So, this is the first chapter of a new story I'm working on, playing on an idea I've had for a while now. The Harry Potter series has always been, and will always be my favorite series, and I admire J.K. Rowling's work exponentially. That being said, I hope you'll stick around for some more of Aurora's story. I plan on sticking to the books as much as possible, but I've always been intrigued by the idea of foreign witches and wizards.
Chapter One
The air was warm and balmy, the humidity that seeped into every nook and cranny melting into her bones as she paced the familiar cobblestones of Salem. It was still brisk enough to require either a light jacket or sweater, but to Aurora it felt like the beaches of the Caribbean; eleven months, nearly a year spent in the northern Arctic gave a girl a new, richer perspective of what cold really was. She earned a few stares from shocked pedestrians she passed along the way, muggles and wizarding folk alike. A white tank top and jean shorts in early May was truly strange, even in a town like Salem, where weird and strange were the main attractions.
She passed by a storefront that she had frequented while still in school, a bookstore that sold the general muggle fiction and mystic books that were entirely false but highly entertaining; and, if you knew where to look, the best spell books in all of Massachusetts. The witch who ran the store, dressed in jeans and a cable knit sweater, recognized Aurora and waved enthusiastically through the window. Aurora smiled back and continued on; she would usually jump at the chance to talk with Emily Dean, but she wasn't here on a social call. She kept walking.
A hidden dirt pathway was concealed behind an overgrown thicket of briars and rose bushes, several ancient, weeping willows, finally coming to bloom, swaying in the breeze. Aurora turned down the sloping path, walking away from the historic town and towards the harbor homes that housed the true locals. The salty brine of the water was refreshing and nostalgic, but rather than feel welcomed by the familiar setting, all she felt was a deep sense of foreboding.
Before she realized it, she had arrived at her destination. A quaint, well-loved cottage painted white with evergreen shutters and matching roof shingles. Wild wisteria climbed the white picket fence that housed in lawns of emerald green grass and hundreds of colorful blooms that had been growing ever since Aurora could remember. Ivy climbed one side of the cottage, and through the open window she could smell the apple pie her mother always made when she was nervous about something. A wreath of bay laurel, clover, coriander, holly, white peonies, rosemary and vervain, restrung with fresh, homegrown herbs every early spring, hung on the painted door, and with a deep breath, Aurora pushed open the gate of the fence and stepped onto the flagstone pathway, now overgrown with weeds that hadn't been plucked yet.
Immediately her ankles were swarmed by the weaving, yowling attentions of a slim, sleek black cat, large green eyes staring up at her as he did figure-eights in and out of her legs. She stooped down and picked him up, plucking a kiss on his head and scratching behind the right ear like he liked.
"Hey, Jinx," she murmured. "How's my pretty boy?" She was rewarded with a fond swipe of his paw to her nose and the rumbling of his pleased purring. She sent him back off, expecting him to go back to hunting field mice, but instead, the cat rubbed against her bare leg, gently pushing her towards the house. Aurora sighed, more reluctant than ever.
Bucking up the last ounces of courage she had, she knocked on the front door, breathing in her nose and out her mouth. She had no reason to be this afraid of coming home; she'd faced down fire and ice breathing dragons with nary a burn. This would be a piece of cake.
The door swung in, framing a slip of a girl no older than fifteen and who shared no resemblance with Aurora. Until she smiled so hugely that it was impossible to deny that they were sisters.
"Rory!" the girl exclaimed, leaping forward to wrap her arms around her older sister's waist. "I didn't know you were coming!"
Aurora hugged her back, unable to fight her own growing grin. "I didn't know I was coming until this morning," she replied, looking down. "Where's Mom and Dad, Emme?"
"Dad's in New York, working on a case," Emme Cartwright said. "Mom's down at the harbor, getting something for dinner."
