Christmas approached fast as everyone immersed themselves in their studies. All of Aurora's friends were excited to go home for the holidays, but Aurora couldn't help but feel sad. It would be her first Christmas without Arcturus that she had ever remembered.

And at the start of December, she got a letter from Aunt Lucretia. Her and Uncle Ignatius were both very unwell with dragon pox, and so wouldn't be able to take her for Christmas, though they promised they'd see her at Easter. It still stung. When Professor Snape came around the Slytherin Common Room with a list for students to sign up to stay over the break, he sneered at her, seeming delighted. "No father to go back to?" Her heart felt like it had been punctured by a rib.

She shook her head, scrawled her name and left him in silence. "You should have said you were staying," Gwendolyn told her, having warmed up considerably since their nighttime conversation. "Will you be on your own?"

"Probably," she replied, shrugging as if it didn't bother her. "Draco and Pansy are both going home for Christmas." Gwendolyn's face fell. "Don't feel bad about it," Aurora told her sharply, bristling at the thought of being pitied. "I can't wait to have the run of this place without anyone getting in my way."

That didn't stop Gwendolyn from giving her a worried look, which Aurora pointedly ignored. She wasn't about to spill everything to her, about Snape, about her father, about how she did secretly wish Draco or Pansy were staying, and how she wished Arcturus was still alive. Those things were too close to her to tell anyone.

The final week of classes, most people didn't do much work as they wound down towards the holidays. Aurora studied and worked as diligently as always, prompting teasing from Pansy. "Just because it's December doesn't mean none of this will come up on the exams," she told Pansy in response.

One teacher who did not let up on their workload was Professor Snape, who became even nastier than usual in the lead up to the holidays. This prompted Gwendolyn to refer to him as Professor 'Scrooge', a title that she did not understand at all. "I can't believe you don't know who Charles Dickens is," she told Aurora exasperatedly. "Who's your favourite author?"

"I don't know about author," she said, "but I really enjoy Herodotus."

"The Greek guy?" Gwendolyn stared at her. "Aurora, I don't know how to tell you this, but no one enjoys the Greeks."

"Well, I do!" Aurora said defensively. "And Herodotus is important, he's basically the first ever historian."

"Okay, but who's your favourite fiction author?" Gwendolyn asked. Aurora stared at her. "You know? Roald Dahl? Tolkien? Enid Blyton?" She looked at Gwendolyn blankly. She didn't know any of these people. "What about the Brontes? Jane Austen?"

"I have no idea who any of these people are."

Gwendolyn pulled a face. "What do you read then? You pure blood witches?"

"I told you. I like History, Herodotus particularly, he isn't too difficult a read. And I have an interest in Alchemical and Numerological texts. In terms of fiction, I suppose I do rather like William Shakespeare - I think he was a Muggle, I don't know if you've heard of him?"

Gwendolyn spluttered. "Shakespeare?"

"Haven't you heard of him?"

"Yes. Yes, I have heard of Shakespeare, Aurora." She laughed, shaking her head. "It's no wonder you're so stiff."

"Stiff?"

"So the only fiction you've read is Shakespeare?"

"Well... Yes. My uncle didn't have any children's books, apart from a few that were in French that I was allowed to read."

Gwendolyn stared at her and shook her head. "So you speak French?"

"And Latin. Well, as much as one really can speak Latin given it is a dead language and our pronounciation of it in the modern day has been warped through the transformation of language and dialect, so we don't really know for certain what it sounded like. There aren't any native speakers left, see."

"Good to know," Gwendolyn said with a wry smile.

The pair of them went to breakfast together, which was fast becoming a more common occurrence. When they reached the table, however, Gwendolyn split off to sit by Robin Oliphant and Leah MacMillan, and Aurora took her usual place between Draco and Pansy. "How is Tearston?"

"Better," Aurora said. "She doesn't flinch at her own shadow anymore, so I suppose that must be something of an improvement."

Her friends were all tangibly excited for the holidays, but Aurora knew that Draco wasn't quite looking forward to it as much as he was trying to make everyone believe. "We've had a spot of bother," he told her quietly. "The Ministry — well, some certain people in the Ministry — are investigating Father again, and he thinks they may be attempting to search the house anytime soon. I doubt they might find anything, but Christmas shan't be the same, especially as Mother is being more careful with our finances — just in case they get suspicious."

Aurora raised her eyebrows as they headed inside the classroom. "You mean in case they think your father's been involved in speculation again?"

"Not so loud," Draco hissed. He was looking rather pale. "I'm sure they won't — Fudge would never suspect Father, he makes far too generous donations for that. I do wish you could visit, but Father doesn't think it would be a particularly good idea to have someone, well... with a reputation in the Dark Arts."

