Aurora dreamt of a giant black dog with her father's pale eyes, and of a woman screaming and begging for her daughter's life. She woke early, tears clinging to her eyelashes, and wiped them away furiously. This meant nothing, she told herself. He was a Blood Traitor, he was guilty of that if nothing else. He was her father. It didn't matter.

She sat with Stella in her lap for what felt like hours, watching Gwen idly and lost in her thoughts until her roommate finally stirred and startled at the sight of Aurora.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"Just thinking," she said quietly. Her thumb rubbed over the silver ring on her finger. The family ring. Toujours pur. Her family, not his. He didn't matter, he'd turned his back on her family, their family - but what about her? He'd left her too, and yet she couldn't bring herself to the conclusion that he didn't care about her. Maybe that was wishful thinking. Maybe she was just desperate. Maybe she just wanted answers.

Maybe she needed a break.

"It's almost Christmas!" She forced herself to smile and dug out a box from under her bed, tossing it to Gwen. "Don't open it until the twenty fourth."

Gwen grinned and passed a small silver bag stuffed with blue tissue paper over to Aurora. "Likewise."

Potter didn't turn up to breakfast, even though Aurora looked for him. Granger and Weasley were whispering, though, looking worried.

The students all left early, just after breakfast, and the rattling of the Hogwarts Express underneath her was almost comforting. Aurora, not wanting to talk about anything that had happened the day before, read the last of her Arithmancy textbook. It occurred to her then, that she should have asked her father something, if only because it could help her school work. What was her middle name? She was sure she must have one.

Christmas at the Tonkses' was a riotous affair from the moment Dora met Aurora off the Hogwarts Express and Floo'ed them home. It was already hung with bright red and green paper chains which Dora had apparently made when she was a child, and the Christmas tree sparkled like it had been simply drenched in glitter. "We always do it on the twelfth," Dora told her. "It's tradition."

"It looks great," Aurora said. Though it wasn't quite her taste, the level of glitter was certainly festive in its own way.

Dora took her out to fly in the snow, congratulated her on the Quidditch win again, and was generally adept at distracting her from her thoughts. But by the evening, Aurora found herself constantly looking out the window, expecting to see a dark shadow of a dog standing there, watching. She knew she ought to have told someone. But Dumbledore already seemed to think she was helping her father, McGonagall she was sure would fall in line with him, and her own Head of House hated her. She didn't trust anybody enough to say anything, and she didn't want to implicate Dora, get her involved in something that could jeopardise the job she had worked so hard for. Her father hadn't hurt her, and getting down here from Hogwarts would take him a long time anyway. Potter was still at the school — he always stayed there over holidays, and she hadn't seen him on the train at all — and even if her father was lying and was after Potter, he would stay up there. She tried to trust that she was safe, but the worry haunted her even so.

-*

Come Christmas Eve, they opened three presents each underneath the tree, and all the Tonkses seemed pleased with theirs. Aurora was glad, considering what had happened just after her shopping trip, that nothing had been damaged. From Dora, she received a hamper of chocolate and Quidditch gloves; from Andromeda and Ted a new deep blue winter cloak.

She was nervous for Christmas Day, though. Ted's side of the family were visiting. The Muggles. In addition to his parents, he had two sisters who would be coming too, and they both had children - Muggle children, and between them there included a sixteen year old boy, a twelve year old girl, an eleven year old girl, two seven year old boys, and a five year old girl. Aurora was dreading it. The twelve and eleven year olds she could handle, the sixteen year old would probably hang around with the adults and Dora, but the words 'seven year old twin boys' struck terror in her. With the exception of Jessie, kids generally didn't like her and she didn't much like them when they got so mucky. Plus, the appeal of being a witch probably didn't apply to kids who had known Dora their whole lives.

"You'll be grand," Dora told her as they went down to open the rest of their gifts in the morning. "Dan's a bit moody, but that'll suit you fine." She grinned at the unimpressed look on Aurora's face. "Lauren and Ellie are great, Adam and Charlie are loud but they're a lot of fun, and Katie's dead sweet."

"I don't think they'll like me."

"Well not if you scowl at them," Dora said, and ruffled her hair. "Cheer up, munch. It's Christmas!"

"Don't call me munch," Aurora muttered in response, shrugging Dora off.