Aurora followed her sister inside the cottage that they lived in during the summer months, and she was pleased to see that nothing had changed. The kitchen was still bright and sunny, with the oak table still half an inch shorter on one leg. The living room was covered in family photos from the years, and she spotted a six year old version of herself waving at the camera, actually moving now that the house had confirmed she was a witch and not a muggle. The patchwork sofa, covered in an afghan blanket that smelled of Christmas cookies, was still there, and several magazines and almanacs littered the small, black coffee table sitting in the center. Despite her misgivings, Aurora was glad to be home.
Emme came up to her with a glass of lemonade, sitting opposite her at the table, still smiling happily.
"So, what brings you back down here?" her sister asked, peering at Aurora with a fair bit of suspicion and admiration. "Too wild for you in Greenland?"
Aurora snorted, rolling her eyes. "Please," she said mischievously. "I don't know what to do with myself in Salem. It's too tame."
Emme giggled, sipping her drink. Aurora took the time to look at the waifish girl, who had seemed to mature in no time at all. She was still slender, built more like a Veela than a typical American witch. She was average in height, but had a head of golden hair that shimmered to her elbows, not nearly as long or unruly as Aurora's own locks. She had a sweet, open, heart-shaped face with delicate bone structure and a pair of green eyes that looked like jeweled emeralds. She was the exact opposite of her older sister, but when they smiled, revealing two rows of pearly white teeth, they resembled their mother more than anyone could comprehend.
"Mom sent a letter," Aurora explained shrugging her shoulders. "I got it yesterday afternoon, telling me to get here as soon as possible. I was hard pressed to get a portkey from Nuuk to New York, and after another one to Boston, I needed to travel the muggle way for a while; I hate condensed travelling, and the time zones are a bitch."
"I wonder what's up," Emme mused, giggling at Aurora's surly tone. Suddenly, a pure white fluff ball jumped into her lap, mewing loudly and wrapping its large, fluffy tail around her wrist. The Maine Coon stared at Aurora benignly with yellow-green eyes, as if allowing her presence to be acceptable. Emme stroked her cat, whispering to it softly.
"I'm watching you, Evil One," Aurora said under her breath. Maleficent, aka Fi-Fi, had been a gift to Emme when she had started school, four years previously, from their grandmother in New Hampshire. And the cat had been living up to her name ever since.
Maleficent purred obnoxiously, as if proving her point, and settled down on Emme's lap, keeping her eyes half closed but solely focused on Aurora. Aurora glared right back.
"How's school been?" she asked, turning the focus on her sister. "You didn't mention much in your last letter."
Emme groaned out loud. "You would think that since two years have passed since the, thing, in Europe, the teachers would lighten up. But no; they still are acting like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is getting ready to cross the Atlantic."
"It's only been two years," Aurora said quietly, feeling that distinct chill of fear that always overwhelmed her when they spoke of Him. That thing that Emme referred to had been happening during the height of her schooling, and always, the talk would be of when the conquest would spread to this side of the pond. The American Ministry of Magic had begun safety precautions nationwide, and many witches and wizards of age had begun signing up to help the cause. It gave her nightmares, and a dose of sympathy she felt for the families affected. But Emme had been young, too young to fully understand the gravity of the situation at hand. "Better to be over-prepared than caught unaware."
Emme rolled her eyes at the mantra that many schools had adopted during the times, but to Aurora, the words couldn't be more real.
The girls heard the back door opening and turned towards the sound, where a middle-aged, still beautiful witch was struggling with a basket of crab legs and fish. Her hair was the same straight, gold color as her youngest daughter's, and she was built just as delicately. Her warm brown eyes, always the color of milk chocolate, brightened exponentially when her eldest daughter hurried to her side, taking the baskets without a word.
"Aurora, you came," she breathed, evident relief staining her cheeks pink.
"Of course I came," Aurora replied, placing the seafood on the granite island in the kitchen. "Your cryptic message had me thinking that someone had died."
Christine's silence crept over the cottage like an awkward mist, and Aurora turned to face her mother. She was refusing to meet her daughter's eyes.
"Mom?" Aurora asked, stepping forward. "Did someone die?"
