Rose's bedroom is empty. Bare, void of anything but four walls and an old carpet. Her parents are going to redecorate it once she goes to University. Once she goes. Tomorrow.

Of course Rose got in. There are only five British institutions with Magical courses; essentially those with a collegiate structure: Lancaster, Durham, the obvious ones Oxford and Cambridge and then UCL in Paris. Please do not ask me what this means. I haven't a clue. I have been reliably informed, however, that Merlin's College, Oxford is one of the world's foremost educational and research facilities for witches and wizards as the oldest one in the English-speaking world. There is apparently a slightly older one in South Asia somewhere.

I'm babbling. Spouting everything Rose told me about University. That's such an ominous word, don't you think? Un-i-vers-i-ty. Five syllables. Ten letters. Something that tears people away from each other for months on end.

Like I said, there are five British Universities that offer Magical courses. Rose could only apply to five, so a handy number. Normal people, she told me, cannot apply to both Oxford and Cambridge. Moreover, UCL is a constituent University of the University of London. Why, I asked, could she not go there? Because the Magical courses are offered at the University of London Institute, in Paris. Paris. City of love and, apparently, city of Magic. The ancient Gauls who lived there are allegedly the forerunners of modern magical civilisation. Rose says that they're like the Greeks of the Muggle world.

She chose Oxford. Oxford is further North than London and further away from my family's mansion in Wiltshire. Further away than Devon, where her family lives. And what's more, Rose has taken Transfiguration with Ancient Runes. So she'll be travelling all over the world as part of her degree. Including a year spent in Saudi Arabia, studying Muslim influences on modern Transfiguration spells. This is what she wants to write her dissertation on. The one she'll be doing three years from now. Only Rose would know that.

Of course, Mr and Mrs Weasley are proud. Her mum grew up in Oxford, until her parents moved to Australia where they now live, so she's been gushing about how beautiful and old and famous the city is. Mr Weasley is just glad that I won't be able to see her as often. As far as he's concerned, it'll be once every three-ish months.

He doesn't know that I've been offered to study as an Auror in America at the Pentagon. For three years. When Rose graduates, I will. But it's not like we'll have been separated by that pond they call the Atlantic or anything, no. Because one can Apparate cross-continent. Not.

"Scorp?" Rose asks gently. She's holding my hand. We've been sitting on her bedroom floor in silence. "What's wrong?"

She doesn't know. She and everyone else think that I got rejected. How can I tell her the truth?

"Nothing," I smile easily. Lying is a hereditary trait. "I'm just thinking about how much I'll miss you."

"Well, I'll write and stuff. Computers work alright at Oxford, because it's a Muggle city – we can email; I'll show you how, or Granddad will…"

"Rose," I say. "It's okay. Apollo's a fast flyer."

"But Flounder isn't!"

Flounder is my owl, so called because the day after I bought him he fell into the bath and tried to swim. He looked like a fish out of water. Albus Potter thought he would bust a gut laughing at the stupid thing. Rose's, meanwhile, is exactly like her: an overachiever. He flies quickly, can carry heavy loads as if they're nothing and is incredibly affectionate. He only dislikes people Rose doesn't like. Unfortunately, that was me for about five years.

"Well, I'll just use Apollo. You write to me, I reply immediately." It's the only solution I can think of. I'm sure Apollo won't mind the demands of flying from Saudi Arabia to America all too frequently.

She shakes her head. "You hate Apollo."

"Eh. If it means I can talk to you, I'll put up with it."

Rose smiles serenely, looking at me with her head cocked to one side. "I love you, Scorpius Malfoy. Forever." Then she locks her pinkie finger with mine.

"I love you too," I say, grinning. I wonder how long we can last, separated by such long distances. What if Rose finds someone smarter, funnier, better than me? I may not know much about Oxford, but it sounds like Ravenclaw House: perfect. Ravenclaws are known for being intelligent, witty and honest. I'm a Slytherin: I get what I want by being cunning, although I lack the ambition of some of my counterparts. I'd rather help people. Rose, as a traditional Gryffindor, is fearless and hot-headed and loyal. Hmm. I suppose that should count for something when she leaves.

I glance out the window. The moonlight is pouring in and it's a fantastically clear autumn night. I remember a month earlier; there had been the annual August shooting star shower that we'd been able to see, since we were out in the country. It had been magical.

"Make love to me," Rosie says quietly.

I look at her, startled. "No way. Not now. Not because we have to."

"Please."

"No. I know that you're scared, Rosie, but you're not going to lose me. You'll have to try harder than to move to Oxford, I promise."

"Please."

