Considering there was an escaped mass murderer on the loose, Harry Potter felt his first illicit venture into Hogsmeade village had been going quite well — until the Minister for Magic walked into the Three Broomsticks, flanked by McGonagall, Flitwick and Hagrid, coming straight towards him. Before Harry could even think what to do, Ron and Hermione had shoved him firmly underneath their table, out of view.

Harry's heart pounded, as Hermione swiftly moved a nearby Christmas tree to sit in front of their table, hiding him from view behind evergreen branches. He had been stupid — it was the last day of term for teachers too, and they were all down here. He couldn't sneak out now, he'd be seen, but he needed to get back to Honeydukes before it closed or else he wouldn't be able to get back to school at all.

Hermione's leg twitched nervously and Harry crouched, slightly shaky, as Madam Rosmerta handed out the teachers' drinks. "So, Minister," she asked lowly as she returned, "what brings you to this neck of the woods? You aren't questioning the Black girl again?"

Harry's heart pounded louder at the name. The Minister had been questioning her? He wasn't exactly surprised — Aurora Black had always come off as slightly suspicious to him, even though he'd never really proven her to be up to no good. But she got under his skin like no one else did, not even Malfoy.

"Not this time, no." Fudge's lower body twisted as though he were looking around for eavesdroppers. Turning back, he lowered his voice, and Harry listened closer, nervous. "Truth be told, I don't honestly think she does know anything of use to us."

Rosmerta made a clucking sound. "She was in here on the last visit. Perfectly normal child, if you ask me. Reminded me of her mother more than anyone else."

That was an uncomfortable thought, for reasons Harry couldn't quite bring himself to understand. He had never thought of Aurora Black's mother — well, why would he have reason to?

"Well, I couldn't say..." Fudge trailed off. "But I am here because of Sirius Black, yes. You know what happened at Halloween, don't you — that was the same date of that last visit? With all the students out here today, we have extra precautions." Harry felt his cheeks heat up inadvertently, and crouched closer to the ground.

"So you think Black's still in the area, then, Minister?"

"I'm sure of it."

"You know those Dementors of yours have been to my pub twice now, don't you?" Madam Rosmerta didn't sound impressed in the least. "Scared half my customers away, they aren't exactly good for business, but I can assure you I'm not hiding Sirius Black in the men's loos."

"Necessary precautions, Rosmerta," said Fudge, sounding uncomfortable. "I don't like them any more than you do. It's an unfortunate circumstance... I've met some of them myself, just now. They're furious at Dumbledore, he won't let them anywhere near the castle."

"I should think not," McGonagall said sharply. "Students have already been affected by them, I don't know how we're meant to teach properly with them hanging about!"

"Hear, hear!" cried Professor Flitwick's voice.

"All the same." Fudge's body twisted around again. "They're here to protect us all from something much worse. We all know what Sirius Black is capable of..."

There was a still silence before Madam Rosmerta said thoughtfully, "Do you know, I still have trouble believing it. Of all the people to go over to the Dark side, Sirius Black was the last person I would have thought... I mean, I remember him as a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he'd become, I'd say you'd had too much mead."

"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta." Fudge's voice grew lower still and Harry strained to hear. "The worst he did isn't very widely known."

Madam Romserta's voice was curious as she asked, "The worst? What could be worse than murdering all those people?"

Fudge's foot scuffed against the floor, seeming somewhat agitated.

"You remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta?" Professor McGonagall asked. "And do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Naturally." Rosmerta gave a small laugh. "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here — oh, how they used to make me laugh! Quite the double act they were — Sirius Black and James Potter!"

All the warmth ran out of Harry's body and he dropped his empty tankard of Butterbeer with a thud. His stomach felt suddenly empty. His dad and Sirius Black... Had been friends?

"Precisely," said McGonagall in her crisp voice. "Black and Potter were both the ringleaders of their little gang. Both bright — exceptionally bright, if I'm honest — but I don't think we've seen such a pair of troublemakers."

