kept this from me, Scorpius? From me, of all people! After everything I've done, for you, for Rose—" He turned to face me in one, fluid movement.

"Believe it or not, Al, I am allowed to have pieces of my life that you don't have access to! I am allowed to keep some things private."

"There's a difference between keeping something private and lying to my face!" I shouted, and yes, we were shouting now. Scorpius and I, who hadn't had one real fight in the whole seven years we'd been friends, were now shouting at one another across his bedroom.

"I never lied to you," he said in a harsh voice, and I snorted in disgust.

"Keep telling yourself that, Scorpius," I told him, "but we both know that's exactly what you did. For two years, that's what you did. About Rose, about Honoria, about the Auror program, you lied to my face, and you damn well know it. You can hide behind semantics and technicalities all day long if it'll help you sleep at night, but it doesn't change the truth."

"You know what truth I think this is really about, Al?" he snarled, advancing on me. "The truth that you can't handle a life where you don't have complete control over everyone's futures. Much as you may enjoy meddling in my life, you don't have the right to dictate my career, my friends, or my relationships, and it's high time you got that through your head! I don't have to come to you for approval for every decision I make, Al! Believe it or not, my life is not about you, and I am sick and tired of finding your fingers stuck in it every time I turn around! Do you want a best friend, or just some puppet you can manipulate into the life you design? Because if mucking about in my life like some kind of control-happy puppeteer is all the more you're going to do, then I'd rather you not be in it at all!"

It felt like I'd been punched in the stomach, attacked below the belt, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. Never in a million years would I have expected an attack like that from him. I just stood there staring at him while he glared at me with more anger than I'd ever seen from him. And the anger I felt toward him, underneath the shock of betrayal, was every bit as strong.

Finally, I drew a deep breath, and angrier than I have ever been before, said, "You want me out of your life? Fine. I'm gone. But not before I make one thing absolutely clear. When I gave you help and advice because you came to me begging for it, I wasn't meddling in your life. When I continued trying to help you get what you wanted because you never told me it had changed, I wasn't meddling in your life. And now? Trying to put back together the friendship that has been my standing block for the past seven years? I'm not meddling in your life! When whatever happened between you and Rose happened, you didn't just end your friendship, Scorpius Malfoy, you ended mine, too, so you damn well better believe I have the right to try and put it back together! You ended mine, too, you selfish bastard."

I almost lost control on that. I could feel hot, angry tears spring up suddenly out of nowhere, and they almost choked away the end of that sentence. Forcing them away, I composed myself, then finished with all the disgust I could muster. "But clearly you don't give a damn, so I'm done. I have nothing more to say to you. Enjoy the future you've chosen. I don't want to be a part of it."

And I walked out. Stormed out, more like it, past Mrs. Malfoy standing in the shadows watching me go, out the front doors, and to the Apparation point as fast as I could because I knew I wasn't going to hold it together much longer.

I managed to hang on until I got home. Dad saw me Apparate in; I know he did because he called my name, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. I kept going, past the house, past the garden, not stopping until I came to the giant oak tree that stood at the far edge of our property, and there, I fell apart, collapsing onto the ground, drawing my knees up to my chest. My eyes burned with tears that sat like a lump in my throat but refused to fall, and my breath came in ragged gasps as I sat there, completely overwhelmed by everything that had just happened to me.

"Al?" It was no surprise to learn that Dad had followed me out to the garden. "I won't ask if anything's wrong, since that question answers itself, but . . . do you want to talk about it?" And while, for one moment, I wanted to tell him no, that he should go away and leave me alone to wallow in my misery, in the next moment, I had firmly reminded myself that talking to Dad had never once led me astray and, in fact, usually helped put a situation in perspective.

"I didn't know Scorpius had applied to the Auror program, Dad, I had no idea," I said in a raw voice.

"I had a feeling," Dad said, sinking gracefully to ground next to me.

"He didn't tell me. And Rose is in Russia. She left two days ago on some crazy trip around the world that will keep her away for three years, and she didn't tell me! And now, I just found out that Scorpius is betrothed—" The burning was back, the tightness in my throat choking off my words, and I had compose myself for a moment before I could continue. "For the past year, I've been reveling in how lucky I was supposed to be. Because other friendships would fall away and change after graduation, but mine never would. How could it? When we were so close? When we knew each other so well? And now, all of a sudden — all these secrets and lies and — it's like, I blinked, and everything changed! Rose left me to find out from Aunt Hermione that she just ran away and abandoned us! I just got into a shouting match with Scorpius, one that basically ended our friendship! Everything's falling to pieces, and I can't hold onto it, and I don't know what happened, and I don't know how to fix it."