"I don't have a reputation in the Dark Arts," she said. "You were all perfectly happy with me a year ago. And might I remind you it is your father being investigated?"

"Under threat of investigation," Draco said, cheeks pink. "And your father—"

"I know quite enough about my father, thank you. But he had a reputation, not me."

They worked mainly in silence for the class, which was rare. Potter and Weasley were chatting even louder and more obnoxiously than usual, and so Aurora wasn't entirely surprised when at the end of the class, Draco passed them and said loudly, "I do feel sorry for those people who have to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas because they have no family who want them."

That prickled at her more than she cared to admit. "You know I only said it to rile Potter," Draco told her, "and besides, your aunt and uncle do want you, they're just unwell."

She looked sideways at him and sighed. "You didn't need to say it though, Draco. Choose something else to pick on Potter for, you have plenty of options."

She walked off on her own towards the library in search of a new book about Transfiguration to read.

She found the book she was looking for after a few minutes. She stood on her tiptoes, reaching for the book just above her — Ancient Transfigurational and Spell Formulae. Her nails scraped against the worn leather spine and she glared at the book, before a rather clever idea occurred to her. Pulling out her wand, she whispered, "Wingardium leviosa."

The book trembled for a moment and she concentrated onnit levitating slowly off of its shelf, and into her hand. She caught it with a grin, and was about to head to a corner to read when she heard a familiar voice. "We have to find anything about Nicholas Flamel." It was Hermione Granger: Potter's smart friend.

"Alright," said Potter himself, sounding uncertain. "I know I've read it somewhere... I just don't know where."

She narrowed her eyes leaning closer to the end of the bookshelves to hear. "And you're quite sure you don't know anything, Ronald?"

"No," said Weasley. "Mum wouldn't tell me anything— Oi." He'd spotted Aurora lingering at the shelf. With a grimace, shestepped out into the open and arched a cool brow.

"Yes, Weasley?"

"What are you doing there?"

Aurora rolled her eyes and held up her book. "Getting a book. To read. In silence. That's what libraries are supposed to be used for." She narrowed her eyes at them. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"That's a lie." She glanced at Hermione Granger, who looked the most nervous of the trio. "What are you up to? I didn't think you were the types to be interested in Nicholas Flamel. Maybe Granger, but—"

"Nicholas Flamel?" Granger interrupted. Aurora glared at her.

"Yes." When they looked at her blankly, she went on in confusion, "You were all just talking about Nicholas Flamel."

Potter looked indignant. "Were you spying on us?"

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a loud sigh. "No, of course not. You're just all awfully loud. Especially for a library." Granger, to her credit, did look apologetic. "Anyway, you're all boring me now. Please stop gaping, I have to check out these books."

She barely got a few steps before Potter said, "Wait." She turned around. Weasley was sending his friend furtive looks, and appeared to be rather pale. "What do you know about Nicholas Flamel?"

She smirked and turned around to stare at Potter. "You are up to something, aren't you?"

"Just tell us," Potter said tiredly. "Please?"

Aurora scoffed. "No. Maybe. If you tell me what you're doing." She leaned towards them curiously but the three of them all exchanged glances and shook their heads. "Alright, then. Have fun on your library search."

She made to walk away, going to check out her book with Madam Pince, who looked at her sternly. The three Gryffindors were still wandering, seemingly aimlessly, around the library in search of whatever it was they were looking for about Nicholas Flamel. She wondered if they would tell her if she pressed hard enough over the Christmas holidays — she had to admit, she was curious what they had to be so secretive about. Her own book even mentioned Flamel, yet from the looks on their faces they didn't seem to have found anything. Amateurs, she thought to herself, and smirked as she placed the book along with three others she'd found on Alchemy into her bag and set off for the dungeons. It would be amusing to see how long they kept it up, and knowing she might have the exact book they were looking for gave her something of a delight. She skipped back to her room to read it before heading to the rest of her classes, dreaming of the holidays. It would be fun to be on her own, she told her.

Breakfast on the first day of the holidays was a rather sobering affair, though. All up and down the Slytherin table, her housemates discussed their holiday plans and what they expected to receive from their parents. Draco was loudly telling everyone who would listen how he expected a Nimbus Two Thousand of his own as well as several hampers of sweets, while Pansy expected some 'gorgeous' new robes she'd pointed out to her parents as well as a whole load of jewellery. Aurora didn't know what she was expecting, though she hoped for jewellery and some books, and maybe some new casual robes. Arcturus had always been good at giving gifts, the sort you didn't know you wanted until you got them, and cherished them. The earrings she was wearing today were a gift from last Christmas — silver studs with topaz set in them.