She could sense the girl rolling her eyes. "What's up with that? You've been in a bad mood ever since you got back from school."

"So?"

Aurora couldn't tell Dora anything about why, but she couldn't deny she was in a bad mood. She'd been in a bad mood since September — but Dora couldn't know about Aurora meeting Sirius or it would put her in danger, and Aurora couldn't tell any of them about her only recently-resolved fight with Draco because she knew exactly what they would tell her.

"So, Mum's worried about you. We all are." Dora frowned. "I know this must be really tough for you."

"I'm fine. As much as I can be."

Dora sighed heavily. "You know we all want to make sure you're alright. You can talk to us, especially Mum. You don't have to keep it all to yourself, Aurora." She sounded serious, which was rare. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. I'd feel better if we could just go downstairs and get today over with."

"Aurora, you can tell me what's going on. If anyone's giving you shit for this—"

"I just said I'm fine!" At the look on Dora's face, she softened somewhat, and leaned against the bannister. "People are suspicious of me, but it isn't so different from usual. It's just that some of my friends — it's all complicated." Dora pursed her lips. They both knew why it was complicated even if Aurora didn't want to admit it. "But I'll be fine. Hopefully he'll be caught soon. The Ministry are doing all they can — you know Fudge came to Hogwarts?"

Dora nodded. "I would have warned you if I'd known in advance. Mum was furious that they went there, with no notice, having you on your own."

"I understand why they wanted to speak to me," she said grouchily. "Even though it was unnecessary." She shook her head, tossing her hair. "But I'm fine. Now come on, Nymphadora."

"Don't call me Nymphadora," Dora replied with a sigh, but she knew this conversation was over.

She pulled a face as she headed down the final stairs and into the living room, where Andromeda and Ted were already waiting in their dressing gowns, sipping coffee. "There you are. Tea's in the kitchen, Aurora, and coffee for you, Nymphadora."

They both took their drinks silently and sat down, Aurora sipping elegantly. She didn't know the typical procedure for a Tonks Christmas, and tried to figure it out through the idle chatter that the three of them passed. Only after Andromeda had finished her coffee did they start opening gifts — she was the leader. Andromeda expressed very confusing excitement over a kettle with insulation charms, while Dora laughed loudly at a pair of self-eating scissors one of her old school friends had sent. Aurora supposed it was funny.

Aurora's presents came in an assortment; a box of sugar quills and new hair ribbons from Pansy, a book about Astrology from Draco, an elaborately decorated Muggle-style journal from Gwendolyn, chocolate frogs from Robin, and a selection of books put together by Theodore. She was pleased with her gifts, and especially interested on one of the books Theodore had sent — The Use of Deep Magics in the Giant Wars — but her eye was drawn by a final, small package that awaited her when she went upstairs to her room to write thank you letters and get changed for the rest of the Tonkses' family arriving.

Confused, she laid her gifts down on her bed and gingerly approached the small box, which a small tawny owl stood by. The owl hooted and pecked the back of Aurora's hand. Hands shaking a little bit, she untied the letter from around the owl's leg. Surely not. Surely he wouldn't have been so stupid and rude as to send her something today.

She unfurled the note first, closing her door so that Dora wouldn't see.

My Aurora,

I'm sorry for upsetting you, I truly am. All I want is for you to be happy, and I sincerely hope that you are. If there is anything you need, or anything you want to ask, I trust you will find a way. I wasn't sure what sort of gift a teenage girl might like, but I hope you like this one.

Be careful, and enjoy your Christmas.

Her blood seemed to have gone cold. He really had sent her a gift — the stupid, senseless idiot. And what if the letter had gotten intercepted? It wouldn't have taken too much guesswork to figure out that it had been sent by her father. She would have to get in touch with the goblins — where had the money come from and how, exactly, had he managed to access his vault anyway? They hadn't even alerted her, and surely hadn't told the Ministry — though she knew goblins didn't much care for the Ministry anyway.

Then she realised he had also had no assurances that she wasn't going to tell anyone about him hiding out in Hogsmeade or being an illegal Animagus. She'd just left him in her fury, and yet he took a risk to send this present to her... Whatever it was.

It was so stupid of him. Stupid and, somehow, sentimental.

