Potter, it seemed, was not contented with staying at Privet Drive for an indefinite period of time. A couple of days after Merlin's Day, seeming to have developed a fear of missing out, he wrote to Aurora asking if she knew when he might get to come live with her and her father — who had in fact been busy with the order the last few days and who Aurora hadn't seen, since she was staying at the Tonkses'. Her reply had been to say that she did not know, for what felt like the hundredth time, and she would talk to Dumbledore. Potter's reply to that had been to say that he was very sorry if he had annoyed her by not coming to Merlin's Day — almost definitely a lie — but he hated it with his aunt and uncle and he needed to get out or he'd lose his mind and run off himself.

Someone had to intervene. Aurora hated that it was her; but she was the most meticulous in her plans, in observation of the watch, and the one with the most free time. She was sure her father would approve. Maybe. At least, she was sure his fifteen-year-old self would be. And she was regularly split between three households, and generally trusted to flit around the Black family houses without getting intro trouble, so no one would miss her.

That was how — feeling no small degree of regret and self-pity — Aurora found herself sweltering by a closed window on the Knight Bus, glaring at burnt out fields that stretched from Cornwall to Orkney. Surrey was as sad and dry as anywhere else. Some part of her had expected it to be different, had expected to feel some trace of magic around her, whether nefarious or not. But the air was eerily still, stuffy, as she stepped off in Little Whinging, and tried to recall through the hot haze, the way to Harry Potter's house.

The houses here looked the same as she remembered, every one identical. It was strange to find comfort in that. The very muggleness of it had an order to it, a sort of cleanliness she found could anchor her.

She found Harry lying in a flowerbed, as she supposed any normal person would in the summer holidays.

With a sigh, Aurora walked up to him, striding over the pavement outside the Dursleys' front lawn and then to the window where he lay on his back eyes closed to the sun above. At her shadow, he flinched, and sat up sharply, almost hitting his head off her shin.

"Morning," she said crisply, though it was eleven thirty and in her mind may as well be afternoon for the heat.

Potter opened his eyes blearily, staring up at her. He blinked slowly, three times, before a confused smile spread over his face.

"Aurora?"

"Indeed." She placed her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. "Why are you in a flowerbed? You'll become covered in soil."

"Why are you here?" he asked, ignoring her question as he scrambled to his feet.

"Because you're lying in a flowerbed," she said, "while the world's on the verge of falling apart, and I suspect you are too. And if I weren't here, I worried you would be at my home, and it would all be dreadfully awkward and inconvenient for everybody involved. Now, come on. They're changing the watch just now, and I'm not supposed to be here."

"What watch?" Potter regarded her with what seemed like an attempt at suspicion, but then morphed halfway through into a kind of excited curiosity. "Why are you not meant to be here?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," she said, linking her arm with his to lead him away. "Though it should be rather obvious. Got your wand?"

"Obviously?"

"Good Gryffindor."

"Hey!"

"Know any good hiding spots?"

"I know every hiding spot around here."

Aurora couldn't help her grin. "Potter, I can't believe I'm saying this to you... But, lead the way."

He glared at her, caught halfway between suspicion and what she could only guess was enthusiasm for an adventure. His sense of adventure and curiosity won out, as she knew it always would. Potter muttered something under his breath about Slytherin and led her away, in a brisk walk down the street, where another sign read Magnolia Drive. Down a narrow alleyway, under a heavily graffitied tunnel. Aurora stared at the bright lettering on the concrete walls.

"What's a... Tories?" she asked, squinting at the words.

"Doesn't matter," Potter said quickly, "it's a political thing." He paused. "It's what my aunt and uncle are."

"Oh, dear."

"Yeah. I mean, I guess wizards have them too. Conservatives."

"Oh, dear." She huffed. "Don't say that word though, you might get overheard."

Potter shrugged but didn't look particularly bashful, just continued to lead her on down the tunnel and through to a highway, then out towards a dirt road and dry wheat field which stretched onto the horizon, beyond which was another clot of houses, all likely the same as the ones in Privet Drive. He seemed oddly at ease here, in the dry air, even with the rippling wheat brushing at the hem of his jeans. The wheat scratched Aurora's exposed ankles, and despite having been grateful for the denim shorts Dora had let her borrow earlier, Aurora was suddenly self-conscious of her bare calves.

