Seventh year had come so fast, as if Sirius Black's escape the previous year had given her time at Hogwarts when all she wanted was to have it slow down.
Especially now that everything with Ian was so...strange. As if he'd spilled all of his secrets, told her things he'd never told a soul, and then gotten scared.
She hadn't heard from him since that day in July, when he'd come to visit.

They'd spent the whole day outside, on a blanket on the grass, in the sunshine. Just talking, eating strawberries, and watching the clouds pass overhead.
It had been perfect. So perfect.
And then he'd started to talk.

It wasn't the talking that had been a problem, really. She was glad to listen.
To hear about the father who was rarely around when Ian was a child, before that father got himself killed. About the fact that his father was cool and distant on the rare occasions he spent more than a day at home, the fact that he'd wanted to raise a son who was as calculating and aristocratic as he was.
Finally, she heard about the gloomy, sprawling manor, the house that was too big for his three-person family. Too big by half for him, his mother, his aunt, and their one house-elf.
Finally, she heard of how his mother, one of the most beautiful of an now-extinct pureblood line, had changed over the grief that followed her husband's death. Even after he became cold and inattentive.
About how she locked herself in her dark room and emerged at increasingly rare intervals, looking thinner and paler each time.
"Like the angel of death," Ian had said.

She heard things she had guessed at - loneliness, strictness, unhappiness, expectations he didn't want to live up to.

He'd said so much more, too, about himself, about his desires for the life ahead of him, his fears. About the fact that he'd liked her since first year, but never thought that the happy little Hufflepuff could ever care for a Slytherin, a Death Eater's son. Like him.

He'd left after dinner with her family, had even parted with a goodbye kiss.
And then, nothing. Not even a note. For the rest of the summer.

"Bonnie?"
Cedric tapped on the window of her compartment, making her jump.
"Are you doing alright?"
"What?"
He came in and slid the door closed behind him, then took a seat next to her.
"Are you alright? It's not like you to be off on your own like this."
Bonnie shrugged, but curled into Cedric when he put his arm around her shoulder.
"Is it...?"
"Ian? Yeah. I don't...I don't even know what happened, Ced!"
They sat together in near-silence for a long time.
"C'mon," Cedric said finally. "Let's go sit with the rest. I know you, Bonnie. It'll make you feel better."
Bonnie grumbled.
"What?" Ced asked, laughing slightly. "Bonnie, I only speak English, help me out here."
"I've been avoiding Maggie," she said finally. "She's just going to tell me she told me so. Which she did. But I can't...I just don't want to hear it, right now."
"Hey." Cedric shook her shoulders slightly. "Maggie is your friend. And she loves you, and will take care of you. Any and all gloating will be saved for after you're healed."
"Promise?"
"I promise. Come on. I'll even buy you a Cauldron Cake."

Much as she hated to admit it, Cedric had been right. The bustling, noisy compartment, full of her friends and their jokes and their laughter, was just what she'd needed.
What would she do without him?

She didn't think much of Ian through the carriage ride with her friends or the welcome feast. In fact, she sat with her back to the Slytherin table throughout the meal, and then ushered the first years away at the first chance she got.
She didn't think much of Ian, in fact, until the traditional fifth-year-and-up party, complete with Butterbeer, and Firewhiskey for those who were more daring. Bonnie steered well away from it, but took several bottles of Butterbeer. In the prime seats by the fire were Maggie, Patricia, and the twins. Cedric and the other seventh year boys were busy discussing something...probably Quidditch...and were already sipping from their own bottles and mugs.

"So I noticed a certain lack of Ian," Thalia said, raising her bottle to Bonnie after taking it.
"Yes, well. We're not exactly talking," Bonnie said, popping the cap from her own bottle. "Or, more accurately, he isn't talking to me."
"What?" Maggie looked genuinely alarmed. "Why?"
"Wish I knew," Bonnie said, trying not to let them see that it bothered her as much as it did. "He just...stopped. Everything was fine, and then...nothing. No letters came, he stopped answering my letters, he didn't even meet me in Diagon Alley like we had planned..."
"And I take it you still haven't spoken to him?"
Bonnie shook her head.
"He avoided me completely at the Prefect's meeting," Bonnie said, valiantly ignoring the lump in her throat, "And I haven't seen him since."
Maggie glanced at the others, then took Bonnie's hand.
"Don't make any judgements until you talk to him. REALLY talk to him. Okay?"
Bonnie nodded, and took another deep sip of Butterbeer.
"I think I'm just going to go to bed," she told the rest of them, smiling. "I'm just not in the mood for this, right now. See you tomorrow?"
"Of course. Are you going to be okay, Bon?"
"What? Yeah, of course. I'm just tired."

She knew her friends were watching as she slipped into the seventh-year girls' dormitory. The separation of the door was welcome, as was the softness and warmth of her bed. She was going to miss this, she could already tell. This room. This feeling.
Well. Maybe not the feeling. Not all of it.

She just...for the life of her, she couldn't...
What had happened?
Bonnie buried her face into her pillow, and held a rather disgruntled Milton a little too tightly. The cat wriggled in protest until Bonnie let him go and held onto her pillow, instead.
Everything had been so...perfect. Last year. It had been golden and glowing and shimmery, even. All light. Even that night when the whole school had to sleep in the Great Hall had held charm. Falling asleep in a sleeping-bag knot of her friends, holding Ian's hand.

Quidditch games, prefect patrols, late nights in the Room of Requirement, a summer and a half of nothing but letters.
And now, silence? It didn't make sense. Maybe she wasn't a Ravenclaw, but she had enough logic to know that there was none, in this.

The tap on the window that broke the silence was completely unexpected. And yet Bonnie did not jump. She looked up, wiping at her tired, puffy eyes, and swung out of bed to open it.
An owl hopped in, a bird she didn't recognize - a barn owl with a wise, old face. And it was completely and utterly drenched.
Bonnie took the package from the bird and cast a spell, letting a gentle, warm current of air dry the bird.
"Why don't you stay here, tonight?" She said. "Keep out of that rain."
The bird looked at her gratefully and, warm and dry at last, tucked its head under its wing and fell asleep.
Bonnie sat cross-legged on the bed to pull the package open. Inside there was a small silver canister, cold to the touch. When Bonnie pulled the lid from the canister, it was to the sweet, creamy pink of strawberry ice cream, dotted with the darker red of real fruit. A note had been tied to the knob of the canister lid.

All it said was: I can explain.