Aurora wasn't really sure she wanted to touch it. She didn't need anything from her father, and she had plenty of gifts already from people she actually cared about. Maybe this gift was even cursed. It could be, she'd be a fool to touch it. Yet. Well. He probably hadn't cursed it. He hadn't cursed the gift he sent her for her birthday, after all. She told herself just to open the damn box and get it over with, but she couldn't. Instead, she re-read the letter to herself twice, soaking in the words, and tore it into tiny pieces, stuffing them into a little bag. There. Now no one would find it. She'd burn it when she got the chance.

But the box. It had been wrapped in silver paper, and looked vaguely expensive, but she had no idea how her father could have gone into a shop and bought her something considering he was the most wanted man in the country. What if it wasn't from him at all, she worried to herself. What if this was a test?

Well, she wouldn't find out by staring at it. She slipped on a thick pair of gloves and tentatively unwrapped the paper around it to reveal a black box with what looked like scales engraved in it. There was a lump in her throat as she took the lid off, which revealed a silver chain necklace with a strange, round pendant hanging from the end. Her thumb brushed over it as the colours shifted, deep blue to bright green to soft pink, and her breath caught in her throat as she realised what it was.

An Aurora Borealis.

Hands shaking, she let the necklace slip from between her fingers and had to scramble to retrieve it from where it fell underneath her chest of drawers. The lights on the pendant were moving, seeming to pulse, and her fingertips found the little catch at the edge of the circle, the opening of a locket. She swallowed, fingers fumbling as she opened it.

There was a picture inside, small and wrinkled a faded, of a little baby girl sitting in a crib, staring up at the camera. That was her. She couldn't breathe for a second. That was her and her father had sent this gift and it was a completely stupid thing to do, but looking at it, she felt something she hadn't felt in a while and she couldn't look away. She had to force herself to snap the locket shut, to shove it in a drawer and hurriedly get ready, clipping on a pair of earrings and a different necklace before she went downstairs for Christmas lunch. Just because he'd sent her a Christmas present didn't mean he cared, didn't mean she should care, didn't mean anything he'd said was true. And yet she couldn't stop thinking about it. He was family, but he wasn't. He'd turned his back on his family.

But so had Andromeda. And sitting in the living room with the Tonkses, she knew that Andromeda cared for her, and Aurora cared for her in return. But it was different. She didn't know how, but it was.

Because she told herself that it had to be.

-*

The Tonks side of the family arrived at a quarter to two and from the moment they arrived, spilling over the doorway, Aurora was on edge. She didn't know how much they knew about magic — especially the younger ones, who, from the way they immediately started yapping about biscuits for Santa and every single gift they received, had no filter whatsoever — or about her. She didn't know quite what place to fill, what space to occupy, and hung back as the Tonkses greeted one another.

"And this is Aurora?" asked Ted's brown-haired sister — Gillian — eyeing her with curiosity, an eager note in her voice. She tried not to squirm as everyone's eyes turned on her. Gillian and Steven had their two daughters held firmly by the hand; an older girl who Aurora had learned was Lauren, with light blonde hair, and the littlest Tonks, a positively tiny girl with a mass of curly brown hair who stared up at Aurora from across the room while her sister scrambled towards Dora, telling her everything she had gotten from 'Santa Claus'.

Aurora's words stuck in her throat. "That's me," she told Gillian, wincing as she gave what had to be the most awkward little wave ever. "It's lovely to meet you at last."

"Oh, the honour's all ours," Gillian said, beaming as she crossed the room, making a beeline for Aurora. She tried not to squirm as the woman, who she would wager had already had a drink or two, hugged her tightly. When she released her, she was beaming. "We've heard so much. You'll have to tell me all about yourself, of course. I can't begin to tell you how excited we all were to hear there would be a fresh face at the Christmas table this year. And I'll bet you've never had a Christmas like a Tonks Christmas before."

Aurora was spared from the implications of that sentence by the doorbell ringing shrilly again. "Oh, that'll be Liz!" Gillian said cheerfully, rushing off, Andromeda wincing as she followed.

It was not merely 'Liz' but what seemed to be an absolute mob running through the hallway. In truth, most of the commotion seemed to have been caused by the two twin boys, who barrelled into the room and almost knocked Ted off his feet, yelling at him to help them set up something called a Leg-Oh. Their mother, a dark-haired woman, rushed in apologetically, holding stacks of presents and food and kissing her nieces on the cheeks.