"Emme, I need you to run into town," Christine said, deflecting the question entirely. A heavy weight landed in Aurora's chest, and she leaned her hands against the back of a wooden chair, watching her mother closely. She handed Emme a list of some sort, and despite her sister's imploring look, Aurora didn't object to her mother's dismissal. With a put out pout, Emme slipped on a pair of sandals and left, looking back once over her shoulder before letting the front door close shut.
Aurora opened her mouth to repeat the frightening question, but her mother beat her to it.
"Your father."
The breath in Aurora's lungs whooshed out in a heart wrenching gasp, and she struggled to remain standing. But, Emme had just said…
"Not Thomas," Christine said slowly. The use of her dad's first name stopped the gaping hole, but now a confused fog swarmed in her head. "Your birth father."
Now she really did collapse into the chair, her head swimming in confusion. "What are you telling me?"
Christine's brown eyes watered in unshed tears, and her voice was choked on emotion. "Something I should have told you a long time ago."
The grandfather clock in the hallway beat the seconds away, all that time during which Aurora stared at her mother in complete disbelief. Christine took a deep breath, fiddling with her long, elegant fingers, usually found tickling the ivory keys of the upright in the manor house back in New Hampshire.
"You know that your father, Thomas, and I, were married in February, and you were born in October," she said carefully. Aurora nodded, unable to breathe easily, let alone speak. "But we weren't married in February of '81. We were married in February of '82, when you were four months old. You're not Thomas's biological daughter, but you are mine."
Aurora continued to stare at her mother, grief and shock and a surprising amount of anger surging through her blood. Seeing the anger, Christine tried to explain. "You were barely a few weeks old when I met Thomas, and I was a single mother, on my own with an infant, struggling to get by in a city. He helped out, and we fell in love. You two clicked instantly, it was as if he should've been your father. And he is, Aurora…no matter what you are thinking right now, he is still your father and he has always loved you. He wanted to be here when I told you, but this is my story, and I needed to tell you."
"So, what you're telling me, is that the last eighteen years has been a lie," Aurora said harshly. "You've been lying to me! All this time!"
"We did what we thought was best," Christine said, her voice barely a whisper. Aurora's mother had always been soft-spoken, shying from any confrontation, and now that she thought about it, her dad had never lost his cool with her either, even if she had deserved it some of the time. Her quick, irrational temper was a trait uniquely her own, just like her physical features, neither resembling her parents. And now she knew why. But just this once, she wished her mother would get angry.
"How is lying to me best?" she asked sarcastically. "Were you ever planning on telling me?"
"Yes, we were, but not until your father's research came in," she said, staring at her daughter miserably. "Your birth father and I had been seeing each other for a few months, nothing serious, just two young people finding company in a dark time. It was right before the end of His first reign, and I was young and scared. Your father was handsome and mysterious and foreign, and while he was here, we spent time together. He didn't know I was expecting when he left for London."
"He's British?" Aurora asked immediately, envisioning her mother falling for that roguish accent like a school girl. Christine nodded.
"I wrote to him when I found out, not asking for anything, just letting him know he would have a child. He never replied to my letters, and I later found out that the address he'd given me didn't exist. As much as I wished it otherwise, I was heartbroken…" her mother paused, staring out the window to look at the water. "But I clung to you without hesitation, and never stopped loving you. I promised myself that no matter what happened, I would still be myself, so I wrote to him when you were born, giving your name and details, and letting him know that I would raise you myself. Again, nothing."
Well this is just fantastic, Aurora thought sarcastically. A love affair resulting in a kid, with a birth father who turns out to be a scoundrel. Just perfect.
"Thomas was your father from the minute I met him, and he's raised you exactly as he's raised Emme. He loves you, but he made me a promise to find out what had happened to your real father. I didn't believe that he could be this kind of person, so polar opposite to the passionate, loving, loyal man I knew."
