Here it is, finally! Welcome to the final installment of the Roses Trilogy! No promises on how soon it will be finished, but it is, at least, underway!

For those of you who don't know, this is the long awaited final companion to Among Thorns and Fighting Briars, though it can stand on its own. I give you, the Meddlesome Al, in his own words!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Al or Rose or Scorpius. These are my imaginings of them, but at the end of the day, they are JK's and JK's alone.

Enjoy!

Tending Roses - Chapter 1

I was eight years old the first time I heard the magic words. I realize this is an interesting statement coming from someone who performed his first bit of accidental magic at the age of three, but you have to understand that I'm not talking about an incantation or a bit of vocal spellwork. I'm talking about the three words that changed my life.

It was my uncle who said it first. My Uncle Ron. My parents were on holiday in Ireland, celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary, and my brother and sister and I were spending the week with my Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron. Near the end of our stay, there was a misunderstanding between my aunt and uncle that led to a furious and stifling silence that lasted most of an entire day. Finally, I couldn't take the tension anymore, and I went back and forth between my aunt and uncle, figured out where the miscommunication had occurred, and helped clear things up.

When my parents came to pick us up the next day, they heard all about the fight from my sister Lily, who is, I firmly believe, completely incapable of keeping a secret. To give you a clearer picture of this, I will only say that they had scarcely opened the door and stepped inside before Lily had blurted out the entire story, words flying out of her mouth a mile a minute.

With a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth, Dad hoisted Lily into his arms while raising an eyebrow in my aunt and uncle's direction, both of whom looked slightly sheepish after Lily's enthusiastic version of events.

"A slight misunderstanding," Aunt Hermione admitted, embarrassed.

"S'all right, though," my uncle said gruffly, reaching out to ruffle my hair. "Al fixed it."

Al fixed it. Three very simple words with a very mundane meaning, yet they changed my life completely. I could fix things. I could help people. I could find things that were wrong, and I could make them better.

My uncle had no idea what he'd unleashed.

I was eight years old when I learned that I could fix things. I was twenty-one before I learned that I shouldn't always try. But that comes much later, and if you're going to understand what came to pass, I need to spend a little more time on my childhood. Actually, before I do that, I suppose I should introduce myself.

My name is Al Potter, and yes, I am the son of Harry Potter, and no, that is not at all important to the story I am about to tell. In fact, I think my father only makes a handful of physical appearances, if that many. I'm terribly sorry if that disappoints you in any way, but the truth of the matter is, there have been plenty of stories written about my father, and if you're that interested, it shouldn't be difficult to find and hear one of them. My story is not about him or my mother or my aunt and uncle or the war and its aftermath, at least, not directly. My story is about myself and my cousin Rose and my best friend Scorpius and one of the most important lessons I have learned in my life, one that I feel is worth sharing, though I know I'm probably not the best storyteller around.

So. My childhood.

From the time we were young, my cousin Rose was my best friend. There were a number of factors that contributed to this, such as the fact that she is exactly six days older than I, the fact that our parents are best friends, and the fact that we live an easy broomstick ride away, but all these similarities would have meant nothing if we hadn't also been similar in personality. We were both quiet but curious children, very clever, very particular, and very easily irritated by my loud and overbearing older brother. Rose bore the brunt of James's pranks almost as often as I did, and we bonded over rolling our eyes at his idiocy and planning our subtle but exacting revenge. We were neither of us inclined to mischief, but for James, we were more than willing to make an exception.

Rose had been my best friend since we were toddling around in diapers, is the main point, and while I'm not normally an on-edge or nervous kind of person, the thought of what might happen to that friendship when both of us reached Hogwarts was one that weighed heavily on my mind in the weeks leading up to our departure.

I had somehow managed to convince myself that Rose and I were destined for a parting of the ways once we reached school. She was, after all, the Golden Girl; everything she put her hand to just worked for her – except broomsticks, but what did that really matter in the scheme of things? The point was, Rose, for all that she was a relatively quiet person, was very engaging, very friendly, very outgoing, and I wasn't (in hindsight, of course, that isn't at all true. I'm just as engaging, friendly, and outgoing as Rose is; it's just that, at eleven, I had trouble seeing myself that way). Once we got to Hogwarts, she would be surrounded by rings of admirers and no longer have any need for her cousin to be her best friend. I was certain of it, and I was determined not to hold her down, but I was dreading it all the same, because there was some part of me that just knew I wasn't going to be any good at making friends.

