Chapter Fifteen

A/N: Thank you to those for reviewing! If you're confused about this American dude who got attacked by Death Eaters, read Chapter 12 again. There will be a little Draco-Scorpius bonding in this chapter. Onto the story!

Scorpius's POV

I was lying down on my bed when I heard the tapping on my window.

It was just a normal day; I was just staying in my room, which was painted a soft cream, containing three bookshelves, a desk, a keyboard, and a queen sized bed, at Malfoy residence, reading a Quidditch magazine, stewing in my thoughts. I wasn't thinking about the newest Nimbus in the advertisement my eyes were scanning over, or the next match between the Appleby Arrows and the Vratsa Vultures. I was thinking about Rose.

I couldn't believe I had messed up so bad. Why on earth didn't I just ask her to the Ball? Why didn't I just pull her aside at the Ball and tell her my feelings right away? Why, why, why?

And now Albus hates me, I broke Rose's heart and Thalia...

The tapping on my window increased, and the little impacts on my window became more urgent. I looked up and my heart leaped. At first I thought that it was Rose's tawny owl, Hestia. But when I got off of my bed, I realised it wasn't. It was a silvery barn owl, and with another start, I realised it was Thalia's, Athena.

Opening the window, she flew in and landed on my desk. My own owl, Hermes, screeched, recognizing her. I threw her an owl treat before untying the letter from her leg. She nipped me happily and flew back out the window. I opened it excitedly, wondering what it contained. I unfolded the piece of parchment and started reading it.

Dear Scorpius,

I know, you're probably surprised that I'm writing to you, but, honestly, I've never heard silence quite this loud. I just want you to know that you don't even have to write back; you can just toss it aside, but please, just read this. Here goes nothing...

I miss you. I miss Rose. I miss Albus. I miss everything we all used to do, the pranks, the jokes, Quidditch...just being there for each other. What happened to the four of us, the Golden Quartet? I know I ruined your chances with Rose, and I'm sorry, I truly am. If you don't want to talk to me ever again, then that's fine. I just needed some therapy by writing this letter. And, just know, that even if you hate me, even if all three of you do, just remember, I still care.

Your friend (or ex-friend),

Thalia Wilcox

I was shocked. She thought that I hated her? I thought that she hated me! I suddenly felt a rush of brotherly affection for her. I wanted to reassure her, to hug her.

I suddenly realized that I was thinking exactly what Thalia was. I wanted the four of us together, but how?

I needed some fresh air; I always did when I needed to think. Throwing on my coat, and hat, I walked down the hallway that separated my room, my parents', the bathroom and the two guest bedrooms.

I walked down the two flights of stairs and into the kitchen. It had a marble counter top in the middle of it, surrounded by black barstools. There were cupboards and shelves on the walls, complete with an oven, fridge, and a ceramic sink. It had an air of simple expensive quality, with its clean state.

I walked through it and into the dining room, which was connected to the living room. It had a giant mahogany table, with matching chairs. There was a golden chandelier hanging above. In the living room, there was a fireplace with leather cream coloured couches surrounding it. There were several paintings and lamps, which my mother took great care in cleaning and polishing.

Walking out the back door, I put my boots on and braced myself as the chilly air hit me. There were a few solitary flakes falling from the sky, and adding to the thick blanket of snow on the ground. Glad that the snow only came up to halfway up my boots, I trudged through the (rather massive) yard. You see, you may think that my dad went a little overboard with the house, but he just wanted to make it elegant enough for me and my mother, and not too extravagant. You may also think that he's gone mad, but when you compare it to Malfoy Manor, you'd agree.

The gardens my mum tended to in the summer and spring were now covered with snow. The yard was peppered with trees here and there, and the biggest of them all, an oak, was smack dab in the middle. It was my favourite by far, because my dad used to sit under there with me and we would just talk. I definitely missed those times, too.

I walked around the perimeter, breathing in the cold air. How could I bring us back together? Could I get us all in one room and talk? Or would I require some cunning plan?

I kept walking around, hands in my pockets, trying to formulate some type of solution. It was terribly frustrating. Every time one part of my brain developed some kind of idea, another part would push it down, saying, No, that's not good enough! Rose would never forgive you with that codswallop! It went on and on and on; a shouting match inside my head. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn't hear the back door open and close.

"Penny for your thoughts?" The voice startled me so much that I almost tripped on my own feet. I looked up and my silver eyes met my father's. He was wearing his own jacket, jeans, a sweater and boots. He looked so normal, so casual, so unlike Draco Malfoy, the rich, aristocratic pureblood wizard that people saw him as. His platinum blonde hair – a shade paler than mine – was combed back. He was looking at me with that strange, knowing look that puzzled me so much.

"Er, sure." I said, regaining my balance. He nodded, and we walked together, silently, for a few minutes. I snuck a look at him. He had his head held high, but not out of arrogance, but because he was enjoying the atmosphere the yard provided us.

He addressed me, eyes admiring the cloudy sky, a tiny smile on his face. "What's bothering you, Scorpius?"