"No! I know you – you'd only regret it. You want to wait to marriage, and you won't break that vow because of me."

"Damn you," Rosie snaps. "Why do you have to be so – so noble?"

Noble? Me? Wow, role reversal! Rose fights for causes: House Elf rights, bigger bathrooms for First Years, Centaur rights. She's the noble one, not me!

"Look, let's just get some sleep. You have an early start tomorrow, and it's already ten past one in the morning," I say, trying to change the subject.

"Is it?" she asks, surprised. "I hadn't noticed!"

We get into our sleeping bags – Rosie had wanted to spend her last night in her bedroom. I shuffle mine closer to her and wrap an arm around her. Within minutes, we're both asleep.

"Morning, sleepy heads!" Mrs Weasley bustles into Rose's bedroom with breakfast. "Time to get up, Rose, dear, we'll be leaving soon and Scorpius will have to Apparate home."

Ugh. Home. Ugh. Rosie leaving. Ugh. Eggs for breakfast. Ugh. Morning. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

"Oh, you're both still in your clothes! What time did you go to bed last night?"

"I guess we just fell asleep, Mum," Rose says blearily. "Now stop fussing. I need to get dressed."

In all my years of knowing Hermione Weasley, she has never fussed. She nags, she yells, she's not afraid to hex someone but she does not fuss, much less bring people breakfast in bed. She must be as worried as me about Rose leaving.

"Well, eat up your eggs first, then get dressed. I'll be back in a minute. Do you have clothes left out?" She looks around and sees a heap of Rosie's clean clothes on the floor. She raises her eyebrows, purses her lips, lets it go and walks out of the room.

Rosie falls back into her sleeping bag. "I don't want to go."

"Yes, you do. Don't lie."

"Yeah, I do. You're right," she grins. She pulls my head down to meet hers and we kiss. "Now, let's eat!"

Half an hour later, I've attempted to un-ruffle my T-shirt and jeans so that it looks like Rose and I weren't doing anything intimate last night. We weren't, but Rose's dad is not that logical. Rose is in a fresh travelling cloak and has tied her hair back. She's pacing the lounge.

"Will Dad be long?" she asks, anxiously.

"Rose, calm down!" says her brother, Hugo. "He's only gone to get the car from round the corner, so it's easier to pack."

I glare at him suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

"They gave me the day off to see Rose go to Uni. Nice of them, I think. I'll Floo back tonight, from Oxford."

Her brother gets to go with her. Her brother, but not her boyfriend. Sometimes I really hate Ron Weasley.

I like the way he says "Uni", though. Shortening it makes it seem less threatening.

I sigh and take Rose's hand. She smiles at me as we hear the car pull up the front drive.

"Time to go!" Mrs Weasley calls from the hall. She's lugging Rose's trunk. Rose gives me a fleeting hug, a sad smile and a promise to write soon. And that's it. She's gone.

I run after her. "Rosie. Rosie. I need to tell you something."

She frowns. "Okay…"

"I'm going to America."

"Right."

"For three years."

"What?"

"I got the internship."

"What?"

"I lied."

"Why? When?"

"Rose!" Mrs Weasley yells. "We're going!"

Rose gives me a pleading look. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to upset you. Look, just read this." I hand her a letter. Terribly romantic and unoriginal, I know, but it was the easiest way. "I'll see you," I shrug.

"You coward," Rose says, her face heating. "You absolute coward. I hope you're happy." And she storms out.

This was the last time I would see her.

Three years later, I graduate. I'm a fully-qualified Auror. I can kick some Dark Wizard butt, as my best friend Taylor would say. His name is multi-gender. There's a girl in his department with the same name. Only in America!

I'm returning to the UK to join the Auror department there. Maybe I'll see Rose, maybe I won't. I hope I will; I'd like to find out if everything she wanted came true. She wanted to be everything: a Healer, a journalist, a teacher. That's why she applied for five different subjects at each of her Unis. I hope the world hasn't changed that about her.

And then, one week after I return from America, I do see her. She looks older, but happy. I hope I look the same way. It strikes me that I don't know what happened to everything she gave away after she left for Oxford. Things like those DVD things, old toys, books…

I briefly remember watching her car drive away that day: 25th September 2024. I waved and she wrote something backwards into the misty window. I still don't know what she said.

Rose Weasley once told me, when we were eleven years old, that the Sun would always chase the day; it never stops. I told her that the Earth goes round the Sun every year and she told me that I ought to have more faith.

I heeded her. I had more faith in things and people and life until the day I broke her heart. Because that day, the Sun stopped chasing the day. Or the Earth stopped going round the Sun. Whichever was the truth of it.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. :) Review, please!