"I dunno." Hagrid chuckled. "I reckon those Weasley twins might give them a run for their money."

"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" Flitwick chirped, and Harry felt sick. The air around him seemed too warm. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "They were inseparable!"

"Why, of course they were. Potter trusted Black above anyone. And that didn't change once they left Hogwarts. Best man to one another at their weddings, and then when Black and his wife — Marlene McKinnon, and we all remember what happened to her family, absolutely dreadful — when they had their child, Black named the Potters godparents. A year later, when the Potters had Harry, James and Lily named Black and Marlene godparents to their own little boy. Harry has no idea of course — I don't know about the girl — the idea would torment him so, you understand?"

Harry clutched onto the leg of their table, like someone clinging to a rock to keep from drowning. If Sirius Black was his godfather then that made Aurora his — his godsister. Had she known? He had no idea. She was the most impossible person to understand, but he wouldn't have been surprised if she did know. It wasn't like she would ever had reason to tell him.

"It's worse even than that," Fudge was saying to Rosmerta. "Not many know that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, of course, he was working tirelessly against You-Know-Who at the time, and he had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off and he alerted James and Lily at once, advising them to go into hiding. Of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore recommended they used a Fidelius Charm."

"How does that work?"

"An immensely complex spell," Flitwick said in his squeaky voice. "Involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret Keeper, and impossible to know. Unless, of course, the Secret Keeper tells someone. So long as their Secret Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where the Potters were staying for years and still never find them."

"So Black," Rosmerta said breathlessly, "he was the Potters' Secret Keeper?"

"Naturally," said McGonagall. Harry wasn't sure how he was still managing to breathe, his chest felt so tight with anger at the information. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would rather die than give them up. Black was in hiding himself at the time — he had a Muggleborn wife after all, and a child by her. Dumbledore insisted that the Secret Keeper be him, but Potter wouldn't hear of it." Harry was beginning to feel very ill indeed, hardly understanding what he was hearing.

"He suspected Black?"

"Oh, I don't know if he did back then. Black had always seemed devoted to the Potters, and to Marlene McKinnon, but you know what that family's like. Ashamed of anything less than pure, and once Regulus Black went missing, the house went into meltdown, and Sirius with it. He could easily have turned sides, if he thought they would welcome him back into the fold, if it'd be safer. And Dumbledore knew someone close to the Potters was giving information about them. Someone had turned traitor."

"But they still used Black?"

"Indeed they did, in the Summer. At the end of that August, Sirius Black and his wife wound up with the Death Eaters. The story goes, Black had led her there, with their child, little Aurora — she must not even have been two years old at the time — to give themselves up. Safer than fighting — he was still pureblood, and the last heir of the Black family, he still had some power in those circles. But Marlene fought them, she got in the way — two of her brothers were wizards too, Daniel and Callum, and her whole family was under threat. Black gave his daughter up, so it goes — he wouldn't divulge much, as you can imagine — and Dumbledore says they worked all sorts of curses on her — a half-blood in the Black family simply wouldn't do, after all. Black kept saying over and over, it was his fault, that he never meant it to happen. Dumbledore let him alone, he was grieving, he wanted to believe that Sirius hadn't taken them there, that the Death Eaters had come for the girl all on their own. But Marlene McKinnon was murdered that night, in the middle of the fighting. And you remember her family were Muggles? Their house was set on fire that same night. Some believe the McKinnons knew what Black was doing, and were silenced. None of them made it out alive.

"We don't know if that was the tipping point when he finally gave it up, or if You-Know-Who was merely biding his time. But the Fidelius can't be broken by torture or Legilimency — the information has to be given freely and willingly. Black betrayed the Potters. He got tired of his double agent role, perhaps he wanted to rejoin his family — his own cousin, as you know, was sent to Azkaban for torture — and his daughter was sent to live with her grandmother after all that. He must have been ready to declare his support openly at the time of the Potters' death, but it went wrong of course. You-Know-Who met his downfall, leaving Black in a very nasty position. His Master had fallen at the very moment he had shown his true colours. I don't know where he put the child at first, there was a rumour she was with the Longbottoms but... Well, no one really thought to question in the aftermath of it all, but she wound up with Walburga Black anyway. But at that point, Black had no choice but to run for it—"

"Dirty stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said loudly, rattling the table, and Harry jumped, shocked out of his eavesdropping momentarily.

