Dear Rose,

I'm sorry about your grandmother being in the hospital and I hope she is alright

Scorpius angrily scratched out the beginning of the letter. He was never that formal. Though he was certainly furious enough with Rose to send her a letter that sounded as if someone else wrote it, he knew it would get him nowhere and would just infuriate her. But the previous attempts at writing a letter to Rose were uncensored, his rage and frustration ruthlessly evident in the writing.

Scorpius ran his hand through his hair, messing it up even more, something he always did when he was frustrated or thinking hard. The worst thing that had happened out of all of this mess was Rose crying. She never cried. She felt weak when she cried. "You don't have to be unbreakable as long as you act like it," Rose had once said to Scorpius. His heart had constricted painfully as she'd said that, suddenly feeling inexpressibly sad for Rose. She was the strongest person he'd ever known, but she was also the weakest. She didn't let people in. She bottled up all of her emotions and they continued to be packed inside of her, not enough space until eventually she just exploded with feeling, usually anger, unleashing it on everyone else, which consisted mostly of he and Albus. Rose knew it wasn't fair, and she always apologized after, but sometimes he just couldn't deal with it. Rose was closed off from everyone else. She had grown to be.

Scorpius remembered when Rose was the bubbly, energetic, happy, excited, optimistic girl he had met in first year. She had an enthusiasm for everything. She loved practically anything and everything she came across, always wanted to know more about it. Rose had always been laughing and smiling, generally enjoying everything. But in about the middle of fifth year, the night she had gotten drunk the first time, it all went to hell. He now knew it was because of York, but he hadn't then, and she had scared the hell out of him.

Rose had always been quick to defend someone. She stood up for anything she believed in, though, she had always had tact when doing so. But, after York, she was blunt and ruthless. She had always been reckless, but after York she became reckless to the point of it being dangerous, without even realizing it.

Scorpius crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it into the waste basket near the door of his room with the rest of the beginnings of letters to Rose.

He'd already sent a letter to Albus. He knew exactly what he wanted to say. It wasn't hard to say something to the best friend that you're not hopelessly in love with and who is not having your child while they aren't in love with you. Talking to Albus was easy, talking to Rose right then, wasn't.

Scorpius groaned in frustration and leaned back in his chair so that it went up on two legs.

He and Rose used to be able to say anything to each other, no matter what. They could confide their absolute deepest secrets and trust that nothing would be said to anyone else. Albus, Rose, and Scorpius had a great bond of immovable and non-alterable friendship that tied them closer than any other friends. Nothing could separate them. Nothing, apparently, except this.

Scorpius felt betrayed. He couldn't help it. He knew, rationally, that Rose not telling anyone about what York had done to her made sense. She had always kept secrets about herself and her problems, preferring to help other people with theirs. But Scorpius felt like she didn't trust him. He felt like he had deserved for Rose to tell him. That he had certainly proved his worth and friendship towards her.

Then, he felt even more dejected from what he had heard Rose telling her mum and aunt in the hospital wing. It's probably best if the baby just doesn't have a father. What the fucking hell?! Scorpius stood up abruptly and tossed the rickety desk over onto its side with one hand, upturning all of the items which had been previously placed precariously on the small table.

Did she think he wasn't good enough? Did she believe he would be a bad father? Or that he would abandon his kid, abort all responsibility, and flee from the people he cared about?

She had lied. Oh, she had lied about everything. She was a superb liar, he'd give her that. All those times when she was staring off into blank space, a frightened expression on her face, and he asked what was wrong and she just looked up at him, smiling perkily, telling him that nothing was wrong she was just spacing out for a second. And because she looked so happy, he had to believe her. It had never occurred to Scorpius that she'd lie to him. They were always the ones doing the lying to the other people, not each other. Definitely not each other. He'd never thought that her fake happiness would be directed at him. But he hadn't known for very long, only a few days, that it was a mask anymore. She was brilliant at hiding things from everyone else. But Scorpius didn't deserve to be treated like everyone else. He was her best friend.

What happened to trusting each other with anything? Everything? It was all thrown away, now, wasn't it?

"Mr. Malfoy! I must insist that you stop this rampaging nonsense at once!" Proffessor McGonagall's voice sounded from the common room and Scorpius looked up to find her in the doorway.