Behind her came a lanky teenaged boy — Dan — who went immediately to Dora, smacked her hand, and said, "Wotcher, Tonks."

"Wotcher, Tonks," Dora said in response, grinning. "And Merry Christmas."

Dan scowled. "Is not. We've all been awake since six this morning, and Adam and Charlie haven't shut up since." Dora just laughed, as the last child, a dark-haired teenage girl — Ellie — came in gossiping to two people who could only be Ted's parents.

It was strange to see them all. Everyone was in Muggle clothes, of course, but they also seemed to be caught in an unofficial competition to see who could wear the most horrific jumper, and even the grandparents were in on it. Aurora felt suddenly self-conscious of her silver and green robes, even though Dora had approved the choice.

"You're the Aurora girl, then?" Dan said, looking over at her, and she gave a stilted nod. "Can you do the thing too?"

She blinked. "Do you mean magic?"

"No — I mean, yeah, but the thing where you change how you look."

"Er, no," Aurora said quickly, glancing at Dora, who had been set upon by little Katie and had changed her nose into a toucan's beak. She wondered if she could sprout antlers. "No, it is inherited from my side of the family — well, obviously — but I don't have that gene. I'm just a regular witch."

Dan stared at her, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Right. Cool."

All of the introductions after that were painful. All of the Tonkses seemed fascinated, but in the most unsettling way possible..

"We've hardly met anyone from Andromeda's family," Gillian told her, butting into the polite conversation she had been holding with Ted's parents, Cathy and Bill, "with reason of course, but even so. You do look something like her, I suppose. A bit on the short side."

"Thanks," Aurora said, well aware of the stiltedness of her voice, and pointedly ignoring the last comment. "It, er... It really is nice to get to meet you. It's so lovely to have a family Christmas."

Gillian waved her hand. "Andromeda, how have you managed to find a well-mannered girl? Nymphadora, you've hardly said a word to me — come on, tell Auntie Gill about this job you're training for."

The Nymphadora in question ground her teeth and Aurora took that as her cue to slip away from Gillian's grasp, slightly disturbed by the woman's enthusiasm for people. Andromeda seemed bothered too, and Aurora caught the exasperated glance between her and Ted, like a comment of that nature came out every year. She noted it, and went through to the kitchen to help Liz, who seemed to have taken up the mantle of kitchen organiser and was going daft trying to stack Christmas crackers.

"Anything I can assist with?" Aurora asked from the doorway, praying that she didn't have to do any cooking, because the Tonkses' kitchen had some strange mixes of electrical appliances and she was still slightly scared to meddle with anything more complex than the toaster.

"Oh, no, no," Liz said, shaking her head. "I do this every year, Andromeda and Ted'll be through in a moment, and Cathy, I'm sure." She smiled warmly at Aurora. "If you want to be useful, Adam and Charlie usually interrogate Dora about magic for at least an hour, but I'm sure they'd be excited to hear from you too."

"Oh." Aurora flushed. "Well, I'm not so sure I'm as entertaining as Dora. I can't turn my nose into a pig snout."

Liz laughed. "I do wish she'd stop doing that with them, they're going to get ideas." She winked though.

"So," Aurora said, having chanced a glance back at the chaotic living room and deciding it was not quite time to return, "you know all about magic, then? Even the little ones?"

Liz shrugged. "It's been difficult to keep it secret, really. Especially with Dora, when she was younger, she couldn't control the meta..." She winced. "Metamorph... Ing?" Aurora nodded — she was close enough. "Yeah, that. So obviously Dan knew, and Ellie and Lauren figured it out and at that point it was too tricky to hide that at Christmas and keep the Santa secret in. They just know they're not allowed to tell anyone, although even if they did, at their age no one would really believe them."

"And how much have Ted and Andromeda told you about me?" she asked, watching Liz's reaction carefully. She did fumble with the puddings slightly.

"I know about who your dad is, if that's what you're trying to ask." Aurora averted her gaze. "We know Andromeda's family has... Some issues. The kids don't really know much, apart from Dan, and if Ellie and Lauren have cottoned on they haven't said anything to anyone. But so long as it isn't doing them any harm." She shrugged. "I'll admit I was a bit worried about it all, coming here to visit today, but I know Andromeda does all her defense things and has all those — what do you call them — those wards up around the place, and they haven't had a problem. And they both tell me you're a lovely young lady. You're family now."