Aurora waited, unable to bring herself to scathingly tell her mother that there were plenty of double-crossing men out there; they made these things their only job in life, to find a pretty woman, use her and leave without a word. But she couldn't do that to her mom; it would hurt too much.
"We found out that he never replied to my first letters, because he never received them; the Ministry of Magic confiscated every and all foreign letters to be searched and sorted before sending them off. By the time my letters made it through, he'd been imprisoned in Azkaban, on murder charges."
"Flipping fantastic," Aurora mumbled, dropping her forehead harshly onto the wooden table. "My father's a convicted criminal. Fabulous."
"At that point, we decided it was better not to tell you, because I didn't want you to assume you were the same as him; you were my perfect little girl, and I wasn't going to let anyone hurt you. But, when you were twelve, Thomas received some disturbing news; your birth father had escaped from prison and was on the run, hiding. I was in half a mind to pull you from Salem, I was so scared. I couldn't believe that I'd been stupid enough to send him your information, and I worried that he'd come searching for you. But, he never did."
"Two years ago, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated, your father and I discovered that your birth father had been accused and imprisoned falsely; he had been innocent of all charges. We decided to try and contact him, firm in the belief that if he was interested in meeting you, we would tell you the truth. We never heard back from the Ministry, or from him, so it never came up. Until now."
Christine took a breath, waiting until Aurora looked up to continue. "You know the situation over in Europe; even now, they are in the process of rebuilding and restoring. Thomas received a letter from Minister Shacklebolt, requesting an audience. It's why he's in New York right now, since the British Minister has been working alongside the American Ministry for help. It was then that we learned that your birth father had been murdered three years ago, right after your 4th year at Salem. Do you remember the witch, Bellatrix Lestrange?"
"You-know-Who's right hand psycho?" Aurora said in surprise. "Yeah, I know about her."
"She killed him, in that duel in the Ministry," Christine said. "It was that duel that brought to light the truth and innocence he'd carried for nearly 14 years."
Aurora ran through the facts in her head, desperately trying to recall the newspaper headlines that had made headway in America back then. She remembered the Ministry Duel, remembered discussing it with several of her friends that summer, and tried to bring up the deceased names that danced around her subconscious tauntingly.
"He left behind no immediate family, that he knew of," she added, having gone back to fiddling her fingers. "He left only a godson, who had only known him a short while."
Christine's eyes found Aurora's, and she could tell that her mother was trying to convey something of great importance to her. "Aurora, do you know how you got your first and middle names?" Sensing that this was no time for sarcasm, she shook her head. "Because your birth father's family had a peculiar penchant for naming their children after stars, constellations, and galaxies. Aurora, coming dawn, the first rays of light, so beautiful and perfect, just like you. And Vela was a constellation of a ship's sails, appropriate since you were born practically on the water." She sighed, a sad smile on her face. "Aurora, your father's godson is a name that the entire wizarding world knows as well as their own. Your father's godson is, was, Harry Potter."
The breath caught in Aurora's throat. That name, practically synonymous with the muggles' Jesus Christ, had been a breath of ease in everyone with a wand. And his godfather, was Aurora's birth father?
"Your father's name was Sirius Black," Christine said, the name ringing loud and clear in Aurora's head. Now, she perfectly recalled the headlines, of his escape and the manhunt which ensued, of his shocking death and the formal apology from the British Ministry. Sirius Black. "And on your birth certificate, it states that your name is not Aurora Vela Cartwright, but Aurora Vela Black."
Aurora breathed deeply, looking at her mother silently. Without a word she pushed away from the table, ignoring her mother's outstretched hand and heading out the back door, the salty sea breeze and sound of the wharf calling to her. She needed to be alone, if only for a while. She needed to think.
(oOoOoOoOoOo)
The sky had turned a murky kind of violet, the sun dipping low over the horizon about a half hour past. The boats were docked, and Aurora had watched as men and women, muggle and wizards, returned home to their loved ones. From her vantage point, a large granite boulder overlooking the Salem harbor, on a hill about five hundred yards away, she wondered if any of them held secrets as big as the one that had shattered her illusion of life. Her arms wrapped around her knees, she sat silently, going over, again and again, what her mom had told her hours ago.