I sounded young, I sounded desperate, I sounded lost, and I was all those things. I was eleven years old again and looking desperately to my father to put my life back together again.

He was silent for a long time before he answered, and when he spoke, it wasn't what I was expecting. "Just when I think I've found all the reasons I possibly could to hate the war and all we went through, another one rears its head," he said softly. "I have no first-hand advice to give you, Al. I never went through this." Only my father, ladies and gentlemen, can suggest with genuine regret that dealing with adolescent drama is preferable to being a hero at seventeen. From others, it might have sounded disingenuous, but I knew he meant every word, and I loved him for it.

"All I can give you," he continued, "is some general advice. First, shouting matches do not necessarily end friendships. Just look at your aunt and uncle." That won a smile out of me, albeit a small one. "Second," Dad went on, "the secret to your parents' successful marriage, don't go to bed angry. I don't know what your shouting match was about, but I promise that the worst thing you can do is let the day end without clearing the air. Don't let it fester, Al. Hard as it might be, unpleasant as it might seem, the best thing you can do is apol—"

"I don't want to apologize to Scorpius," I interrupted sullenly. "I want him to apologize to me." Childish? Maybe. Beneath me? Probably. But it was how I felt.

Dad allowed me my outburst, but a moment later, said, "So you have nothing to apologize for? You handled the situation as well as you possibly could have, were perfectly reasonable, and said nothing you wouldn't have said in a calmer conversation?" Well, I couldn't exactly say yes to that, and I knew it, and Dad knew it, too. I stared at the ground and didn't answer, which was answer enough. "Then, as I was saying, hard as it might be–"

"He lied to me, Dad." It wasn't an angry interruption this time. Just a statement, but that was really what was at the heart of all this. Scorpius had lied to me. And not just once, but time and again. I couldn't get past that, and I didn't know if I could forgive it.

Dad sat silently for a long time, chin resting on his folded hands as he considered his words carefully. "Al," he finally said, "I admire the high level of respect you have for the truth. I admire the strength of your desire for openness and trust, and I admire that you are an incredibly honest and forthright person. But, speaking as someone whose job often does not permit him to tell the truth, speaking as someone who lies with great frequency, to protect people or shield them, or to accomplish an end goal . . . it is not always possible to be entirely truthful. Nor is it always the best course of action. Truth is, the world's not as simple as parents make it out to be when they raise their children. The world's a lot less black and white than parental lessons on honesty make it appear."

I sat silently, digesting this piece of information. I didn't know if I believed it or not. Of course, I knew, Dad lied as part of his job. He had to. He lied to Dark Wizards to lure them into the Aurors' hands. He lied to frightened family members to reassure them. He lied about the whereabouts of his agents to keep them safe. I had known all that for a long time, and it had never bothered me. But now . . . could I blame Scorpius for lying and not blame Dad? Didn't I have to hold everyone to the same standard? And how did I define what that standard was? It was too much to think about all at once, and I didn't really like the answers I was coming up with.

Dad didn't let me ruminate for long. After a short silence, he said, "Let me ask you this. Did Scorpius lie? Or did he withhold the truth? Maybe stretch it, or only tell it halfway? What constitutes honesty, Al? What standards are you holding your friends to, and do you meet those standards yourself?"

"Of course!" I said sharply, almost affronted that he would even ask, that he would even accuse me of being less than honest. Also, I may have been overcompensating for the startling reality of hearing my own thoughts given voice.

"Al," Dad said gently but pointedly then, "when I asked you if you knew that Scorpius had been admitted to the Auror program, you said yes."

That stopped me cold. Frantically, I thought back to the conversation, and I was stunned to discover that Dad was right. I had said yes. And what's more, the lie hadn't even registered. I'd been so set on getting to Scorpius, I hadn't even noticed. And if I hadn't noticed this time, how many others?

Dad let me have my moment of self-crisis, but he interrupted it pretty quick, before I could get in too deep. "I didn't point this out to you to make you doubt yourself," he told me. "I told you; I admire how highly you value the truth, and I don't want you to lose that. But I do want you to understand how fluid and changeable the concept of truth is. I don't think you're angry with Scorpius because he lied. That may be part of it, but I think there's something else driving this, and what's more, I think you know that, too."