Aurora twisted the ring on her finger, thinking of the necklace and her father's note. He hadn't exactly given the impression that he would be rushing across the country any time soon, but it still unnerved her. Perhaps coming back here for Christmas hadn't been such a good idea. "Right. Well, um, thank you? Are you sure you don't want a hand?"

But at that moment Andromeda and Ted came in with Cathy and a loudly complaining Gillian, and she was shooed out into the living room with the rest of the children.

Aurora was certain she had never had such an exhausting Christmas Day. Christmas with the Black family was always a rather restrained affair. The closest it had ever veered to exciting was when she was nine and the Malfoys joined them instead of Lucius' family, and she and Draco had been excused after pudding to play games by themselves in the library. Hogwarts Christmases were extravagant affairs, but Aurora had never been particularly celebratory, either mentally scolding the Weasleys for their loudness while she sat alone, or having their after-dinner fun spoiled by Potter and Weasley stealing her friends' identities.

The Tonks definitely did Christmas differently. The children had their own table, where Adam and Charlie had placed some sort of cushion down just as Ellie had went to sit on her chair, and caused her and Lauren both to squeal in indignation. With all the noise, Aurora was glad she had been adopted into the adult table, where talk was at least civilised and at a polite volume, even if she wasn't particularly involved in it.

At night, as they were heading to their respective beds, Aurora asked Dora about Dementors.

"You will still teach me?" she asked quietly on the stairs.

"Of course." Dora patted her shoulders. "I said I would, didn't I? Can't have Slytherin's star player put down." She winked, but Aurora's stomach sank. "Not that," Dora started quickly, "I certainly don't think — oh, blast it, you know what I mean. They're horrible things, those Dementors. We've had a few training assignments on Azkaban, more recently — with the... You know. I'm always cold afterwards. Still have to get Dad to make me a hot chocolate. I'd hate to see them around a school."

"They make me faint when I'm near them," Aurora whispered, not meeting Dora's eyes. "And I can hear... Well, I think I can hear my mother."

Dora's face fell and before Aurora knew what was happening, she had wrapped her into a tight hug. "Oh, I'm so sorry. That must be awful."

"Yeah." She was tense with Dora's arms around her but after a second, it wasn't so awful. It was almost comforting. "It is."

"Look, we're on break from for the next few days. You're not meant to practice magic, but Dad won't care, Mum'll be out, and we've got that many wards up around the place at the moment that it interferes with the magic energy signal, and they won't really be able to tell, especially since you're around other wizards. Just as long as we don't go overboard with it."

"I know that," she said.

"Exactly. We're meant to keep you in check, but these are exceptional circumstances." She winked. "I'll cover for you, just don't let on to anyone at school. The charm to get rid of them is difficult — loads of people struggle with it, I wouldn't have bothered so much if I didn't have to learn it in training — but even just knowing the incantation might help set you at ease." She grinned. "And plenty of chocolate."

Aurora laughed despite herself. "Thank you, Dora."

-*

They got to work two days after Boxing Day. Andromeda was having lunch with friends, and Ted roaming around the garden, though Aurora had no idea what he was doing.

She and Dora were in the attic, where there was a large bag hanging from the ceiling. "It's a punching bag," Dora said. "I use it to train for physical combat work."

"Do you do a lot of that?" Aurora asked, noting the wear and tear around the wrappings of the bag.

"A little. Not so much now I can go into the Ministry's facilities. But it could be useful. Imagine it's a Dementor."

Aurora stared between her and it.

"It's bright red, Dora."

"I said imagine," Dora repeated with a grin, and a sigh for dramatic flair.

Aurora pursed her lips, glaring at the punching bag. It was nothing like a real Dementor. She didn't hear her mother screaming, didn't remember Arcturus dying, didn't feel like she would never be happy again. She was in a warm attic with someone she trusted and feeling, frankly, ridiculous, staring down a red bag hanging from the ceiling.

"Now what do I do?" she asked, gripping her wand. She was still somewhat apprehensive about using it here, half-convinced the Ministry was going to rain down on her head — and that was the last thing she needed.