"I met him! I musta bin the last person to see him, before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued little Harry from the Potters' after they was killed! Just got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, forehead all slashed up, an' Sirius Black turns up on that motorbike he used ter ride! Never occurred ter me ter ask what he was doing there, wi'out the girl o' course — and he'd never let her out of his sight before — I didn't know he'd been the Secret Keeper! Thought he'd heard and come to see what he could do ter help! White an' shakin' all over he was, cryin' and do you know what I did! I COMFORTED THE MURDERING TRAITOR!"

"Hagrid, please," McGonagall said, "keep your voice down."

"How was I ter know why he was really upset? An' then he says, he says ter me — 'Hagrid, give him to me, I'll take him, I'm his godfather, he needs to be with me and my Aurora, I'll look after him, you know I can' — but I told him no, I had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told him Harry was ter go ter his aunt and uncle's. He was furious but he gave in, told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. 'I won't need it any more' he says.

"Shoulda known there was something fishy. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Too easy to find, that was why. Dumbledore knew what he'd done, Black was going to have to run for it. He'd shipped the kid off and now he was running, like a coward! He knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry caught up wi' him!

"But what if I'd given him Harry, eh? What then? He'd have pitched him off in the middle o' the sea and run home to his own family! His bes' friend's son! But when a wizard goes over to the Dark side, there's no coming back! Nothing and no one matters to them any more — not their godson, and not even their own daughter!"

A long silence followed. Harry stared down into his empty tankard of Butterbeer, feeling a fury such as he had never felt. He wanted to break something. He wanted to see Sirius Black and tear him apart.

He could barely listen to the next part of the story, about Peter Pettigrew. How he'd confronted Black, and been killed along with twelve Muggles. Black had wiped them out as easily as he had wiped out the McKinnons and their neighbours.

Aurora Black was his godsister. Aurora Black's father was the reason his own parents were dead. He couldn't think straight. If Sirius Black had gone to the Dark side, given up his parents for her...

"Is it true he's mad, Minister?"

Harry didn't care if Black was mad. He cared that Black was alive and his parents were dead. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. And Fudge was saying, Black wasn't even mad. He was bored. Interested in a newspaper, wanted to do a crossword puzzle. Even as one of the most heavily guarded prisoners.

How could a man like that be allowed to survive? Or to not feel guilt every single day for what he had done?

"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" Rosmerta was asking. "He isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he, Minister?"

"I daresay that is his eventual plan," Fudge said evasively. "But we hope to catch Black long before that can happen. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing... But give him back his most devoted servant... I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again..."

It wasn't possible. Couldn't be possible.

Blood rushed in Harry's head as the teachers' chairs scraped back, as they said their goodbyes and left the pub. He could hardly breathe.

Sirius Black killed his parents. Aurora Black was his godsister. She was possibly the reason he'd done it.

Ron and Hermione stared at him, poking their heads under the table. He couldn't think, couldn't do anything rational or stop to breathe as, feeling like he was burning with anger.

Harry rose up and ran through the pub, out into Hogsmeade and the jostling crowds, turned a corner to find Honeydukes, and barrelled into exactly the last person he wanted to see.

Such violent anger seized him when he saw her face and it was with a trembling mix of fear and fury that he said, hardly knowing what he was doing, "Black."

"Potter?"

Her voice trembled but he didn't care — he could barely even register it. All he could hear was the furious rush of blood in his ears. "He..." His breath caught stuck as he panted. "He... Your..." Murderer's daughter, traitor's daughter. "He — he killed them."