I had to shut my eyes against that, because Dad was right, like he always is. It's infuriating, except that it isn't, really. Eyes still squeezed shut, I stopped avoiding it and admitted the full truth. "I'm scared," I told him. "I'm scared that I'm losing them, both of them, and I – I can't lose this friendship, Dad, it's the only one I have."

"I don't believe that." My eyes flew open to meet his. "Your friendship with Rose and Scorpius may be the strongest you have, and it may be the most important to you, but the only one? I know you, Al, and I've seen you, and that's not true. But more importantly, if that's how you feel, then are you really going to sit in this garden and refuse to talk to Scorpius until he apologizes? How is that going to fix anything?"

I felt the shame then, and regret over the things I'd said, and my self-righteous anger started to leech away. I sighed heavily and said, "It's not."

"Swallow your pride, Al," Dad said then. "Trust me, it's not worth it. Empathy is more important than honesty and more important than pride. Understanding why Scorpius withheld the truth, is more important than the fact that he did. You have to be able to put yourself in his shoes, just as he needs to be able to put himself into yours. You may be angry with each other, but as friends, you owe one another that much. Your friendship is strong enough to come through this, but one of you has to be the first to come forward and be willing to talk and to listen. And the key word there is 'first.' Because the other has to be just as willing when the time comes."

There was something about those words that made me sit up and take notice. I don't know, maybe it was the volume at which he spoke them, maybe it was the slight shift in focus, but I suddenly knew without a doubt that we were no longer alone in the garden.

"He's here, isn't he," I said then. "He's standing right over there." Dad gave me an apologetic smile.

"I'll leave you two to work things out," he said with a gentle squeeze on my shoulder. And as Dad headed back toward the house, nodding to Scorpius on the way, I climbed to my feet and turned to face my best friend.

He looked as chastised and chagrined as I felt. We stood there, awkwardly, with ten feet between us, waiting for the other to speak. I stood with my arms crossed and my shoulders hunched, and he ran his right hand over his upper left arm the way he does when he's nervous or anxious, and we met each other's gaze only briefly before looking away. Finally, not being able to stand the awkwardness, I spoke.

"Hey."

"Hey," he replied, and then we were nowhere again. I cast around for something to say. I could feel Dad's eyes on me through the window.

"So," I said finally, "come here on your own or did you get a parental talking to, too?" I realized belatedly that it could have sounded like a jab, which wasn't how I meant it, and I suffered a moment of panic before Scorpius said, "Naw, you know my mum. She doesn't give 'talking to's as such; she just looms in the doorway until you take the hint."

I actually laughed at that, not a lot, but enough, and I knew we'd gotten past the worst because the next thing I knew, we were saying, "I'm sorry," at the same time. I gestured for him to go first, and he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I should have told you about Honoria a long time ago," he said softly. "I just, I didn't know how. Used to be, everyone was betrothed, so you didn't have to figure out how to tell people. Now, though? You're right, it is . . . old-fashioned, and I didn't know how to tell you. When I was eleven, it was just something I tried to forget about, and the older I got, the more I dreaded the inevitable question of 'why didn't you say anything before now,' so I just kept putting it off. And then I told you about Rose in a moment of panic, and . . ." He sighed again, looking upset and pained. "It all got so complicated so quickly."

There was a voice in the back of my head that wanted to argue, But that's what you had me for! Your best friend! When things got complicated, you were supposed to talk to me so I could help fix them!

But then the calmer, more rational voice reminded the first, Empathy, Al. Put yourself in his shoes. If he had a cousin who was best friends with both of you and you fell in love with her but were engaged to someone else, would you have told him about it?

Yes, was the stubborn reply from the first voice, and inwardly, I sighed. Voice number two really should have seen that response coming.

Empathy, voice two stressed again. It's not about you, it's about Scorpius. Empathy, Al.

Getting confused by the inner dialogue, I shook my head to dismiss the voices. "I understand," is what I said to Scorpius. He'd been braced for my response, but that hadn't been what he'd expected. His eyes lit up.

"Do you?" he asked, barely suppressing the relief in his voice.