"Think of your happiest memory."

Aurora raised her eyebrows. She had done her research, and the writing all said this was the case, but it sounded ridiculous. Happiest memory. "Really."

Indignant, Dora said, "Yes, really! That's what you have to do."

"That's ridiculous."

Dora shrugged. "That's just how it works. It is a charm, after all."

Charms had never been Aurora's favourite class, for a reason. "How does it work, then?"

"The Dementors feed off of negative emotions and your worst memories and fears. That's what makes them so debilitating. It's what drives prisoners in Azkaban mad." She tensed at that. "I don't say that to — oh, you know what. To counter a Dementor, you need to fight them with positive emotions, and you need to retain that positive feeling. You can't give into the negative — that's what they want. The positive emotion, and the pure power of the Patronus, that's what drives them away."

"That also sounds ridiculous."

Dora sighed and stared at the ceiling. "Aurora, it may sound ridiculous, but it works."

"Right." Aurora wished she had had the opportunity to do some more background reading, if only to gain a better grip on the subject. It all felt so vague and loosely-defined and hazy. Charms had never been her best subject — Transfiguration was precise, Defense was wilful, Potions was measured, but Charms was pure intuition and emotion, things that had never been quite her strong suit.

"You have to think about it carefully. It has to be a clear memory, and have a strong emotion. The happiest thing you can think of."

Aurora's mind was blank. "What's yours?" she asked, stalling.

"My Patronus?" Dora grinned, and said loudly, "Expecto patronum!"

A bright silver jack rabbit shot out from the tip of her wand, lighting up the room. It hopped around the base of the sparring dummy, hurried over to Aurora and then back to Dora, who waved her wand again and let it dissipate. The light faded. Aurora gaped.

"You did that with a happy memory?"

"The happiest," she said. "The day I got into Auror training. Proved pretty useful considering what I use the Patronus for now."

Aurora bit her lip, trying to think of something that could match the fierce joy of Dora's Patronus. What meant enough to her that it could provide such strong magic?

"It's alright if you can't think of anything immediately," Dora told her, as though she could tell what was on her mind. "Any good memory will do for practicing the first time."

She couldn't go very far back in her memories. Most of her childhood memories were tainted by the fact that the people in them were all dead. Anything from this year had the mark of the Dementors and her father hanging over it, and second year she'd been mixed up and afraid her roommate might get murdered.

Halloween. First year. She had been second out of all her Slytherin classmates in the House initiation and had truly felt that she was living up to the person she was meant to be. She had known Lucretia would be proud of her when she wrote, and she felt like she was soaring when she took pride in her own work, her own creation.

"You ready?" Dora asked, grinning.

"'Course I'm ready," she told her, trying to replicate that same grin.

"It's not going to be fully formed right away," Dora warned, and Aurora tried not to be annoyed by it. "It's really tricky magic, you might not get anything."

It was a charm, after all. Charms were emotional, they weren't precise like transformations or forceful like jinxes or measured like potions. But she needed to learn it, so she would.

She focused on the evening that she became a Slytherin, when she could feel the magic of the castle and the dungeons wrapping around her, embracing her. She remembered clutching the bust of her founder, and smiling around at her friends and she said as crisply as she could, pronouncing every syllable, "Expecto patronum!

Nothing happened. She could feel magic pulse through her, felt it run right to her wand, but it just didn't escape. She couldn't let it out.

"Expecto patronum," she repeated, more forcefully.

"Concentrate on the memory," Dora advised.

Her voice sounded far away as Aurora tried to focus on the words that bound her to her house, her friends, her family.

"Expecto patronum!" There was a small movement, like slightly grey smoke, from the end of her wand. It was entirely possible that Aurora had imagined it. "Expecto patronum!" Another wisp, slightly blue, but it dissipated quickly in the air.

Aurora turned to Dora, who was frowning. "You've got something," she told her, "but it needs to be stronger, and the colouring is wrong, which likely means you haven't quite got the right emotion nailed down."

She tried not to show her frustration. "Well, it's a happy memory, that's what you said!"

"It has to be made of pure joy," Dora said, and Aurora thought fleetingly, with a stab of annoyance, it was the most ridiculously Hufflepuff sentence that her cousin had ever said.