He could see the colour drain from her cheeks and he didn't care. "I'm — I'm sorry?"

She had always hated him and now he knew why, knew because she was like her father, like the man who had led Voldemort to his parents. "Your father, Black. He's the reason they're dead. How'd you like that?" His voice rose dangerously and he couldn't control it, shaking all over. "That's why you're so smug, that's why you've always hated me."

"Potter, I don't—"

"He betrayed them!" he yelled. The words tore from him and before he knew what he was doing, Aurora Black was in the snow, staring at him, white and terrified and he did not care. He could not care.

"Potter, this has nothing—"

"For you!" Her fault, her fault. "He — he betrayed them."

"Potter," she said slowly, furiously, getting to her feet, that constant cool mask slipping away with every breath, "that is not my fault."

He lunged forward, barely knowing what he was doing, and she shoved him roughly backwards, pinning him against the wall and glaring. Fire flickered in her brown eyes. "Don't you try and touch me." She shoved him harder, and his head knocked against the bricks painfully. "You aren't even supposed to be in Hogsmeade."

"He betrayed them! And you—" He broke off. They had said — Marlene McKinnon. "They said... They said your mum..." She had been a Muggleborn, just like Lily. She had been murdered, just like Lily.

"Don't talk about her," Black spat, her fury ignited. "I am not having this conversation with you, Potter."

He wanted it. He wanted this conversation, or this argument — he wanted to scream, wanted to accuse her of every injustice the world had served him.

But instead he said in a small voice, one that didn't sound like his own, "He killed her." The world seemed to tilt on its axis when he saw Black seemingly for the first time, someone he still didn't understand but someone who, in another life, he might have. But she looked more furious than ever. "Black, I don't—"

"Don't talk to me," she said lowly, but Harry was just starting to come to, just starting to realise who this girl in front of him was. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Potter. Calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Calm down — how dare she? Calm down, when his parents were dead? He flailed, trying to anything, but she pushed him back against the wall, harder this time, and a dull sort of pain echoed in his shoulder. It was still nothing compared to the burning anger in his chest. "He's the reason they're dead! And he's your father, and you don't care!"

"Shut your mouth."

She drew her wand but he was beyond caring. "What?" His voice strained. "Going to curse me?" He wanted it — wanted a fight, wanted an excuse to get his seething anger out of him. "I dare you, Black."

She paused, silent, for a moment. She stepped back. "Don't talk about my family, Potter," she said and he remembered what McGonagall had said, that her family were known for hating Muggleborns, that there were more of them in Azkaban, that she had been brought up by them, the followers of Voldemort. "Do not utter their names. I am not my father. But do not — do not bring up my mother. Ever."

"But I—" Her Muggleborn mother. Her dead mother, just like his. "She — I didn't know."

"Aurora?"

Malfoy's voice broke through their bubble and Harry jerked away at the sound of it. Black stepped away too, her cheeks flushed a furious shade of red that had little to do with the cold. "Draco," she said hoarsely, "this has nothing to do with you."

Malfoy was coming towards them and Harry's throat seemed to clog. Malfoy, who hated Muggleborns — Malfoy, who somehow was Aurora Black's best friend. Did he know? Did any of them know the truth of that girl?

"What did you say to her?"

His eyes were on Harry, glinting and furious.

"Get out of it, Malfoy."

"Do you think you can—"

"Draco." Black's voice was high and sharp and scared and Harry felt a sudden wave of guilt and revulsion. It wasn't her fault. He shouldn't have said — she was the same age as him, and her mother had been murdered. It wasn't her choice. Whatever Aurora Black was, he still felt ill as he came to his senses, as the sudden cold bit into him. He looked at her, stared at the flush of her cheeks and the tremble in her shoulders — he had never seen her like this, yet he had, and merely chosen to see her differently. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. His body felt numb. Leave it. He isn't worth it."

"But you're upset."