"I'm . . . trying to," I amended. "It's not easy, but I'm trying. But Scorpius," I said, snatching away his sigh of relief before it was fully realized. I hated to do it, but I had to speak my mind. There was still too much left unanswered, and I'd ask as gently as possible, but I had to know. "Isn't there a negation clause in the Bonding agreement? Isn't there a stipulation saying that either one of you can call it off at any point, for circumstances exactly like this one?"

He closed his eyes. Clearly, he'd been hoping I hadn't known that. "Yes," he finally said. "There is. But I don't want to use it. I made a promise."

"When you were eleven," I stressed gently. "Did you even understand what it meant?"

"No, but I understand it now, Al," he said, the tiniest hint of an edge back in his voice. "I understand it now, and I owe it to Honoria."

"But what about Rose?" I asked, because I had to ask.

"What about Rose?" Scorpius countered, his voice louder and angrier. "She's gone, Al. She left. She's halfway around the world. She made her choice, and it very clearly wasn't me."

"You're angry at her," I said then, and it was such a foreign idea to me that I was half expecting him to refute it. But he didn't.

"Yes," he said flatly. "I'm angry at her, Al, I'm pissed as hell at her!"

"But you won't tell me why."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, and I was at a loss. I could not imagine what had happened to evoke such feelings in him. "No," he finally said. "I won't. Because my anger shouldn't affect your friendship with Rose. And it shouldn't affect your friendship with me, either. I am angry at Rose, but what's done is done, and nobody, not me, not Rose, and not even you can undo it. We have to move forward. I know you want what's best for me, and I know you wanted Rose and I to work. I wanted it, too. But it isn't going to happen, and I have to make the decisions for my future on my own. They have to be mine, Al. And this is what I choose. You don't have to like it, or agree with it. But I need you to stand by me. As your best friend, I am asking you to support me."

And there it was. The phrase I couldn't ignore. As your best friend. As my best friend, yes, Scorpius had every right to ask this of me. But I knew I couldn't do it. Not and keep my integrity intact. I couldn't support something I wholeheartedly disagreed with, and besides, Rose was my best friend, too, and I owed her just as much as I owed Scorpius.

"Scorpius," I said, "you are my best friend. But I can't support something I don't agree with." I saw his jaw tighten. "However," I continued, "you're right. It is your future, and it is your decision to make, and if this is what you believe is the right choice, then I won't stand in your way, either. In this matter, I will be a neutral party." The words left a bad taste in my mouth, but I knew what Dad would say. In compromise, everyone walks away a little disappointed.

After a moment, Scorpius nodded. "I suppose I can't ask any more than that," he said, and if it was said a bit stiffly, at least we weren't shouting at one another this time. Unfortunately, I had one more thing I had to say.

"But Scorpius, you have to know that I'm not going to stop trying to put this friendship back together. Not without a better reason than you and Rose having a vague falling out. That's my right."

Again, I got a tight nod, accepting but not particularly happy about it. "You're free to try all you like, Al," he said softly.

And then, there was nothing more to be said, not really. The friendship was patched together, but we still stood on shaky ground, and we both knew it. We'd be treading carefully for a while. "When does your internship at Mungo's start?" he asked then, getting us on neutral territory.

"Start of August, provided my NEWT scores are high enough," I said, grateful for the change in conversation. We spent a few moments talking about the summer and our plans, and then Scorpius headed out.

I sank back down on the ground under the tree. That had been exhausting, and before I went back inside to Dad's questions, I needed to puzzle a few things out.

I was starting to piece together what had to have happened at the end of the year. It wasn't hard, really, but it was frustrating because I had no idea whether or not I was right, and I had no way to confirm any of it. I just had my instincts, which, granted, were very good, but not infallible. But as near as I could tell, things had played out something like this:

Scorpius had gone to find Rose and confess his feelings. But before he could actually take that step, he had gotten cold feet, his guilt over his promise to Honoria keeping him from saying anything to Rose. But Rose had picked up on it, and knew there was something Scorpius wasn't telling her, and that was why things had been so awkward the last few days of school. In her panicked and stressed state, she had probably assumed the worst in terms of what she thought he was holding back from her. All that had festered and built up until the train ride home, when things had boiled over, and Rose had done something to make Scorpius angrier than I'd ever seen him, and she'd felt so guilty over it that she'd left at the first opportunity.

That was my best bet, anyway. But for the life of me, I could not imagine what Rose could have done.

It was incredibly frustrating, like trying to put a puzzle together when you don't have all the pieces and two puzzles have been mixed up in the same box and you don't have either picture to work from. And if that metaphor seems overly complicated and hard to understand, then you have an even better idea what the actual situation was like.