"Do you come here often?" she found herself asking, and Potter shrugged his shoulders, stepping further away from her. His lips quirked up into a faint smile, though.

"I guess. The farmer doesn't bother me so long as I keep to the edges. I've walked all the way to Greater Whinging before — that town, over there." He pointed to the cluster of houses on the horizon. "The Dursleys like it best if I'm out their way."

"Better seen and not heard," Aurora said flatly, and Potter gave a small laugh.

"Pretty much. Least as far as I'm concerned."

Aurora tried not to let that comment get to her, but Potter pressed on, "Why are you here anyway, Black?"

"Well," she said with a sigh, "I don't particularly like the idea of you bursting down my front door in the middle of the night, funnily enough. And you don't like taking orders from me, and nor does Dumbledore, but even if I get caught it might just prompt him to give up whatever stupid strategy he's gotten into his head." He couldn't do much to her, after all. And her father couldn't stay mad at her for long, he was too soft. She would just have to ignore Remus and Dora's disappointment. And Andromeda and Ted's house for about a month.

"You said something about a watch," Harry said, "earlier. What was that about?"

Sighing, Aurora shook her head and glanced over her shoulder. "I'm really not supposed to be talking to you at all," she told him, "but it's time for an intervention. Your owl near tore my father's left thumb off yesterday.

"You're in danger, Potter."

"That's new."

"We — well, a group of people with whom I will deny any official affiliation — are keeping tabs. Making sure the Death Eaters don't find you, that You-Know-Who doesn't try to hurt you. It's unlikely he will make a move right now, he hasn't done anything so far, but Dumbledore thinks you should be here for your protection."

"You've been talking to Dumbledore?"

"I'll deny all such accusations in court," she sniffed, and Potter gave her an odd but somewhat amused look.

"Okay, sure. So, Dumbledore's doing something then? To fight Voldemort?"

She nodded. "As much as he can right now, with things as they are. The Ministry's making it impossible for him to act openly, and it seems You-Know-Who's benefitting from this, taking the time to build his support base back up and consolidate political power. Dumbledore's recruiting people too, but he's clearly out of political favour with Fudge — which is part of why I'm here. As you know, the Assembly elections are almost upon us."

Potter let out a sigh; she knew she had probably been bothering him far more than he liked with information about it, and that he had been frustrated by the correspondence he got from candidates — either fawning over him or, increasingly, criticising and curt. "The convention to swear in the new electoral members will be in a few days, and while we're not required to attend, I think it's best that we do."

"Even though Fudge and half the country hates me? And none of them are going to do anything anyway."

"Especially because of that! You can't simply hide from publicity, Potter. Listen, people are still open to being swayed by you now, if you were only willing to make a statement, talk about it—"

"I'm not talking about it," he said sharply, cutting her off. She blinked, confused, taking in the sudden, worried look in his eyes. "Not properly, not yet — I can't. It's…" He looked away, trailing off, the words lost. Aurora felt she might understand anyway.

"I see. Well, that's understandable, but even so. You don't have to give details, just... It looks like you're hiding, Potter."

"I didn't choose to be shut up here all summer!"

"I know you didn't, but do you think blaming Dumbledore for it to anyone else is going to do you any good? No. And, it was your choice not to go to Merlin's Day with me."

"Like I was going to do any good around Malfoys."

"You know there are some decent people go to these things. People who might like to hear from you and talk to you."

"You don't get what it's like! I can't just... I don't want to... I watched Karkaroff..."

"I know," Aurora told him. "I'm not saying you have to relive that. Just... Your claims have more legitimacy if you make them. Attach your face to them. You may as well come to the Ministry. You don't have to say anything, I wouldn't force you, that's not what I'm saying. But it'll show you're not ashamed, and at any rate, I have a feeling it'll be an important meeting. I can't be sure, but we seem headed back in the Conservative direction, and if they get their way, or if Fudge gets a greater majority, then he will use that to continue to push his message. And I just have a bad feeling, that they might use it to further discredit you, or Dumbledore, or that the likes of Lord Malfoy and Nott might make their voices too loud.

"You don't have to come," she told him, seeing the look on his face, "but it might be best if you do."