"Sorry, Professor," he said, quickly taking out his wand and repairing the damage.

"Well, then, we need to talk," she looked a bit flustered and she strolled over determinedly to the arm chair adjacent to the couch in the common room. Scorpius followed her over, practically groaning, knowing that whenever anyone said 'we need to talk' nothing good could ever come of it.

Scorpius settled himself on the couch next to the chair, seated upright and with good posture, his hands gripping the edge of the sofa. "Yes, Professor?" he tried to feign innocence, but Professor McGonagall had always been able to see right through anyone.

Her face suddenly took on a kind, motherly expression as she looked at Scorpius. "I'm sorry, Scorpius, I really am," she said, leaving no doubts as to what she was talking about.

All Scorpius could do was nod.

"She'll be back soon, I'm sure, and you can fix this. But, in the meantime, I need you to tell me about any recent changes in behavior from her. Rose was always one of the happiest students but my staff has recently reported to me that she has grown quite a bit more somber in recent years. It would be a great help if we knew why." Professor McGonagall again looked as if she was x-raying Scorpius, seeing straight into his mind, pulling out answers from the depths of his brain. His dad had said that a previous headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, had always given the impression of looking straight into your soul when he looked at you. Minerva McGonagall was apparently channeling Albus Dumbledore in that respect, currently.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I can't do that. If she wanted you, or anyone else for that matter, to know then she would have told you," Scorpius said, his voice articulate and directly obeying an almost-order from the headmistress.

"Scorpius, I admire your loyalty, but this is a situation in which I must have information," the headmistress responded curtly. "We all just want to help," she said more softly.

"I'm sorry, but I doubt I can be of any assistance there."

"Scorpius, you and Rose have always been the brightest of students and have been incredibly kind and caring people. It is surprising to find that this isn't the case not during the day."

Scorpius rose to his feet almost instantly. "That is certainly not true! Are you saying that we are rude, insufferable, cruel people?"

"That is most definitely not what I am saying, Mr. Malfoy! And you'd remember well to respect others!" McGonagall rose to her full height, those quite a few inches shorter than Scorpius, still intimidating. "But you both seem to be quite irresponsible as what is being demonstrated now in the fact that you both are having a child at seventeen!"

"Why would you think it's my child? It could be anyone's!"

"Scorpius, you two may not see it, but everyone else does. All of the staff knows that you love her. She guards her own emotions well enough, but there have been flickers of feeling from her end too. The way you look at her says all. You'd be willing to die for her, do anything for her. She would do the same for you. And though I do not know directly if it is yours, I sure hope it is because you two would be the most wonderful parents together, I have no doubt. You two would put the child first and disregard your own ambitions for the benefit of the child. But I was coming here to say, that that is not necessary. There are ways of staying at Hogwarts and continuing your education while this is going on."

Scorpius took a few moments before responding. "Why would you want to have your two Head students become parents at seventeen, still in school, and help them with their mistake?"

"A child is not a mistake," Professor McGongall said firmly. "Especially for you two. You will be amazing parents," she smiled furtively at her young student, who was thoroughly daunted by the fact that he was going to be a father.

"Maybe she doesn't want me to be a parent," Scorpius said snidely. "Maybe she thinks it'd be better if the baby just doesn't have a father."

"She may think that now. Rose is scared, Scorpius. She doesn't know how to handle this, and her family with their tempers will contribute greatly to just how frightened she is. She is not going to be thinking clearly right now, and we all know that even when she is thinking clearly her decisions tend to be rash, reckless, and spur of the moment."

Scorpius smiled wistfully, knowing this to be too true, indeed.

"But we can help her, somehow. I promise that this school will certainly not let one of its brightest and most promising witches leave when there is the possibility of staying."

"But she won't like the idea of furthering her education and helping herself when she could be helping someone else: her baby."

"Maybe not, but we can always try," McGonagall said. She patted his shoulder and left the room.

Scorpius fell back onto the couch, desperate for Rose and Albus to return. He felt lonely without them, one-third of a trio. The silence of the common room pressed in on him from all sides. Usually he'd hear Rose tapping her quill while studying or jumping and moving about because she hated being still or yelling at him, reminding him to get ready for Quidditch practice. And at night, when it was extremely silent, he could sometimes hear her slow, even breathing. It would be hard to live without that.