The man she'd called 'dad' all these years wasn't her father; he would always be her Dad, that hadn't changed, and neither had her love for him, but she felt alone, an outsider in a place that was as near and dear to her as any other place. Her Father had been falsely imprisoned; her Father had died in battle, fighting against the evil that had threatened to take over the world; her Father had never known about her, had only known a godson that just so happened to be the most famous, remarkable wizard of the century. And Aurora didn't know what upset her more.
Sirius Black; an unusual name, although in the wizarding community, strange names were nothing new. Her own name hadn't been out of place among the ranks of the girls in her year; Lisbeth, Anouk, and Ember were just a few worth mentioning. In fact, Lisbeth would probably get a real kick if she heard about this. She was obsessed with the British Ministry and was on her way to becoming an Ambassador for the American Ministry now. Aurora shook her head.
She heard the crunching of boots on grass come from behind her, and immediately, based on instinct, she reached for the wand by her side, a hex already in her head should she need it. A familiar chuckle eased her tension, and she went back to her curled position, staring at the lapping waves below her.
"Hey, Dad," she said thickly. "I thought you were in New York."
Thomas Cartwright brushed his palms on the fabric of his slacks before folding himself beside Aurora. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, for the first time really taking in his appearance and desperately searching for any resemblance between them.
He wasn't overly tall, five eleven at most, with sandy brown hair that was starting to salt and pepper at the temples. His face was warm and open, like Emme's, and his emerald green eyes were the same color and shape as hers. He had laugh lines around his mouth and his skin was tanned already from the few weeks of sun that had been afforded. He wore a dress shirt that was unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows, and the simple, braided gold band on his left ring finger shined in the waning light.
They looked nothing alike.
"Just got back," he said, looking at her with his familiar, quirked smile. Noting her expression, he extended a long arm out to her, allowing her to lean into him and lending her a strength she hadn't realized she needed. Aurora leaned her head on his shoulder, and they both gazed out over the water. "Don't be angry with us, Rory," he pleaded quietly. "We didn't want to make you think that you were any less a part of this family, just because we don't share the same DNA. I have loved you since the day I met you, and you are my daughter."
It was nice to hear him reaffirm what her mom had already said, but misgivings still played through her head. For the first time in her entire life, she didn't know who she was, not really.
Thomas shifted slightly, removing something from his pocket and handing it to Aurora silently. She took it with hesitant fingers, staring at the man in the photograph, who flashed a wink and a smile alternatively to the camera. She recognized him from several others she'd glimpsed in the papers over the years, but never had they been as clear and intimate as this one.
He seemed to be tall, or taller than average, maybe six-two or three, dressed in fine clothes of silk and velvet. The picture was dated 1-12-81, and his handsome face was lighter, free from worry, and much younger than the photos in the paper. He had shoulder length, thick black hair with a familiar wave to it, and a matching moustache forming a pointed, groomed goatee on his angular jaw. He had the type of handsomeness that came from aristocratic bone structure, the same bone structure, Aurora realized with a jolt, that she herself had. She traced those high cheekbones that were identical to hers, and the straight Roman nose that she had. His eyes were expressive, full of life and passion, and between their almond shape and their steel gray color, the similarities were too much for Aurora to process at once. She turned the photo away, taking a deep breath.
"I'm told he was an extraordinarily gifted wizard," her Dad said, his soft voice soothing Aurora more than she realized. "A bit mischievous with a hearty temper, but he also became an Animagus when he was still in school to help out a friend of his." He gave her a severe, meaningful look which she studiously ignored. "He was loyal and loved fiercely, and I know that if he had known about you, he would have loved you just as much as your mother and I love you."
Hot tears rolled down Aurora's cheeks, and she leaned into her Dad. "I feel…I don't know what I feel," she said, wiping the tears with the back of her hand.