Potter chewed on his lip, and stared at the ground. "Dunno. Clearly Dumbledore doesn't want me going anywhere. I'm surprised you do. Hermione's last letter just told me I had to stay where I am and not make a fuss." It was impossible to miss the bitter tinge to his voice.

"Well, I'm not Hermione, am I?"

"Are her and Ron together? Are they… With Dumbledore?"

"They're with Ron's family," she said slowly.

Potter gave her a flat look. "At the Burrow?"

"I couldn't possibly tell you."

"Why does no one want to tell me anything?"

"I do want to!" she replied. "But I can't give you these details, not yet, and I've told you enough to piss Dumbledore off, anyway. It is to do with Dumbledore, yes, and they've been around his group but I'm actually magically prevented from telling you the exact location. At any rate, I'm trying to convince Dumbledore to let you join us as soon as possible, and I think it's better to try and do that diplomatically at the moment rather than have you disappearing in the night to find us."

Potter let out a loud huff, leaning back.

"In all honesty, Potter, I don't know very much, certainly not as much as I want to. We're all largely in the dark. Dumbledore seems to have some great aversion to telling people things. Paranoid, I think. Maybe he knows you'd ask all the right questions and get every secret out of him. Either way. I just wanted you to know you've not been abandoned. And I don't want you to abandon us."

"Sure feels like it," Potter muttered, and Aurora held back her sigh.

"I'm sure it does. But trust me — or if not, trust my father, who I hope would be here, if he weren't currently off on some secret mission I'm not allowed to be told about."

Now, she had piqued his interest; not least, she was sure, with the deliberate infusion of bitterness about the matter. The sense of parallel seemed to abate his own bitterness, or at least divert it away from her. "Dumbledore?" he asked, and she nodded, with a sigh.

"Don't get me wrong, it's my father's own choice to do this, and I can't do anything to stop him but, I don't like the thought of him being in danger. Or Dora, even though she's a trained Auror — this feels all a lot closer, somehow. It's not just some abstract threat of crime or rogue dark wizards that she's dealing with; it's the people who killed my mother, who want me and my father and almost certainly Andromeda and Dora and Ted, to be killed, too."

Potter frowned, and glanced up at her. "Dora's in it too?"

"Tonks to you — and yes, but don't tell anyone I told you that. Secret organisation and everything."

"Right." Something of a grin snuck its way onto his face, which Aurora was glad of. "At least someone's doing something."

"Precisely," Aurora said, trying not to think about their lack of progress so far, and her own reticence contributing to that. "And, hopefully, with a bit more organisation, we'll be able to do more but for now, unfortunately, we're in a bit of a rut. So, you really aren't missing much by being here. Even though I'm sure it's rather awful, which is why we're going to get you back as soon as possible."

He did not look overly pleased by this, as Aurora had suspected. "D'you know when Sirius is going to be back?"

"Nope." She tried to keep her voice light, and failed. "Hopefully in less than a week, but, I don't know for certain. However long it takes him to do whatever it is Dumbledore's sent him away to do."

"Mhm." Potter got a look in his eye, like he had an accusation to fling out, but he kept his mouth shut about it. "Well. If that's all and you're not going to actually do anything—"

"I've done more than anyone else," she was quick to point out, then felt guilty at the look on Potter's face. "I know it's not enough, and it's not satisfactory, but I am trying, Potter." Reluctantly, but hoping it might help, she put a hand on Potter's shoulder and tried to smile, though she was certain it was more of a grimace. "If you come to the convention, I might be able to update you afterwards. I'll certainly try."

"I'll think about it," was Potter's reply, as he glanced over his shoulder. "You said someone's keeping watch on me?"

She turned sharply, though could see no one. Mundungus Fletcher was meant to be next on; he was almost always late, and unreliable, and too lazy to bother looking for too long. "Yes?"

"I should probably get back then."

She shrugged. "Probably. I don't want to be accused of kidnap today, so."

Potter's smile was fleeting, and she shook his head. "Walk back with me?"

"Best I don't, unless you've something more to discuss. I don't want to get caught." She peered over the shimmering horizon, past the wheat fields to the suburban blocks of brown and red. "You said there's another town down there?"

"Greater Whinging. There's a train station, but I dunno if it'll take you to Norwich. If that's where you are."

"I'm with Andromeda, up north. But I'll get the bus anyway, I've got a few things to do in London."

