It was the next evening before Aurora finally realised why Professor Lupin had seemed familiar to her. She was in the common room, reading on the sofa with Theodore while Draco, Pansy and Daphne squabbled over a card game. It was when she landed on the passage in her History of Magic textbook about the unique fusion of Victorian muggle and magical technologies in London, and the author wrote that 'photographs, believed by some extreme Muggles to have Satanist and magical properties such as the ability to steal one's soul, emerged in the Magical sphere as a phenomenon, that rare piece of Muggle genius that had fascinated wizards for centuries, the ability to capture a single moment' that it hit her, entirely out of the blue.
She slipped off the sofa, causing alarm from Theodore. "Are you quite alright?" he asked. "You've got that look in your eye like you're confused... But you don't think you should be. And you don't know why."
She stared at him. "What?"
"Longbottom looks like that a lot. Maybe it's contagious."
"Do shut up, Nott." He grinned but her heart was pounding. "I think I just need to check something. I'll be back in a moment."
Aurora hurried through to her room - thankfully, Gwen was holed up in the library with Robin Oliphant and Tracey Davis - and scrambled around in her bag of belongings taken from Grimmauld Place which she'd marked out to keep years ago.
There. He had aged a lot, as had the photo, but when she turned it over with shakings hands, Aurora saw the name Remus. Remus Lupin. She sank back onto her bed, staring. There couldn't be many people called Remus, and he would be around the correct age. He'd looked at her father like he knew him. Oh, Merlin.
He had been his friend. He'd been a friend to James and Lily Potter too, then - a friend to Peter Pettigrew, to Frank and Alice Longbottom, presumably to Aurora's own mother. Sudden guilt swept over her, needless and irrational but consuming nonetheless. She had, even unintentionally, conjured into this man's classroom the image of a man who had killed his friends. She might not have cared so terribly about Potter's reaction but all of a sudden, she didn't know what to think about anything.
No wonder Lupin had been worried.
She flipped through photos, searching for his face over and over again until her stomach turned. Stella crept up onto the bed beside her, titling her head curiously. Aurora scratched her head absently. "Merlin," she whispered, lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. The protective serpent necklace she'd taken to wearing always around her neck fell across onto the bed and the small pendant of Julius woke up to hiss at her. "Why is everything all such a mess?"
Stella of course didn't say anything, but she did rest her head in the crook of Aurora's elbow as if to say, I don't know, but it's okay.
Her eyes went to her drawers where she kept the family relics. She'd never wanted to keep these photos with them; they weren't that same family and if she was honest she wasn't sure why she even wanted to hold onto them. There was a lump in her throat but she swallowed it. Her friends would wonder where she was soon and she didn't want anyone to walk in on her looking fragile. This was not a big deal, she told herself, not a big deal at all. It didn't mean Lupin was at all relevant to her, nor she to him. It was just... Strange. And horrible. And she wished she was a little girl again, safe and happy with her family, her real family - Grandmother and Arcturus and Lucretia and Ignatius - instead of here and terrified that the father who had never loved her was going to kill her.
She picked herself up and forced herself to sit up straight. "I'm quite alright," she said, the words stilted. The photos seemed to have burned themselves into her mind. What if Lupin knew her mother? Even a name would be something. But she told herself she shouldn't care about her mother. She was a mudblood, the family hated her, she was nothing to do with the Black family at all. And then neither was her father but everyone thought he was because he'd turned murderer.
She needed something to distract herself, she decided, standing up and bracing herself. Enough of this moping and worrying and getting upset when she had no rational reason to be. She'd find something to occupy herself. Ballet, perhaps, though she was out of practice; there was a certain rigidity, a routine technique to it, which she liked.
The sugar plum fairy music ran through her mind. Originally, she knew the Nutcracker had been a Muggle ballet, but Uncle Arcturus had found something charming about their idea of magic, as had many wizards; he'd taken her to a magical performance of it, once, where real fairy lights had lined the curtains, and the backdrop was enchanted to move of its own accord, and the ballet dancers truly seemed to fly in their shoes. It had been beautiful. She was nothing like a sugar plum fairy dancer, but thefact she could still recall the familiar music brought a strange comfort to her, and it was with that resolve that she managed to fold the photos away into their bag, hide them under her bed and stroll back to the common room as if nothing had happened.
Theodore merely looked up, amused. "Find what you were looking for?" he asked, and she nodded.
"Oh, yes. It all makes so much more sense now. I've got a much better grasp of the photography. It's a shame none of us took Muggle Studies."
Theodore laughed. "Eh, we have all we need."