I bit my lip. Could I pour my heart out to my father? Would it be safe to?

Choosing my words carefully, I said, "Well, you know the Yule Ball that happened last week?"

My father nodded, listening. He always knew not to interrupt when I was telling him my problems.

I decided not to use names. My father didn't need a heart attack. "Well, I wanted to ask this girl, and I thought she was already going with someone. So, I decided that I would tell her my feelings during the Ball, no matter what. But, apparently she didn't have a date, so then when I went looking for her, I got stuck under the mistletoe with my best friend. Then, my best mate saw, and so did the girl that I like and now they hate me but I want us all to be friends again. But how?"

My father contemplated my problem, and we didn't speak for another couple of minutes. I could practically see the gears whirring in his head. He may have been a sneaky, arrogant Slytherin back in his school days, and maybe not such a brave one, but he was definitely smart and clever.

When he finally spoke, I held my breath, hoping for a good solution. "Well," he said, a twinkle in his eyes, "you can only do the one solution possible, and it's the one right in front of you. I may be a bit of a hypocrite, considering I never did this in my school days, not until your mother came along, but this is the most simple and straightforward solution. You apologize."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. I expected someone to pop out of the shrubbery and yell, "GOTCHA!" but no one did such a thing. I searched in my father's eyes, but all I saw was fathomless seriousness. "A-apologize?" I stammered.

He nodded, eyes skyward once again. "I was taught many things, growing up as a Malfoy. I learned how to put yourself in front of others, especially ones who had a lower blood status as you. I learned to think that pure bloods excelled and were the best people in society. I learned many things but, I was never taught to apologize. I wondered why for many years. I decided to ignore it, to put what I had learned to the test. But whenever I hurt someone, there was always a twinge of guilt inside my stomach. Over the years, it built up, and one day, I felt it engulf me. The horror, guilt, the remorse of what I had done washed over me like a tidal wave. I realized then and there that the only way to get rid of that feeling was by apologizing. I hurt your mother once," he said, grey eyes distant, "And I felt horrible. I felt the tidal wave wash over me once again, but it stopped, once I did the unthinkable. I said sorry to her." He chuckled, reminiscing. "She looked shocked for a moment, and then burst out laughing. I asked her what was so funny and she said, a Malfoy apologizing means more to me than anything. So she forgave me. After that, I learned how important apologizing was."

I couldn't help but smile. He was right. "How soon should I do it?"

He shrugged. "Any time, but if I were you, I would suggest doing it now. Floo over to that best friend of yours and tell her what your plan is. I'm sure she'll agree." He winked, and I swore he knew just who the 'girl I like', 'best mate', and 'best friend' were.

I grinned. "Thanks, father."

"No, problem, Scorpius. I hope it works."

"Yeah," I said, and this time I truthfully did.

Running into the house, I took off my winter boots and replaced them with my sneakers. I shed my winter coat and hat and headed to the living room. My mum was reading a novel and looked up from it, her dark hair in a ponytail and her brown eyes questioning.

"I need to pay a visit to one of my friends." I said.

"Well, don't take too long. Be home by dinnertime." She answered, turning back to her page.

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, which was in a little ceramic container, I stepped into the fireplace and braced myself.

"154 Pine Crescent, London England!" I said, dropping the powder as I disappeared up my family's ornate fireplace in a flurry of emerald flames. I tucked in my arms, holding my breath and closing my eyes. A moment later, I stumbled out of a fireplace and into a house I had visited many times.

Coughing, I brushed off the soot and took in my surroundings. I was in a sitting room, with sofas and a Muggle television set. "Thalia?" I called.

I heard someone sprinting down the stairs, and sure enough, it was my best friend. She was wearing her chestnut hair in a side braid, a grey cardigan on top of a lavender shirt, stone washed jeans, and Converse. She stood there, gaping at me, from the entrance of the sitting room. Then, in a flash, she was hugging me tightly, and I felt something wetting my shoulder.

"Thalia? Are you crying?" I asked, hugging her back and grinning.

"Y-yeah, I guess," She said, embracing me tighter.

I laughed, and I pulled back, holding her at arm's length. "I'm not mad at you, you know," I said quietly.

She had a look of shock on her face, and then she laughed, throwing her head back. "That's a relief. Why are you here?" She asked curiously.

"Well, I have a plan to get us all back together. You ready?" she nodded. I took a breath and said, "We apologize. Fix things up."

She looked at me with a strange expression. "That's it?" She sounded a bit crestfallen.

I chuckled. "My dad said it's the best thing we have."

She pursed her lips, thinking. "Sure. I guess it is the best thing we can do."

I grinned. "Okay, you Floo over to Albus's place, and I'll go to Rose's."

She looked a bit doubtful, but said, "Alright."

I stepped into the fireplace first, heart racing. Here goes nothing.

"76 Wellington Road, London, England!" I said, and I was once engulfed in a mass of emerald flames.

A/N: Review!