"You're lost and confused," Thomas supplied, squeezing her arm. "And knowing you the way I do, you want answers."
Aurora pulled back, looking at him and feeling herself break a little more when his loving grin responded. "Is it wrong that I want to find out as much as I can?"
Her Dad kissed her forehead, exactly the way he used to do when she was a little girl. "No, it's not."
Aurora stayed out on that boulder well after Thomas had left and the sky had darkened to midnight.
(oOoOoOoOoOo)
New York in the daylight was a sight to behold, full of lights and sounds and smells. But its grandeur was lost on Aurora as she paced her way through the sidewalks, so totally engrossed was she in her mission. She wore traveling clothes, jeans, sneakers and a light sweater and leather jacket, her favorite blue scarf wrapped haphazardly around her neck. She carried nothing but a knap-sack, bewitched with an undetectable extension charm to comfortably keep everything in a smaller space.
She'd taken a portkey from Boston to New York, arriving at the Statue of Liberty, where she apparated from to Times Square early this morning. Now she was on her way to the Chrysler Building, where, unbeknownst to muggles, the headquarters of the American Ministry of Magic resided. To get to London, she'd need to check in there first.
A steady flow of pedestrian traffic walked in and out of those glass, elevator doors, and Aurora seamlessly slipped inside, turning towards the elevators. The one on the far right, with an unexplained chip in the wall, where upon closer examination, a pair of wands intersecting a capital M, could be found. Aurora slipped her wand from her pocket, pressing the tip to the crack and waiting for the tell-tale blue glow to light before concealing it back in its holster inside her jacket. The elevator doors opened and closed directly behind her, keeping any muggles from entering.
"Welcome to the American Ministry of Magic. Please state your business and name." The automatic voice of a clerical woman was clear and polite, but lacked the tone of a real person.
"Aurora Cartwright, travelling to London by portkey," she replied. A small dish, which resembled the scoop where change was dispensed, rattled as a small gold badge dropped into it. It presented:
Aurora Vela Cartwright
Visitor
Travelling
Aurora pinned the button to her jacket, and listened to the woman speak one last time.
"You will need to submit your wand for registration. Have a nice day."
The elevator dropped down, jolting Aurora's stomach to her throat, and came to a similar, uneasy stop, the doors shuddering open to reveal the cool labyrinth of the heart of the Ministry. She stepped out of the metal box, taking in the familiar sights. She'd been coming through here since she'd gotten the job at the Arctic Reserve, and so it was routine when she handed her wand to the wizened witch waiting nearby, a red quill hovering near her ear, waiting to register her.
"Back so soon, Miss Cartwright?" the witch smiled, taking the wand gingerly. Aurora grimaced.
"Urgent business matters, Agatha," she said. The witch laughed.
"Aren't they always urgent matters?" Agatha replied, arching her eyebrow. She pulled out her own wand and gave Aurora's a gentle tap, reading off the gold wording that sprouted from the black tip. With a clear voice, she read, "Ebony wood, dragon heartstring, rigid. Twelve and a half inches."
The quill scribbled the information down, and Agatha handed back the wand, motioning for Aurora to move through the turnstiles. "I imagine I'll be seeing you again," she called, turning to the next wizard in line.
Aurora hurried through the crowded building, turning left at the fork for the travelling department. She passed the Floo Network and the Regulation for Broom Control, finally coming to the check in for International portkeys. A list of pending portkeys glowed on a screen in the center, displaying destinations and departure times. It was updated every few minutes, but Aurora found the one she was looking for and quickly got in its corresponding line. There was only one portkey to London today, on account that it was Sunday, and she couldn't bear to stay in New York another minute, not when so much had to be done.
When it was her turn, she had her identification, passport and galleons ready, eyes firmly planted on her slot. "The London portkey."
The wizard at the desk seemed to take his sweet time as he processed her information, counting out the galleons with relish. It was if he sensed her impatience and had decided to screw with her. At last, he handed her things back, along with a silver ticket, the words LONDON and 11:45 AM printed in green ink. Upon arrival, Aurora knew it would change to red.