Black stepped away from Harry but he couldn't tear his eyes from her face. "You heard what I said, Potter," she told him, holding his gaze. "And do not raise a finger to me. Ever. Again."

She swept away, kicking up snow in her wake. Harry leaned back against the cold wall, heart pounding, and felt tears smart in his eyes. The world was a blur of confusion and fear and anger.

He wasn't sure how he got to the dormitory in his haze, but his mind guided him to the leather bound photo album Hagrid had given him, way back at the end of first year. Hands shaking, he took it from his drawer and opened it. All the photos in it were from friends of his parents — almost all. It was with a sickening feeling that he contemplated, not for the first time, who had given him that first photo in the Hospital Wing.

He searched until he found the photo of his parents' wedding day. His father beamed up at him, arm in arm with his mother, who was aglow with happiness. And then beside them, their best man. It must be him. Never before had Harry spared him a thought and now that he knew who he was, he could begin to reconcile him with the haunted man from the newspapers.

He had the same high cheekbones as his daughter, the same unruly hair, though shades darker, the same long nose. His head was thrown back in laughter, the sort that was irreconciliable with the man from the newspapers, so much so that Harry had to question again if it was him after all. He knew he had certainly never seen Aurora Black laugh like that. But beside him was another woman with reddish brown hair, halfway out the frame, holding a bundle in her arms.

That was her. Marlene McKinnon holding Aurora Black.

He couldn't bring himself to go down to dinner. He felt sickened, mostly at what he'd seen, but also at what he'd done.

Aurora Black's mother had been killed. He had known she had grown up without parents, but never thought to wonder about her mother. The pureblood bitch, Ron had once called her, but she wasn't pureblood at all. He remembered in first year, seeing her cry in the pumpkin patch, furious at the world. Hagrid had said it wasn't their business what had happened to her, but she had disappeared the next weekend and come back with red-rimmed eyes and a furious stare, wearing black mourning robes.

She had saved his life. He had resolved to try to get along with her, after first year, but where had that gone? She hadn't made any effort for him, it was true. But they were godsiblings. Did that count for something — he doubted it did for her, but he hadn't known. She should have been family. He couldn't know, yet Harry had no doubt that if the roles were reversed, her parents had both been murdered, his would have loved her with everything they had.

He hated her, but she didn't deserve to be shouted at, to be told it was her fault. Because it wasn't — now that he had a clear head, he could see that. Because she had lost her mother too. He had seen her mask slip today. He had made her feel fear, and now he thought about it, he didn't like it. He didn't like thinking about himself in that moment. Aurora Black had always been impossible to understand, maybe because he didn't want to understand her. Rarely had she shown him any kindness — but she had, at times.

The likes of Malfoy were easy to understand and easy to ignore — they were like Dudley, superior and rude and cruel for the sake of it, and more than likely would have let him break his neck at the Quidditch match, would perhaps have let Quirrel kill him way back in first year. They were simple schoolyard bullies, and while Aurora Black was far from a saint, she wasn't that. Simple was not a word that could adequately define her.

She got under his skin, never failed to anger him, and he had hated losing to her even more than he thought he would have hated losing to Malfoy, because she was too much, and too many things. She was harsh and cold and she wasn't easy. She was somehow unknown, despite always seeming to appear in front of him at the most inconvenient of times.

She was also, apparently, his godsister. Harry had always wanted a sibling — but he sure as hell didn't want her.

He flipped to the very back of the photo album, where that worn picture of his parents sat folded in the cover, the handwriting still on the back, immortalising their names. Was that handwriting Marlene McKinnon's? He hoped that it was — he didn't want to think of the alternative. But he felt certain, now, that Aurora Black had given him that picture after she saved his life. He had no idea how to reconcile that with the girl he knew, who had threatened him and blackmailed him, had made fun of him and stood by when her friends were awful to his. While Malfoy said the word mudblood, and all the while she must have known he would have flung such a word at her mother, too.

He hated Aurora Black.

But there was a part of him that felt sorry for her, too.