This irrational worry festered for far too long, and that is part of what allowed James to get under my skin so easily. It was the last day of August, and I was sitting in my room methodically checking things off the list of everything I had to do before I left. Then James bounded into my room and flopped down on the bed. "So," he said. "You excited about Hogwarts?" I could tell by the tone of his voice that this conversation wasn't heading in any good direction, so I just answered shortly, "Yes."

"You're gonna love it," he said with a grin. "It's great. There's flying lessons and defense classes and all the food and Hagrid – you're bound to have a good time, even if you do end up in Slytherin."

"What?" I snapped, turning sharply to face him. If I hadn't been strung so tightly already, I would have just rolled my eyes and ignored him. But the truth is, I'd never really given a lot of thought to the Sorting; I'd just been trying to make it to the school. "What do you mean, end up in Slytherin?"

"Well, it's a possibility, is all," he said in a voice that was perfectly reasonable – and therefore suspect. "I wouldn't worry about it though, Al. I mean, I doubt Mum and Dad'll care, though Uncle Ron and Uncle George'll probably have something to say about it. But really, it's not a big deal."

"Who said I'm going to end up in Slytherin?" I demanded.

"Well, no one," he said innocently. "But it is one of the Houses, Al. You've got a one in four chance. You just shouldn't rule it out, is all."

"It doesn't work like that," I snapped.

"Okay," he said and left.

"It doesn't!" I yelled after him. But it was too late. He'd gotten to me. And I know he shouldn't have, but he did. I hardly slept at all that night, between worrying about Rose not being my best friend anymore and worrying that James might be right about my Sorting. It was highly uncharacteristic for me.

The car ride to the station was not fun. And I finally broke down and, though I knew it was a stupid question that was beneath me to have to ask, I did ask Dad about what James had said. Dad made a point of never lying to us. If we asked him a question, he would answer honestly and candidly, just like he did with that question about the Sorting. I love my Dad for many reasons, but what he said to me that morning on the Platform is one of the highest ranking. Because he brought Al back. He forced me to calm down and reassess the situation. I was finally able to consciously recognize that I was being ridiculous.

With his advice in my ears, I was able to board the train, confident in the knowledge that it didn't matter where I ended up at school. I stood in the passageway of the train and watched the platform and my family until they faded away into the fog and there was nothing left to be seen.

So one of my two worries was assuaged, and the second was soon to follow it, for the platform had no sooner disappeared from sight than Rose was behind me. I was alerted to her presence by a forceful and rather unnecessary punch to the arm.

"Ow!" I protested loudly, rubbing my arm. "What was that for?"

"You're not going to abandon me once we get to Hogwarts, are you?" she demanded in a accusatory tone. I frowned at her.

"Of course not," I said, as if I hadn't been worried that she was going to do the exact same thing. "You're my best friend, Rose." She looked at me warily for a long moment, then said, "Okay," and that was that.

Now, if someone else was writing my story, what would probably come next would be something along the lines of:

'The first thought that entered my head the first time I really laid eyes on Scorpius Malfoy was, This is my chance to change the past and overcome the already drawn lines I refuse to let the war put me in.'

I mean, doesn't that make for exciting, suspenseful reading? And everyone already seems to believe it. Trouble is, it's not true. My first thought when I saw Scorpius Malfoy was, Thank God, here's an almost empty compartment and maybe this boy will let us sit with him. I didn't even realize who he was until Rose pointed it out to me.

Our friendship with Scorpius was never something that we planned one way or the other. We didn't become friends with him to break down the barriers of the past, and we didn't become friends with him in some kind of act of defiance against our parents (both of which I've heard, by the way). We became friends with him because he was nice and engaging and clever. Also, on my end, he was the first person I'd ever met with a worse name than mine.

Our first real conversation (the part that happened after he and Rose had this ridiculous little face-off and then got over it) went like this:

"Rose Weasley," she said, holding out her hand to him.

"Scorpius Malfoy," he said with a grin, taking it. "And yes, I already know my name is horrid."

"Al Potter," I said, sitting next to him, "and I think I may have you beat."

Scorpius arched an eyebrow. "With Al? No, I'm sorry. Al is not worse than Scorpius."

"No," I agreed. "But Albus may be." Scorpius narrowed his eyes in consideration.

"Middle name?" he asked.

"Severus," I replied. Scorpius winced.

"Pretty bad," he conceded. "But I'm not sure it beats Hyperion."

"Oof," Rose said in sympathy. But I wasn't willing to concede the fact so quickly.