"Right." He pursed his lips, looking away. "Well, enjoy your adventure then."

"Do try not to sulk."

"What am I supposed to do? I've been left on my own for weeks and no one'll tell me anything useful or get me out of here and I've just been stuck like I'm in prison, and people are literally spying on me! I'm hardly going to be dancing about with joy, am I?"

Aurora pursed her lips. "Do keep your voice down—"

"Don't tell me what to—"

She clamped a hand over his mouth, sensing a sudden movement among the wheat. For one slow and awful moment, she thought over anyone it might be. At best, Mundungus Fletcher, who might report her but might not be bothered if she spun it the right way (that was, after all, why she had chosen this time); at worst, a Death Eater or the Dark Lord himself, to kill Potter and Aurora along with him.

But nothing sprang from the grass. It was only a rare summer breeze, quickly stifled, and she took her hand slowly from his mouth, ignoring his glare. "Sorry. But you really mustn't shout about these things, it only draws attention and trouble."

Potter scowled, and turned around. "Thanks for trying anyway, Black. I guess I'll see you around."

She swallowed tightly, crossing her arms. "The assembly convention. Don't forget. Though if I have my way, we might see each other before that."

His shoulders relaxed only slightly, as he turned to look at her one last time. "Thanks. And I won't forget, I promise."

"Oh, a promise?" She raised her eyebrows teasingly. "Thank you ever so much for that, Potter."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Black."

"Over something you've said? I would never, Potter."

A small, forced chuckle, and Potter waved as he went to leave. She watched his dark figure retreating round the edge of the field, fading to a speck in the distance, and then when he was sufficiently far enough away, she turned.

Death met her stare.

Her heart jumped in her chest and she stumbled back, surprised. "Bloody Merlin! What are you doing here?"

There was no one else about, no soul for him to tend to. Yet his gaze lingered on the horizon, on Potter's shrinking silhouette. "It has been a while," was all he said, earning Aurora's glare.

"I've tried summoning you."

He laughed lowly. "Few would want Death to come to them."

"Well, I've a lot of questions for you."

"Of course you would," Death said. "But I have not come to answer questions. Walk with me, Lady Black."

She shivered, both unsettled and annoyed, but there was little she could do to deny him, and so she started on towards Greater Whinging. Death's strange robes — made of smoke and shadows — withered the crops nearest him, and no matter how she tried to get between him and the crops, he did not seem to want to change their sides, only ever amused by her attempts, like she was a particularly odd bird.

"I presume you've some great cryptic message for me," Aurora said to break the silence, her voice coming out bitter, "or perhaps to drive away my own uncle for trying to deliver me a message you're too cowardly to entertain."

"You call Death a coward?"

"You seem as much a coward as any man."

He laughed lowly. "Lady Black, you forget — I am no man. Perhaps once upon a time I might have been recognisable, perhaps there was something of the human inside of me. But Death has always existed and my role has warped me and changed me."

"That doesn't mean you can't be afraid," she said, though puzzled over his words, "or at least unsettled."

"I did not say I could not be unsettled. There is a delicate balance to this world — one which humanity has always failed to understand and never so much as dreamt of respecting. Death may be unsettled just as Life is, you know. We all are bound by spirit and the soul, and the body is but the vessel for their expression. I have no need of it — I may take any form I desire. This one is palatable. I have others." In the blink of an eye and the rippling of wheat, Death changed into nothing more than shadow and mist; then again to a black raven and, in a fluttering of wings, a pure white dove.

"I tell you this," Death said, taking the form now of a mischievous red fox, as though mocking her own Patronus, "because you have a greater chance of understanding it than most. You are in flux."

That sounded vaguely disgusting, Aurora felt, and not particularly like a compliment. "And in what way am I in flux?"

"Oh, your soul, your spirit, your body changes too, at this age. You are so malleable." She bristled at the words and the tone, the suggestion that she was anything other than steadfast and sturdy, unbreakable, and that anyone might shape her into something she did not wish to be. "There are dangers afoot, Aurora Black. Your father's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, she seeks to kill you and to take your place. I admit, I had wondered whether I ought to let her. I still do."

"Excuse me?"