"I'll write to you," Gwendolyn said in their room just as she was about to leave.

"You don't have to."

"Aurora."

"Yes?"

Gwendolyn met her eyes and huffed, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. "You're really bloody annoying sometimes."

Aurora smirked. "Well, at least I know you aren't scared of me anymore. Enjoy your holiday."

Being on her own got old quickly. There was only one other Slytherin staying, a sixth year whose name Aurora didn't even know for sure, and from her year the only other students still in the castle were Potter and Weasley, which did not help her at all. She sat in a small alcove with a window overlooking the courtyard, reading about Divination — one of the abstract magics — while glancing down every so often as Potter and the four Weasleys threw snowballs at each other, and made snowballs, and all manner of sickeningly friendly things that made her want to throw her book straight through the window at them.

"Black." She glanced up sharply, seeing Professor Snape glaring down at her. "Still skulking around, I see?"

"Yes," she said, just as sharply, and stood up, snapping her book shut. "This area isn't out of bounds, is it, Professor?"

"No," Snape said, his lip curling in dislike. "But I have my eye on you, Black."

She felt much more confident than she should have when she tilted her chin up, met his eyes with a sneer and said, "And I have my eye on you, sir."

Then she turned and strode down the corridor without letting him get a word in. He would be furious with her of course, but she found she didn't care. She was restless without anyone else, and if aggravating Snape allowed her to get that restlessness out, then fine. It wasn't like he didn't take his own bitterness out on her.

She ended up heading outside to where Potter and the Weasleys were having a jolly old time together, and she scowled as she passed. They were so loud. "Miss Black!" Snape yelled after her. She ignored him, smirking to herself. She really had pissed him off. "Black! Black!"

About halfway between the two teams of the snowball fight, Aurora paused and turned around, folding her arms and cocking her hip. "Yes?"

"I will not be spoken to with such insolence," Snape hissed at her, and grabbed her arm, painfully. His fingernails dug in and he was spitting as he spoke. "I will be treated with respect by my students, Black. I will not be made a fool of by one so insolent and juvenile as you!"

She was horrified to find her heart beating fast in fear. "Let me go," she said coldly, putting on her best front. But her voice wobbled. His nails were sharp.

"You are just like your father. Arrogant and insolent, and you'll meet the same fate as he or your mother, one way or another—"

Something pelted him in the back of the head, startling him just enough that he let go of Aurora, who was shaking. Her father was one thing but her mother - her mother, who no one spoke about, whose name she didn't know, who died before she was old enough to even remember her face. Her eyes burned with tears as Snape roared at the older Weasley boy who had thrown a snowball at his head, one of the twins. "Detention!" he snarled, looking around furiously. "For all five of you!"

And he stormed back into the castle. Aurora let out a shaky breath, grasping her book tightly to her chest as she tried to regain her stature. She wouldn't cry, she told herself bitterly, swallowing the burning lump in her throat.

"Hey," said one of the Weasley twins, who had come over to her. "Are you alright?"

She looked between him, his brothers, and Potter, all of whom looked shocked by what they'd just seen. Aurora could feel her cheeks blazing as she swallowed deeply, shaking her hair out, and drew herself up to her full height. "Perfectly fine, thank you," she said stiffly. "Snape hates me. I can't say I'm surprised by this development." But she was. And she was rattled. She met the Weasley boy's eyes. "Thanks..."

"I'm George. This is Fred, my twin. And you might know Harry and Ron?" She nodded awkwardly over George's shoulder. Both boys looked too surprised to say anything against her.

"Yeah. We're in the same year." She smiled thinly. "Thank you. You have a very good throw."

"You can join us if you want," George said. "We're having a snowball fight."

"Oh, no thank you." She shook her head. "I couldn't possibly compete with your throwing skills. And I have a book to read. But thank you." She smiled again at George and then went to a nearby bench to read her book as the boys resumed their match with fervour.

On Christmas morning Aurora awoke to a small stack of presents at the bottom of her bed and grinned. From Aunt Lucretia and Uncle Ignatius came a new set of pale blue casual robes and a new silver comb; from Draco a collection of books on Theories of Transfiguration; from Pansy a nice, sweet vanilla perfume; and, unexpectedly, from Gwendolyn, there was a box of chocolate frogs. She grinned, and promptly ate one as a celebratory breakfast to herself. The card was Agrippa, and she set it aside in her drawer collection, before getting to work writing short, polite thank you notes.