"Fine," she said, trying to think of something else. There were many things that brought her joy, but she wasn't sure which of them would also qualify as powerful.

"And don't overthink it," Dora added. "You have to rely on the emotion."

Brilliant, Aurora thought, trying to latch onto something. Perhaps, she thought, she could use the memory of her birthday two years ago, with all her friends around her and feeling for the first time that she had people she belonged with, people that she had chosen mostly for herself, her first new friends at Hogwarts. She remembered Pansy's laughter, Draco's grin, Millicent's easy chatter, and the feeling that she was surrounded by joy.

That had to work, she thought, clinging to that feeling as she held her wand out before her, took a deep breath in and thought back to that night, crying, "Expecto patronum!"

This time, the wisp that came out was pure silver, so bright it bordered on white starlight. She thought she had it, thought it might become something, but it curled away just as soon as it burst out. Her heart fell.

"That was good!" Dora said, grinning.

"It held for all of two seconds!"

"It's your first time," Dora told her encouragingly. "You produced something, a lot of people can't do that on their first go."

She wanted to point out that really this wasn't the first time, she had tried twice today, and neither attempt was anything near impressive. "It isn't about the showiness," Dora said as though she could tell exactly what Aurora was thinking. "I was really annoyed that I couldn't get mine to take on any sort of form for months."

"But mine just looked pathetic."

Dora chuckled wryly. "Aurora, it is a really difficult charm. You can practice, and based on that, I'm sure that even if it takes a long time, you will manage it."

She frowned, and leaned against the chest of drawers. "How long? Charms aren't usually so difficult to pick up."

"This is a Patronus Charm," Dora said. "It is quite a bit beyond third year level. We didn't even touch on it til my seventh year — Charms and Defense had to team up, it needs that extra power behind the feeling to make it work." Aurora pursed her lips. "I know you want to get things right first time, but no one gets the Patronus right first time. You did good."

"I'll try it again," she said determinedly.

"Three more times," Dora said. "The Patronus can take a lot out of you, and Mum'd kill me if I let you use too much magic. But don't get too upset if it still doesn't work right. It'll take time."

"I'm not upset," Aurora muttered, and Dora gave her a knowing look. "Just frustrated."

She tried to let the emotion take over this time. Her friends laughing, her beaming, feeling at home and glad that she could share this moment with this. "Expecto patronum!"

It was much the same as the last time. The spell came out like faint threads, twisting in the air and then disappearing into nothing. The second time, it seemed slightly stronger — she could feel the magic running in her veins and brushing through her arms. Still, even after the third time she could get hardly anything more than those faint silver wisps, and she deflated. The magic just didn't take hold like it should.

"It was still good," Dora told her, when they went back downstairs. She had promised hot chocolate, even though there were no Dementor effects to deal with — Aurora just felt annoyed with herself, no matter how much Dora insisted that she had nothing to be upset about. She knew the charm was difficult to perform, but that didn't mean she didn't hate failing at it. "You'll be able to practice at Hogwarts too, just don't overdo it — I'd say you should ask a teacher to supervise, Flitwick might help you out if you ask."

Aurora frowned. Flitwick was alright, as teachers went — certainly better than Snape — but she didn't want to fail in front of him. "I want to practice again tomorrow," she said.

"I've got work, and Mum won't let you. You really shouldn't be practicing magic here at all. But now you know what to do, you can work on it at school, where you won't get in trouble." Dora leaned against the kitchen counter, flicking her wand to make the cocoa powder soar out of the cupboard, and summoning milk from the fridge.

"What if I don't get it though? What if the Dementors come onto the train when I'm on my way back?"

Dora sighed, and reached out a hand to Aurora's shoulder. It rested there for a second, before Dora made a move to hug her. "Even a little bit is better than nothing," she told Aurora, holding her tightly. The warmth did settle her slightly. "You'll be alright. I know you'll get it. You go back on the third, right?" She nodded. "In the meantime, you can focus on thinking of a memory that might work. Trying to think of anything that sparks joy."

But Aurora had no idea what that could be. Even if rationally she knew that Dora was right, and she couldn't possibly expect herself to pick up an advanced charm first time, and she was tired after trying it, she was disappointed. But she resolved, as she and Dora set about making two mugs of hot chocolate, that she would find something to make it work. She had to make it work.