"But I have seen her, and she is... Too chaotic. All three elements are intertwined, see, and one must have a balance. The strength of her spirit is nothing to the weakness of her soul, and the body is corrupted." Death changed back into the usual form, and a cloud began to form in the sky. "I had wondered what you might do, to her challenge. Many in Azkaban have been visited by the spectre of Death. Some begged me to take them and often I do. Life after all, has no need of their souls anymore. Humanity sees the deprivation of the soul as the greatest punishment to the mortal body, yet Life cares nothing for the morality behind this. I do find the argument fascinating — I have never had much need of a soul, and I am all spirits — but I digress. Your cousin, she defied me. Screamed at me that I would never take her and I must admit, I was amused by her designs upon your title. She told me that she wished to issue a challenge upon it, that she desired two things only in the world; the first, the resurrection of her lord, and the second, your destruction."

"You... Did you leave that note in the Manor for me to find?" Death made a movement like a nod, as the warmth drained from Aurora'sbody. "But you — why? What was the point? You could have spoken to me, answered any of my summons?"

"I wanted to see how you would react," Death insisted, as though it were obvious. "I cannot have a Lady Black who shrinks in the face of a challenge. No, you must be ready at my side."

Even then, she hung back, reticent to accept what seemed like an offer — though of what, she did not know.

"You could take me very easily," she reminded Death again. "You could kill me."

"I could," he said, "but your family has a terrible habit of never conforming to my expectations."

Quiet fell in the wake of those words, and Aurora found herself with a surge of boldness. "My Uncle Regulus?"

"I told you I was not here to answer questions."

She said nothing, only continued to stare at Death, until the shadow form shook his head. "He is but one example, which I shall not allow you to repeat. Yet, I am bound to him, and so are you. So too are you bound to Bellatrix Lestrange, just as to your father, and to your cousins Draco and Nymphadora, and your ancestors named for and brought to the stars, to Hydrus and Ophelie." There was something of a sigh in Death's voice. "What a beautiful time that was. A world soaked in blood and fury. Oh, the carnage Hydrus Black might have unleashed, were it not for his soul." Aurora hastened to keep up with the sweeping of Death's robes, desperate to hear more. "He bound himself to me, and all the heirs of his body. He promised you to me, Lady Black. He promised you all.

"Oh, your family have fought and killed one another for generations. You have kept me fed; you never let Life dwell too long with one soul. It is the way of the world. Or, it was."

They lapsed into silence once more. "Care to expand?"

A smile ghosted Death's features. "Lady Black, I come to ask of you something."

She straightened. "Ask what?"

"That you ensure the Black family persists. That you do not seek connection with Regulus Black, for he has gone to a place no soul should ever tread and hope to come out intact.

"And," he said, voice softening as he stared upon the horizon behind them, "that you keep an eye on Harry Potter. His family have a connection to me that is as old as yours. And yet, I cannot always... See, them."

"What do you mean? Why can't you see them?"

Death smiled, and for a moment she wondered at the image of a bridge between worlds, of a crescent moon rising in the misty twilight. "Don't get greedy, now. I can't spill my secrets."

She wondered, if that was the case, why Death bothered to speak with her at all. But she knew that pressing the subject now would not get her anywhere, and she already knew more than she had half an hour ago. So instead, as they came to the edge of the dried-out field, she stopped and asked, "Will you kill her for me, then? Or have her killed? Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Oh," Death said with that crescent smile, "there would be no fun in that. And besides — it is not her fate."

"I don't really think that I believe in fate," Aurora admitted, "And I would not imagine that you bow to it."

"Death bows to no one," he said, in a voice that bordered on mockery, "in the same way Lady Black does not." Her cheeks flamed. Death chuckled. "Do as I say, child. You will understand one day, when Life is not quite so perilous. Now — you wish to be in Diagon Alley?"

She blinked. "Well, yes, that's where I was—"

In an instant, she was there outside the Leaky Cauldron, as if she always had been. And Death smiled and became one with the shadows once more.

She couldn't shake him all day. She had only planned to run a few errands and then return to Grimmauld Place before any suspicion could be aroused, to give herself an alibi, dip into the library, and then go home to Andromeda. But in the alley all she could think to pick up was a pretty notebook and some eel's eyes, and in Grimmauld Place, it seemed there were too many people watching her, with suspicion either imagined or real, and she could feel Death's touch too deeply, following her all the way home, and into her dreams that night.