"Scorpius Hyperion is pretty awful, and may indeed be worse than Albus Severus," I said. "But are you named after dead people?"

"No, but I am named after constellations." I shook my head.

"Not as bad," I informed him.

"Okay," he said, conceding the point. "But, you can use a nickname. You go by Al, not Albus. I, on the other hand, can't. Scorpius does not shorten well." Rose giggled. He glanced at her. "You're calling me 'Scorp' in your head right now, aren't you?" he asked. Rose nodded, her face scrunched in silent laughter. Scorpius sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "See?" he said to me, and I couldn't help but smile.

"In the face of your logic, I can hardly disagree. It seems I've lost my title as Worst Named Individual." And I held out my hand to Scorpius.

"I may have you both beat, though," Rose said. We turned to her as one and said, in unison, "Your name is Rose." Rose laughed.

"Not me," she said. "A friend of my parents just had twin boys, Lorcan and Lysander."

"They're bad, but I think I still win," Scorpius said.

"Yes, but they're Luna and Rolf's," Rose said to me. It took me a moment, then I groaned because she was right.

"What?" Scorpius asked.

"Lysander Scamander," I said. Scorpius grimaced.

"You're right," he said finally, with a decisive nod. "At least mine doesn't rhyme. Thank you, Rose. I shall love you forever for removing the title of Worst Named Individual from me."

Rose blushed true Weasley red at those words and quickly began talking about something else.

Now before you start to roll your eyes, no, I did not immediately begin matchmaking these two at the age of eleven. I have more sense than that. But I noticed it, and I decided to watch and see where it went.

And in the meantime, we were friends, the three of us. We all had a lot in common, and a lot of that was the stigma attached to us because of who our parents were. The three of us were the only ones who didn't care, it sometimes seemed, and we had an unspoken agreement from very early on that we would never let who our families were be important to us.

Unfortunately, the rest of the school wasn't ready to extend the same courtesy. See, here's the thing about having famous parents (or infamous ones, in Scorpius's case). Everyone knows everything about them, whether they do or not, and everyone has expectations. You'd better be prepared to be exactly like at least one of your parents or be just as extraordinary in a completely different way. And if you can't claim either of those, you'd better be prepared to face extraordinary disappointment. There is constant pressure to measure up. Not from my parents, thank Godric, but from almost everyone else. The name was an added burden.

James was named for our grandfather and grand-godfather, who were two of the biggest mischief makers Hogwarts had ever seen, and since he had a similar nature, he had it easy. He was just his usual, irritating self, and everyone was willing to excuse it on that basis, and he was able to get away with a hell of a lot of stuff that he never would have gotten away with at home.

But what the hell are you supposed to do when you look just like your father, have your grandmother's famous eyes, and are named for the greatest Headmaster in five centuries and the man who bullied an entire generation of students, was in love with your grandmother, killed the aforementioned beloved Headmaster, and saved your father's life on more than one occasion? I'd say it was a lot to live up to, but that's not even the half of it. Most of the battle was sorting out which half of my own personal dichotomy I was supposed to be living up to. My parents should consider themselves lucky that I didn't turn out to be extraordinarily messed up. Just saying.

Anyway, back on track, the night we were Sorted, we walked into that Great Hall with our houses already assigned to us, at least in everyone's minds. Rose and I, as children of the great war heroes, would head for Gryffindor and eternal glory (if we proved worthy of it), while Scorpius would follow his father's footsteps straight into Slytherin and a life of shame and crime (whether he deserved it or not).

So when the Hat yelled out "RAVENCLAW!" for not one, not two, but all three of us, it sent the school into pandemonium. No one knew what to do with themselves. Including Rose and Scorpius. Me? I was fine, and probably the only one in the Hall to be able to claim that. And here I've gone and given away part of the story before we've even really gotten to it. My apologies. If you want the suspense back, just forget that I mentioned we were all Sorted into Ravenclaw. Then what happens next will be as surprising for you as it was for everyone else in the room.

Scorpius was the first of us to be Sorted. He sat with the Hat on his head for maybe ten seconds, hands clutching the side of the stool so hard his knuckles were bright white. Then the Hat shouted "RAVENCLAW!" and I have never seen anyone's face so pale and shocked as Scorpius's when the Hat was lifted from his head. He stumbled vaguely toward the Ravenclaw table as the Hall erupted into whispers. I tried to give him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up, but he didn't see me. From the look on his face, he wasn't seeing much of anything. I chalked it up to shock, and waited calmly for my name to be called.