At the table in front of them, Draco laughed loudly as one of Pansy's cards burst into flame and she pouted. Aurora grinned feebly at the sight, But was still all too aware of Theodore looking at her. "What?"
"Something's wrong," he said plainly, "isn't it?"
"What makes you say that."
"I'm good at observing people." He sighed, leaning back contemplatively. "And it would make sense."
"I'm fine. Really. There's an awful lot going on in my life, but I'm perfectly on top of it all and my studies keep me more than occupied." He laughed. "What?"
"Nothing. Nothing." Daphne shrieked as an exploding card jumped up to slap her in the face, momentarily distracting them both. "You just talk like that when you're lying. It's quite amusing, to tell how everyone lies. Draco's voice always gets a bit higher, Pansy has this sort of breathiness in hers, Daphne laughs a little, Blaise never looks you in the eye, Lucille hunches her shoulders and Millicent can't lie at all."
Aurora stared at him in shock, wondering at what he thought he was talking about. It sounded like utter nonsense to her - even if, yes, Millicent was an awful liar and Draco's voice always rose when he was trying to hide something.
"I don't talk like anything when I'm lying, thank you very much. And I am perfectly alright."
"Okay." Theodore looked back down at his book. "Don't talk to me about it if you don't want to. I understand it, partially... But I know Draco and Pansy are both worried about you and you ought to be more honest with them."
At that, Aurora was taken aback. How dare he tell her what to do? "Who do you think you are?" she asked. "I'm perfectly fine, and perfectly honest with myself and with my friends. If you don't mind, I'd like to finish this homework."
Theodore blinked, and drew back, looking away. He shifted further to the edge of the sofa, curled up, and didn't look Aurora's way again. She didn't know what to do with that, and hated that she felt guilty when he was the one accusing her of hiding things. So what if she didn't want to talk about what was going on right now? Who would?
She sighed but then couldn't focus on her work. Her mind kept drifting back to the photographs, to her father, to Lupin, and then to the drawer where the family relics were confined, the serpent necklaces and the puzzle box among them. Yet she couldn't bring herself to return to them. Instead she slipped off the sofa, knelt down between Draco and Pansy, and invited herself into their little game quite pleasantly, pretending she didn't see the now too obvious looks her friends were throwing her way.
-*
On Saturday morning, before her first Quidditch practice of the new season, Aurora woke early, though the Slytherin dormitories were rarely bright. Gwen was still sleeping, but by the time Aurora had had her morning shower she seemed to have woken her up and the other girl was perched at the end of her bed.
"Can I help you?" Aurora asked as politely as she could manage through a stifled yawn.
Gwen nodded. "Er, I just wanted to say good luck with Quidditch practice. And I... Well, I hope everything's alright?"
Aurora raised her eyebrows pointedly. "Alright?"
"Yes. I'm sorry for... Well, Robin says I was insensitive and should've tried to understand, and I don't understand, but there you go."
"Oh." She blinked, oddly heartened by the apology. "Well, thank you."
She went to her trunk, searching for her Quidditch robes, and did a check over her broom to make sure it was still in pristine condition. When she turned around, Gwen was looking at her expectantly and Aurora stared at her for a moment, wondering what she'd missed and trying to decipher the pointed look in her eyes.
"Oh!" She grabbed her broom, laughing half-heartedly. "Yes, sorry to you too. I don't like arguing with you, and I am sorry that it I upset you." She grinned. "I have to go or Marcus'll make me do extra bench warmup for tardiness, and I have to start this year off right if I want to make the main team next year. See you at lunch, though!"
She didn't quite appreciate the resulting look on Gwendolyn's face.
On her way to the common room to meet Draco, she pondered if that had been enough. She didn't think she'd really been the one at fault, so reciprocation should have been appropriate, but Gwen might not see it that way. But Aurora didn't know how these things worked. Especially when she had no idea of the stance Gwendolyn was coming from.
"What are you worried about now?" Draco asked drily as she joined him by the door. "Don't tell me it's the Potions homework."
"No, no, it's not. It's just Gwendolyn."
"What's she done now."
"Apologised." She winced. "And I don't know how I'm meant to respond! So I apologised too, but I'm not entirely sure what for."
Draco did a rather odd one-armed shrug. "Least you apologised. Broom on form?"
"As always."
He grinned. "Shall we, then?"
There was truly nothing in the world like the Quidditch Pitch. Seeing the grass away in the breeze, the towers of the stands reaching into the cloudy morning sky, and her teammates assembled in emerald green together, clutching their brooms.
"Hurry up, you two," Marcus Flint barked, as they were still both finishing off slices of toast on their way down. "And what's with the arm, Malfoy?"