"Only one other person travelling to London today," the wizard said genially. Aurora ignored him and weaved her way around the swarming masses, coming to a rest at her gateway, where an old, leather bound book lay, roped off until right before departure time. Seeing as she had a few moments, Aurora went and sat in one of the plastic chairs, catching her breath. She didn't even realize that she wasn't alone, until the tall wizard, dressed in midnight blue robes, spoke to her, his accent undeniably British. It was deep, and strangely reassuring, and Aurora couldn't help but have a sense of deja-vu around him.
"Travelling to London?" he asked, his dark skin contrasting richly with the blue of his robes. Aurora nodded. "First time, I see. Don't worry, it's not as bad as everyone makes it out to be."
"I'm not concerned with London itself," Aurora said. "It's what I'm searching for while there that concerns me." She had no idea why she had just said that; it wasn't like her to just spill her guts to complete strangers. The wizard smiled knowingly, and it was then that Aurora smacked her forehead mentally.
"You're Kingsley Shacklebolt, the British Minister of Magic," she said, taking his slow, confident grin as affirmation.
"And, as your badge clearly states, you must be Aurora Vela Cartwright," Shacklebolt replied, tipping his head towards her. "I believe I met your father, the Auror, Thomas Cartwright? He was quite interested in some of the deaths of some wizards who died in the War."
Aurora turned her head towards the portkey, unsure of what to say. Did the Minister know of the reason her Dad had been so curious? And if he did, had he known her birth father, Sirius?
She didn't get a chance to ask, though, because another automatic voice, this time male, called out to let them know that their portkey would be leaving in exactly one minute, and to assume their positions. Aurora slung her knap-sack over her shoulder, following Kingsley through the ropes and to the tome. Crouching to the ground, she double checked that she had everything she'd need before placing a hand on a corner. The Minister mimicked her movements, and soon, all that Aurora could hear was the automatic voice, counting down the seconds, until she was literally frozen to the book, and her navel was hooked, pulling her into a swirling vortex.
They arrived in the center of what she assumed to be the portkey division of the British Ministry of Magic, and was confirmed of the suspicion when several witches and wizards greeted Kingsley gladly. Even after all this time, Aurora hated the after effects of portkeys more than anything, and it took a bit longer for her head to stop spinning. She was surprised to find Kingsley holding her steady, a kind smile on his face.
"The longer the journey, the worse the spinning," he said, matter of factly. She laughed despite herself.
"Try the one to Greenland," she replied. "It's a real joy."
His grin spread, and something warmed his eyes. Suddenly, a witch came up to Aurora, holding out her hand, a similar floating quill, this one purple, waiting nearby. Aurora handed the witch her wand. They didn't waste any time here in London.
"Good evening, Minister," she said briefly. Kingsley smiled, subjecting his own wand to examination of a youngish looking wizard in bright green robes.
"Good evening, Delta," he replied, laughter quirking the corners of his lips at her brusque demeanor.
Delta tapped Aurora's wand, and began to read. "Ebony wood, rigid, twelve and a half inches in length, with a core of…" Here, she trailed off, confusion creasing her forehead. "It says dragon heartstring, but I've never seen one quite like this."
"It's the heartstring of a female Arctic Icepick," Aurora supplied, watching the witch's eyes widen and then narrow in suspicion.
"My dear girl," she said superiorly. Aurora bristled at the patronizing tone. "There is no such thing as an Arctic Icepick dragon."
"Is that so?" Aurora drawled, sarcasm laced in every word. "Then you might want to tell that to the witches and wizards at the Arctic Dragon Reserve, whose sole job it is to protect and preserve the endangered creatures. They are rare, nearly extinct, and I happened to get that heartstring from a female who died from sustaining wounds while protecting her nest of eggs from dragon poachers; she gave it to me. But surely, if you say that they don't exist, than that wand core of mine is a fake. Or, your own wand has lied to you."