A few names later, "Potter, Albus," rang out, and I made my way up to the stool, ignoring the way people were craning to get a look at me. Before the Hat had even finished settling on my head, I was addressing it.

Excuse me. Mr. Hat? I thought as directly as I could.

I think the Hat was completely taken aback.

Yes, Mr. Potter? The Hat sounded . . . expectant, almost.

My dad told me you'd take my choice into consideration?

Your father was not wrong, was the response I got.

Okay then, so before you go poking 'round in my head, I'd just like to tell you where I'd like to be. Is that all right? I asked. I thought it best to be courteous. I could have sworn I heard the Hat chuckle.

Yes, Mr. Potter. Looking back, I know it was a little silly, seeing as how the Hat probably already knew what I was going to say at that point. But the Hat, to its credit, simply let me proceed.

Well, if you please, I'd like to be put into Ravenclaw, I told it.

May I ask why? It said politely. I took a deep breath and answered.

Well, I'm smart, and I really like to learn. I dunno about wisdom or anything, but maybe that'll come later? And anyway, my friend Scorpius, well, he went to Ravenclaw, and I don't want him to be in a strange House alone. I know I can still be friends with him if we're in different houses, but it wouldn't be the same, you know? And I think he could use a friend in his house. I was finished speaking, but the Hat didn't say anything, so I continued awkwardly. And . . . well, that's about it, really. I don't have much else to say about it.

You are an interesting character, Mr. Potter, the Hat said then. You have shown great courage and confidence in addressing me, and true loyalty on behalf of a boy who I know was not your friend only a few hours ago. Also, you have proven yourself to be quite calculating in the way you have presented your argument. I got a little nervous, hearing that. I'd gone into the encounter with such certainty in where I'd end up, but I'd just been told I'd shown qualities of all the houses. And one of them I didn't much like.

I don't want to be calculating, I said hesitantly.

Nonsense, the Hat said briskly. Calculating isn't a negative trait in and of itself, young Mr. Potter.

You mean . . . if I use it for a positive purpose, it becomes positive?

Precisely. That was a new and interesting concept to think about, but there were more pressing matters at hand, so I stored it away for later.

But . . . if I have qualities for all the houses, how do you decide where to put me?

There are a number of factors that I use to Sort students.

Like what? I asked. I was, at that point, aware that the Hat and I had been chatting for more than a few minutes, far longer than anyone else had spent with the Hat, and people were starting to get tense and ill at ease, but I was fascinated.

A combination of inherent qualities, likelihood and direction for growth, choice, and personality, among other things.

Blood? I asked.

No, I was assured. But I do consider how the student might fit in with the others in a particular house.

Is that why there never used to be Muggleborns in Slytherin?

Not never, the Hat said quickly. But seldom, yes. I had to make sure the few that ended up there would be able to withstand the attitude.

Do you remember every student you've ever Sorted? I asked then.

I do, yes, but if we do not move on with this one, that trend may end.

Oops . . . sorry, I said with a sheepish grin. The Hat truly laughed at that.

No apology necessary, Mr. Potter, it said. This has been . . . enlightening. I should not mind having further conversations with you one day. But for now, we must part ways. You are an extraordinary child, Albus Severus Potter. And you have a lot to live up to, but only half of it is your family and your name.

And what's the other half? I asked, almost terrified to hear the answer.

Your potential. Good luck to you.

And then it shouted "RAVENCLAW!" and I cheerfully handed the Hat back to Professor Flitwick and made my way down to the Ravenclaw table, ignoring the whispers that had broken out all over the Hall. I slid in next to Scorpius and tried to grin at him, but he was refusing to meet my eye, choosing instead to stare broodingly at his empty plate.

Anyway, you would think, after seeing both Scorpius and myself get Sorted into Ravenclaw, that Rose would jump at the chance to be Sorted there as well. At least, that's what I thought at the time. But Rose reacted just as Scorpius had.

It was pretty frustrating, not gonna lie. I mean, we'd had a whole conversation on the train about where we wanted to be placed, and all three of us had said Ravenclaw. I'd even shared the wonderful piece of knowledge that we all had a choice. So you'd think there'd have been some rejoicing. But no. Stricken looks and pale faces and unison responses of "What's my dad gonna say?" when I asked them what the problem was.

So there it was. The heart of the matter. The problem that needed fixing. Immediately, my mind set to work. How could I get my two best friends excited about their house and the fact that we were all together? Simple! Get their parents to be fine with it.