"Care of Magical Creatures," he muttered, waving his good hand in the air. "That stupid oaf Hagrid."
"I heard about the hippogriff," Cassius Warrington said, grinning. "Looks like a sore one."
"Are you going to be able to play?" Flint demanded.
"Probably." Draco sighed dramatically. "If Madam Pomfrey thinks so. But it could go either way."
Flint gave him a dubious look. "It was really savage," Aurora told him. "That hippogriff has anger issues!"
"But can Malfoy play?"
Draco shrugged and then hissed in pain. Flint sighed, and Aurora glared at Miles Bletchley, who was laughing. "Not right now?"
With a groan of frustration, Flint turned to Aurora. "So now we have to use her?"
"I have a name."
"Oh," said Graham Montague, "we know."
She tried to hide her scowl. "Well, I'm sure Draco will be fine to play. But I'd love to practice."
Flint rolled his eyes and gave Draco a disdainful one-over which had Aurora's skin crawling. She stepped slightly in front of Draco and said, "Is that all, or is there anything else we need to go over?"
"Don't get cheeky with me, Black," Flint warned, frowning.
She pursed her lips, catching Cassius' eye behind Flint's back. He seemed amused, but all the other boys were glaring at her. "Sorry," she said softly, "that wasn't what I meant to do, Flint."
"Fantastic. Well, now that we're all here, let's get down to business. Huddle up."
Aurora and Draco hurried over, slipping into the tight circle. Aurora wrinkled her nose - she had not missed the smell of teenage Quidditch players.
"This year, we have to maintain our streak. Now, last year was a write off through no fault of our own, but it's Bletchley and I's final year and we will not lose to Gryffindor, or anyone else for that matter."
"Here's to that," said Bletchley, grinning. The other boys muttered agreement.
"We're going to train every Saturday and Sunday morning, and every Wednesday evening. You had all better be punctual, on form, preferably not maimed, and most definitely not hungover."
At this, he glared at Lucian Bole, who scowled in return. "It was one time and we didn't even do anything."
"We can save the alcohol for when we pulverise Gryffindor in our first match." At this, Aurora grinned. "Which I think we can all agree, will be glorious. Chasers and Miles, we'll go over this year's new strategy. Bole, Derrick, you both like you need an arm workout, get started on practice. Malfoy... You can't fly, can you?" Draco shook his head miserably and glared at the ground. "Sit on the bench and see if you can spot the sun coming up, it looks a bit like a Snitch. Black, fly laps or something and don't let me regret having you as an alternate."
Aye, aye, captain she thought derisively, and when they broke away, exchanged an exasperated look with Draco as he trudged back to the bench.
"Sorry," she said, "I'm sure you'll be fine in no time. They probably won't ever play me." She tried to keep that bitter not out of her voice, knowing exactly how little Marcus wanted to use her in their match.
"Obviously," Draco muttered. "But I'm supposed to beat Potter this year. And with this..." He held up his injured arm with a scowl. "And I can't train!"
"You'll train soon," Aurora was quick to assure him. "And you've been training all your life, you can do this."
"Potter beat me last year."
She struggled to reply. "Yes. But... He got lucky."
Draco let out a derisive snort. "I'm not losing to him again."
"You won't." She clapped him on the shoulder. "But you're also not going to win by moping."
"Black!" Flint bellowed across the pitch. "Get in the air!"
"Yes, Marcus!" Aurora shook her head and straightened up, grabbing her broom. "Your arm'll be fine soon, I'm sure. Keep an eye on my form, will you? I can't help but feel a little rusty."
Then she jogged back out onto the pitch, where Cassius grinned over at her, and mounted her broom, taking to the sky. It was as freeing to be up here as it had always been, and the familiar sear of cold wind against her cheeks, its hands tangling her hair, was refreshing. It just felt right being up here, though the family ring on her finger seemed to burn, its silver aflame in the sunlight. She flew lap after lap, beaming at the feeling of freedom for once, but as she came into her dismount at Flint's call, she caught sight of a dark shadow at the edge of the pitch.
Aurora pulled up, heart pounding. She hovered in the air. It had looked like a dog. Just like the one she'd seen at the Tonkses'. A cold terror ran through her, irrational but gripping.
There was no connection. She was paranoid of late, anyway. And she was tired. The wind and exhaustion was making her eyes play tricks on her. Aurora blinked, looking up at the clouds above her. When she looked down, the dog-shaped shadow was gone, and she steeled herself. She was just being silly now.
So she flew back down to the ground among the boys and put on a disaffected, cheerful smile. Still, even as they kept up practice drills and continued their flight, she couldn't shake the feeling that something - whether the dog, a person, or something else entirely - was watching her.