She got ready and headed to the Great Hall for a solitary Christmas lunch. The Slytherin sixth year was leaving the common room at the same time as her, and they regarded each other with cold wariness before silently agreeing to walk upstairs together. "Black," he said at the entrance, and nodded to her as he departed. She grimaced at his back as he went to join a pair of Ravenclaw girls, and she went to sit alone at the end of the table, pulling a lonely cracker with herself.

A small pink sugar mouse leapt out and scurried along the table. She slammed her hand down on top of it in successful capture, and popped it in her mouth, savouring the sweet taste before she got started on lunch. The Weasleys and Potter looked to be having a jolly old time of it at their table, she noticed resentfully. There was a pang of jealousy in her chest that she told herself was hatred for their arrogance, as she blinked away lonely, bitter tears and fixated herself on her plate.

In the evenings, she couldn't sleep. There wasn't much to do in the day anyways, and she figured there was more to do than sleep. She took to wandering the castle at nights, eyes and ears wary for anyone who might catch her, but she was sneaky. No one ever caught her; she was too good for that.

A few nights after Christmas Day, she was seeking out a quiet classroom with a different view in which she could do some reading about the seven aspects of magic. But instead she stumbled in on Harry Potter of all people, sitting in front of a dusty mirror. She stared at him, lingering in the doorway, and he glanced up, wary at first and then annoyed when he realised who she was.

"Potter," she greeted.

"Black."

Her eyes went to the mirror, which Potter had seemed transfixed by. "What's that?"

"Nothing." He scrambled to his feet, wiping at his eyes, and Aurora realised he'd been crying. Taken aback, she didn't know what to say, but instead walked towards him.

"What is it?"

Standing in front of him, she still didn't get an answer. She glanced at the mirror, turning to it, and her stomach dropped.

It was her, but it wasn't. She was taller, older, prettier. A young woman. There was no one around her, but there was a camera, and there seemed to be newspaper clippings behind her. They spoke of her achievements in Alchemy, in Transfiguration and Potions and Quidditch. She stared at it, transfixed. They didn't use her last name, and they didn't need to. She was a Black in the glint of her eyes, in the curl of her lips. She was Aurora. She was not the daughter or relative of anyone, Death Eater or Blood Traitor or anyone in between.

"What is this?" she breathed, fingers pressed to the glass. There was a man slowly appearing behind her and a woman, and she knew these were her parents. Her heart skipped a beat and she recoiled, hating the fact that she saw him there. She didn't want him there, but he didn't go away. She wheeled around on Potter, heart pounding. "What is this?"

"It's — it's a mirror," he said quickly. "It shows you... what you want. Whatever you want."

She looked back at it. She didn't want to see her father, that Death Eater, Blood Traitor, stupid, reckless scum of her blood. Her eyes stung with angry, furious tears. "What do you see them?" she asked bitterly, and then regretted it when she looked at Potter's eyes. She knew what he saw. And given what she saw... She felt sickened. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. His eyes were glimmering, and they looked pained, honestly. That was her father's fault. And apparently, she wanted to see him. Maybe Potter was wrong. He probably was.

She backed away, finding herself shaking, but she still couldn't bring herself to leave. Her eyes went back to the mirror, that awful mirror, and then with a great, heavy sigh, she sat down. Potter stared at her. "What are you doing?"

"I came here to read. So that's what I'm doing."

His stare turned to a glare. "Get out!"

She regarded him coolly, though her heart was still pounding. She didn't want to cry, and the only way to stop herself from crying was by reading something that made sense. Something based on logic and logic alone, that was not subject to emotions. "No. You're more than welcome to keep staring at that awful thing. I won't stop you."

She started reading about the seven aspects of magic. They'd only really touched on transfigurational and enchanting magic so far, with a natural incorporation of elemental magic, but the others — healing, protective, martial, and abstract — would all begin to crop up soon, and she wanted to get a head start on learning. Plus, she found the concepts behind abstract magic both fascinating and frustrating, so that she could hardly stop herself from being curious. She read until her eyes stung from weariness and the bad lighting, and only then did she let herself look back at Potter. He was transfixed by the mirror again. Aurora swallowed nervously as she stood up, making to head for the door. He didn't even seem to notice her when she left. She didn't intend on returning.

Despite how she had enjoyed having the castle to herself for a while, Aurora was glad when her friends returned from Christmas break and she could stop seeing everybody else's pitying looks. "Have you found out why Potter's interested in Nicolas Flamel yet?" Gwendolyn asked her while Aurora helped her unpack after dinner. She was the only one as of yet whom Aurora had told about her eavesdropping - since Pansy wouldn't care and Draco would care far too much - and was most interested in it.

"No," she said. "Although, I did come across him this one night." She told Gwen vaguely about the strange mirror, and some of what she'd seen. She left out the part about her father.