Rose was easy. In my letter home that night, I told my parents how excited I was with being a Ravenclaw and having Rose there with me, and I made sure to say that I knew Rose was excited, if a little nervous that Uncle Ron wouldn't approve. That ensured that my mother would take care of anything Aunt Hermione wouldn't, but the truth is, I was never worried about Rose anyway. Her parents adored her, her dad especially. I was pretty sure she was incapable of doing wrong in their eyes.

Scorpius was harder. When the seven of us first year Ravenclaw boys were taken to our room, we immediately claimed our bunks and all sat down to write letters home, as I'm sure every first year at Hogwarts has since the beginning of time. I finished mine fairly quickly, and glanced over at Scorpius, who looked quite distressed, still staring at a blank page.

"What am I supposed to say, Al?" he whispered miserably. "How am I supposed to tell them?" I started to say, Just do it, man, but then, I got An Idea.

"Wait til tomorrow," I told him. He stared at me.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, tomorrow, you'll have a whole day's worth of classes to talk about, won't you? It won't just be your Sorting, it'll be everything, your professors and classmates and everything." His eyes lit up.

"Yeah," he said with something like a smile. "Yeah, that's a great idea, Al. Thanks!" I grinned back.

"No problem," I told him. And he stood up to get ready for bed while I immediately pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward me. Scorpius frowned.

"Didn't you finish your letter home?" he asked, puzzled.

"This one's for Lily," I said with a good-natured roll of my eyes. "She'll never forgive me if she doesn't get her own letter." Which was true, but I hope I don't need to tell you that I wasn't really writing to Lily, right? This is the letter I wrote:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,

Hello. You don't know me, but my name is Al Potter, and I'm friends with your son, Scorpius. We met on the train yesterday, and we really hit it off, him and me and my cousin Rose. And now we've made it to school and had the feast and been Sorted, all three of us, and the reason Scorpius isn't writing to you is because he doesn't know how to tell you that he (and I and Rose) got Sorted into Ravenclaw. He's afraid you're going to be mad at him or disappointed in him or something, but if you are, you really shouldn't be. Scorpius wants to be in Ravenclaw, he told me so on the train. And he's really smart and clever, and he's going to fit into this house really well. So I think you should be happy for him and be proud for him, if you weren't already, of course. And I just wanted to write and tell you so, so that when Scorpius writes himself tomorrow, it won't come as such a shock.

Thank you for your time,

Al Potter

PS - Scorpius doesn't know I'm writing to you, and I'd appreciate it if you could keep that a secret. Thanks!

I know. Brilliant, right? Maybe not so much in hindsight, but in the moment, it was the best thing I could have done to help my new friend, and as meddlesome as it may seem, I assure you that my intentions were good. But you perhaps are familiar with that old phrase about good intentions?

But I am getting ahead of myself once again. The important thing to know here is that Mrs. Malfoy wrote back. The day after I sent my owl to her, I received one in return, a letter that did absolutely nothing to curb my enthusiastic desire to fix the problems in the world around me.

Dear Mr. Al Potter, it read.

I want to thank you most sincerely for your letter. Clearly, Scorpius has found a true and steadfast friend. And you are quite correct in your assessment of his character – he is intelligent and clever, and though he may not believe this when he hears of it, his Sorting into Ravenclaw House is not truly a great surprise to either his father or myself. I will set your mind at ease in the same way that I hope to set his at ease when he feels comfortable enough to write and tell us of his Sorting: there is no disappointment to be felt, and no anger to be had.

I hope you will not consider it too forward to say that I believe you to be, Mr. Al Potter, quite an extraordinary young man. There are not many who would display the amount of loyalty and concern as you have for someone so recently called a friend. It is my sincerest hope that the friendship you have started with my son continues and grows, because anyone would be lucky to have such a friendship with you.

Yours Most Sincerely,

Astoria Malfoy

PS - Your secret is safe with me.

The glow inspired by Mrs. Malfoy's letter stayed with me for quite a long time. Once again, I had done it! I had fixed something, and that glow was never as strong as when Scorpius found the courage to write home and received his own warm and happy response from his mother. I watched him relax into a sigh of relief and a smile upon reading her words, and I thought, I did that, in the ego-centric way of adolescents.

And so, safe in the assurances that our parents were not about to disown us, Rose and Scorpius and I were able to relax and jump head-first into our schooling.

To Be Continued . . .

(Sorry for the abrupt ending! My first-person pieces never write themselves in such a way as to make clean chapter breaks . . .)