I sat out in our garden trying to puzzle it all out for a long time, but eventually, I had to give it up because there were just too many gaps. There were too many answers I didn't have, and I couldn't focus the information into anything resembling a complete picture. It was infuriating. I'm a Ravenclaw; I hate not having answers, but more than that, I hate not having a way to obtain answers.

If I thought I was going to get any more out of Rose than I had out of Scorpius, I was sorely mistaken. I wrote her that night, a letter that I started and crumpled up more times than I care to admit. Suffice it to say, it was one of the most difficult letters I've ever penned. The letter I finally sent was was:

Dear Rose,

I have a feeling you are dreading this letter. I have this feeling because this morning was three days and you knew full well I would show up at your doorstep only to find you gone. When your mum told me where you were, I was shocked speechless, Rose. I couldn't believe you would leave the country and not tell me. I couldn't believe you would go without saying goodbye. Were you really so frightened of my reaction that you couldn't tell me in person? Were you afraid I would disapprove or be angry with you? I do not and I am not. I'm only upset that you didn't feel you could tell me yourself. I'm only upset that I found out from your mother and not from you.

Your mother believes that your choice has to do with being overwhelmed by the end of school, but I know there is more to it than that. I know that this has at least something to do with your falling out with Scorpius. I wish you would confide in me, Rose.

All that being said, I am happy for you. I think this Tour is a brilliant idea (though I do wish it weren't so long), and I know you're in for some amazing experiences. Enjoy them, Rose, and I do hope you'll write to me about the places you go and the people you meet. I will live my adventures vicariously through you, if you'll allow. It is my intention to continue to be as close a friend to you as ever, and as you know, I always get my way in things like this.

Your loving cousin,

Al

And she did reply, a gushing mess of apologies and miserable admittances of her own cowardice. She'd wanted to tell me, she said, and hated herself that she hadn't, but the end of school and everything that had happened had been so confusing (she wrote), and so when Ivanna offered an escape, she took it, but since she knew her sudden decision would stun everyone, the best option she'd seen at the time was simply to cut ties and run, and fix it all up later.

And that was it. That was all the more I got. Oh, the rest of the letter was full of details of Russia and Ivanna's home and what she was already learning just by sitting with Ivanna and planning out the trip, but concerning why she'd left and what had happened? I might as well not even have asked.

It was a trend that would continue. When I told her about what our classmates were up to, and how the family was faring, and how everyone doing, she would respond with enthusiasm, ask questions, write with regret over the things she was missing (except, not too much, because she'd be in the Swiss Alps or Greece or somewhere at the time). But if I asked questions about the end of school or tried to talk about Scorpius, I might as well have written in invisible ink for all the reply I got. And after the first few attempts, I stopped trying.

Other than that, though, if it's possible, I grew even close to Rose in the time she was gone. She wrote to me constantly, tomes of letters, capturing every detail of her travels and what she was learning. I think her letters to me became documentation of a sort, her way of keeping a travel diary, and I certainly didn't mind. Her enthusiasm and excitement once the trip was truly underway made it easy to forget that she'd gone as a means of escape in the first place. The more I read, the more clear it became that Rose was doing what she'd always been meant to do. She was thriving, and I was happy for her.

My friendship with Scorpius didn't fare so well. Oh, we'd mended sufficiently, and we remained as close as we'd been in school, and there was nothing lacking. But there were now things we couldn't talk about, which we'd never had before. We couldn't talk about Rose because he refused to, and we couldn't talk about Honoria or the Bonding because I refused to. And it's not that we came close to those topics with any regularity; it's just that they were there, and because they were, there was a strain between us that had never been there before. Though, admittedly, that strain grew significantly less with time.

And so the next phase of our lives began. Did I throw away my hopes for Rose and Scorpius? Of course not, but I did shelve them. I put them away in a back corner of my mind, recognizing that I could do nothing more until Rose was back in the country. But I fully intended to do everything in my power to break up the Bonding with Honoria and see Rose and Scorpius together, in love, and happy. I owed them that, I reasoned. Someone had to fight for their happiness if they weren't going to. As soon as Rose returned, I could start that fight. I could only hope that Rose's return would come before it was too late.

To be continued (but not nearly as quickly as this chapter came. Sorry! Patience! Thanks for hanging in there!)