"That is weird," she said. "I wonder what he saw?"

"Do you?" Aurora asked, raising her eyebrows. She waited for the penny to drop with Gwen, whose face went suddenly white.

"Oh. OH."

"Yeah." She sighed and shook her head. "It was weird being there with him. We didn't even argue, not really."

"That's a miracle," Gwen said, grinning. "I kind of want to see this mirror now. Maybe it's magic." She winked.

"It's definitely magic," Aurora said with a laugh. "But I'm not taking you there, I don't want to see it again."

Gwen shrugged, laying her brush out on her bedside table. Aurora wrinkled her nose; it was covered in hair. "That's gross," she told Gwen, who stared at her. "It's covered in your hair!"

Gwendolyn blinked. "It's my hairbrush."

"It looks like a mouse. Stella might eat it."

"She'd better not!" Gwen looked at the hairbrush. "It's not even that bad."

"It is so! Clean it up."

Gwen gaped at her. "You sound like my mum!"

"Good. You probably listen to her."

Gwen shook her head, and tugged hair from her brush. "You're absolutely impossible, Aurora."

She grinned. "That's me."

Classes were in full swing after returning from the holidays. Aurora ended up having her detention on the first Friday evening back, alongside Potter and Weasley, having been reminded of it during Potions. "You didn't tell us you got a detention," Pansy hissed when they left.

"I forgot," she said honestly. "And I didn't even do anything — it was one of the Weasley twins who threw the snowball." That was partially because of her, she thought, but she didn't mention that.

"Well, that sounds entirely unfair to me," Draco said, sniffing. "And you have to do it with Weasley and Potter. I'd refuse."

"I can't refuse," Aurora laughed. "Snape hates me enough already."

So at seven o'clock that night she made the short walk to Professor Snape's classroom. Weasley and Potter arrived the same time as her, and they all looked at each other awkwardly, not knowing who ought to go in first. Aurora huffed loudly, rolled her eyes haughtily, and swept inside.

Snape glared at them. "Potter, clean out those cauldrons. Weasley, my store cupboard needs organising. Black." His lip curled in dislike. "I have horned slugs and eels that need slicing." He pointed to the table in the corner heaped with slimy, squidgy creatures. Aurora was slightly revolted, but she supposed it could've worse. At least she wasn't squeamish.

"Fine," she said, and the three of them all separated to their respective areas.

Snape kept sweeping around like a bat, eyes glittering with fury when he saw that Aurora didn't actually hate the task she was doing. It was methodical and practical. She enjoyed the feeling of the slice of the knife, horrid as that might have seemed. It slid through cleanly and smoothly, again and again and again until she had chopped everything on the desk and sorted them into labelled jars. Potter was still scrubbing the bottom of a stubborn cauldron. There was a crash from the store cupboard that told Aurora that Weasley had messed something up.

Snape sneered and went through to yell at him. Aurora caught Potter's eye. "Do you want a hand?" she found herself asking. She'd surprised herself by doing so.

Clearly, she'd surprised Potter, too. He stared at her, perplexed. "You're finished?" She nodded. He glanced at the store cupboard. "I don't think he'd like it."

"True." She rolled her eyes and then hesitated. She was, after all, still curious. "Did you ever find what you were looking for? About Nicholas Flamel?"

Potter looked shocked that she'd asked. "No," he told her slowly. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I'm curious as to why you're looking for him, if you don't know about his work." Potter didn't say anything and she smirked. "Why don't you want anyone to know? You're up to something, I know you are. Is that why you were sneaking around during the holidays, in that room?" She couldn't think of anything that mirror might have to do with Nicholas Flamel, though.

"It's nothing to do with it," Potter said quietly. "I came across that mirror by accident."

Aurora considered this for a moment, then decided to attempt a trade of information. "You might want to take a look in the Alchemy section. If you tell me why you're interested, I'll tell you everything I know."

"The Alchemy section? But—"

Snape came back through and they shut up promptly. He glared between the two of them. "Potter and Black." He wore a horrid sneer. "No talking in detention."

"I'm finished chopping these, sir," Aurora told him, smiling pleasantly.

"Then you can help Potter scrub cauldrons," he said. "You are not leaving early."

She scowled falsely and headed over to the stack of cauldrons by Potter. He caught her eye and looked almost like he was going to smile. "Separately."

Aurora shook her head and lifted a stack of the cauldrons, carrying them over to her side of the classroom. Scrubbing cauldrons was less satisfying than chopping eels, but she didn't mind that work too much either, though she did wash her hands thoroughly in the bathroom when she got back.