Aurora watched as indignation colored the witch's face, and from the corner of her eye she saw Kingsley, whose examination had ended minutes ago, cover his mouth with a hand, silencing his ill-timed laughter. Delta handed Aurora her wand back and turned without a word.
Kingsley clapped a hand on Aurora's shoulder, shaking his head in a way that made her feel as if he hadn't had a good laugh in a long time.
"You remind me a great deal of him," he said, looking into her eyes. She stood frozen, shock stilling her limbs. "Your father was always ready with a sarcastic tongue, and I'm glad to see it didn't end with him. Here," he said, slipping a piece of parchment into her hand. She wondered when he'd found time to write it. "This will take you to the answers you seek." He stepped away, immediately being flanked by several Ministry aides. He waved, his deep voice travelling despite the distance. "I wish you luck, Aurora Black."
(oOoOoOoOoOoOo)
"Molly, I do believe you've outdone yourself," Arthur Weasley said heartily. Murmurs of agreement sounded around the Burrow kitchen, and the matriarch smiled despite herself. She looked around at her brood, the children she'd had and then ones she'd practically adopted, and gave another sigh of relief that it was finally, and truly over. She stood up, waving her wand with a practiced ease and clearing the dishes.
"Who's up for some treacle tart?" she called, pleased when she received several resounding volunteers.
"Mum," Ginny Weasley said suddenly, her intense gaze trained at the back window. "Someone's at the back gate."
Immediately, the men were on their feet, wands at the ready. Most especially was the wiry young man, green eyes framed in round-rimmed glasses, who stepped in front of Ginny as if it were second nature. His head of unruly black hair was a stark contrast to the sea of flame, but for Harry Potter, the Weasleys were his family, and he would die before letting any of them get hurt again.
"Bloody reporters," Arthur swore. "Can't let Harry alone for a week, can they?"
Wand still raised, Arthur led the charge into the back yard, flanked by his sons, Harry, who was good as, Ginny, Hermione Granger and Molly.
Standing by the gate, looking quite startled at the army of people descending on her, was a girl, around the same age as Ginny, and by no means a reporter, or a threat. Sensing this, Harry lowered his wand, initiating a similar response in everyone else. He moved to the front of the group, taking in the appearance of a girl who'd been travelling.
She was tall, around five-eight, with a body that any man, taken or single, would admire. Her skin was smooth and pale as porcelain, and she had aristocratic features that seemed to echo a face Harry had known before, and she was beautiful. Not his type, but still striking. She had thick, raven black hair, which reached down to her waist in effortless waves, and high arching brows and an expressive mouth. Each of her ears had three piercings, and she wore another ring on a silver chain around her swanlike throat. She was dressed in muggle wear, totally comfortable, despite her strange surroundings.
"Who are you?" Harry asked, unable to keep the accusatory tone from his voice.
Her gaze, which had been flickering from each of the Weasleys' faces and wands, zeroed in on him with a focus that surprised him. It was then he noticed that she was clutching a black wand in her right hand, in a relaxed pose that said she had been ready for a fight, it ready she needed to be.
"My name is Aurora Cartwright," she said clearly, her voice a ringing soprano, spoken with a familiar cadence to it. Harry couldn't understand how it could be familiar though, because he'd never met an American witch in his life. "Except, my last name isn't Cartwright, not anymore. Not since I found out that the man who's been raising me the last eighteen years isn't my biological father."
Her eyes were fixed on Harry, and with a breathless gasp, he felt as if someone had socked him in the stomach. He'd never truly understood what people meant when they said he had his mother, Lily's, eyes. But now, he knew. He understood.
The face…the smooth lilt…even the way she held her wand, firmly but loose enough, as if to say, 'I could take you in my sleep.'
But those eyes…steel gray and almond shaped, more expressive when they were angered or burdened by sadness.
It was like looking at his dead godfather all over again.
"My name is Aurora Vela Black," the girl said. "I'm Sirius's daughter."
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