On the final day of the holidays, Aurora visited the old family houses. Her reasoning initially had been that she needed to check the wards and see if her father had intruded at all. She was fairly certain, now even more than she had been earlier, that he had not dared to even do much as look at Grimmauld Place or Black Manor, and from the shape of the wards as Andromeda and Dora had checked, that was the case.

At Black Manor, she had been prepared to meet with a few of the local wizards whom the Black family were supposed to claim responsibility. Technically, they were landlords — or rather, she was landlady — of a portion of magical Cornwall, and in turn represented their tenants in the Legislating Assembly, alongside whomever their elected representative might be. Currently, it was one Carrick Bratt, who opposed essentially everything the Black family had ever stood for and called for the dissolution of the current political system which allowed them any power in the first place.

It was not a surprise that he didn't want to speak with her. No one else did either, it seemed, not even to complain. Aurora was in no way surprised by this, but at least she had tried to carry out her duties. Maybe, once this blew over — if it did, perhaps if her father's innocence was discovered, if he was even innocent — then people might allow her to fulfil her role.

"Come on, sweetheart," Andromeda had said while Aurora lingered in the family library, considering the spines of the oldest books which she had not been allowed to touch when she was younger. Any flutter of pages sounded like the whisper of a phantom. "One more — though I still doubt he'd go back there."

"Quite," Aurora murmured, tracing the gilded writing on The Spirit of the Herbologist. She cleared her throat. Andromeda's eyes glimmered as she looked around, as they had everywhere they had visited today. Memories weighed on Aurora the whole time and right now, she swore she could hear Arcturus's voice asking why she couldn't use her words. She missed him — she couldn't help but feel that he would know what advice to give her over her father, even if she knew rationally that he would not, and likely would hex him. Dora merely stared. She had never been in any of the Black family homes. Though Aurora wasn't quite sure family homes were supposed to have accumulated this much gloom.

"Onto Grimmauld, then," she said, allowing her cousin to lead her out of the library, where she closed the door softly. One always had to be gentle with the library.

They Apparated from just outside the house wards — Aurora had, as she had everywhere else, had to speak to the wards to force them to recognise Andromeda again, and then Dora — to Grimmauld Place, where Aurora could see Number Twelve as clear as day, its gloomy, curtain-shrouded windows staring out at her as imperiously as her grandmother's eyes.

"It may be better if I go in alone," she cautioned Andromeda and Dora, recalling how loudly her grandmother's portrait could talk, and knowing that nothing she had to say about Andromeda and Dora would be polite.

"Are you sure?" Andromeda regarded the street warily — her eyes didn't quite seem able to focus on any spot for long, and Dora was merely politely bewildered. "I know Aunt Walburga kept all sorts around the house."

"Nothing in there will hurt me," she said, quite assuredly. "And there are three house elves — I told them all to meet me together. If I'm not out after ten minutes..."

"We will be able to do nothing, because we cannot get inside."

Aurora did have to concede this point. "Alright. I'll show you in — but let me handle grandmother. If the portrait is the same as it was last time I was here, she — well, it mightn't be a pleasant conversation for you two."

Andromeda winced but Dora shook her hair until it turned black and said with sarcasm dripping from her tongue, "I'm sure Aunt Walburga's lovely, really."

Leading Andromeda to the foot of the steps, Aurora presses her hand to the iron railing, feeling Dora stare over her shoulder. She wondered how this looked to her — what exactly would Dora see her holding? — as she whispered, "I, Aurora Black, grant House access to Nymphadora Tonks, renew access to Andromeda Tonks, by the command of the lady of the family."

She could feel the wards grumble as they gave way to her command.

"Try not to be too loud," she said, already whispering as they made their way up the staircase and to the dark door with a silver serpent doorknocker. "Grandmother doesn't like noise."

The look Andromeda and Dora threw between them — one of trepidation and concern — was obvious, and Aurora brushed it away as the house let her in. One of the elves had at least lit the candles in the hallway for her arrival, and Aurora pressed a finger to her lips as Andromeda and Dora closed the front door. She got three steps down the hall before her grandmother's voice cried, "Who disturbs the House of Black?"

"Aurora," she called back, quickening her pace as she rounded the corner towards the staircase, where her grandmother's curtains had blown away to reveal her face, younger than Aurora's remembered it though painted only two years before her death. "Remember me?"

Her grandmother's eyes narrowed. "You have been absent for far too long, child."

"I've been at Hogwarts," she said, and her grandmother's features twisted in annoyance.

"No one has visited me in two years! I should have known, should have known you'd abandon your grandmother — but not even Cygnus, or Pollux, or Lucretia—"

"They're gone, Grandmother," she said quietly, because it occurred to her that no one had thought to inform a portrait, even if said portrait was no more human than a memory could be. Her grandmother stilled. "I'm Lady Black now."

Her lips pursed. "Well." Her voice was clipped and her expression slightly sneering. "It has come to this, then? Daughter of a blood traitor and a mudblood." Aurora flinched at the sharp bite in the words, the pain they could inflict, even if not to her. "Centuries of pure blood — and you are the last of us." She let out a high cackle that Aurora couldn't remember having had associated with her grandmother — it raised the hair on the back of her neck and grated cold on her spine. "How disappointing. At least you are better than nothing."

This was worse than the screaming she had expected. Aurora knew Andromeda and Dora could hear every word, and it made her cheeks blaze. Andromeda looked like she was trying very hard not to step out right now and shut the portrait up.

"I raised you, though, didn't I? I raised you right."

Aurora nodded shakily. "You did. I'm in Slytherin, Grandmother. Did you know? I was so pleased. And you remember Narcissa's son, Draco? He's in my house, too."

Her grandmother didn't look proud, but she did look satisfied. "There is hope for us yet, child." Her eyes didn't soften any. "Why do you disturb me now?"

This matter Aurora knew, would have to be handled delicately. "Your son," she began gently.

"Regulus?" Her grandmother's eyes lit up. "He is here?"

"No," Aurora said, "Regulus is dead."

Her face contorted in fury. "My son—"

"Sirius has broken out of Azkaban prison," Aurora said quickly, her throat feeling suddenly tight and her head warm. "A few months ago now. I doubted he would have the nerve to return here, but I had to check if only to stop the Ministry from doing the same for themselves."

"That boy will not set a foot in this house!" her grandmother said, voice getting dangerously high and sharp as a knife. "I will not have such scum around him! No blood traitor brat will defile these halls!"

"I know," Aurora said in what she hoped was a soothing voice. "I will certainly not let him." She glanced to her left, where Andromeda and Dora's shadows watched, both distinctly ill at ease.

"You must not! You might save the family name yet — no one need know, no one need know..." Her eyes were bright as a glint of steel.

"Exactly," Aurora said, though she wasn't quite sure where her grandmother's thoughts were going, if anywhere. "I won't bother you for long, but I must speak with the house—"

She saw the hatstand falling before anyone else did, but it wasn't soon enough to stop it crashing to the floor. In an instant, her grandmother had started to scream, demanding to know who else was here, and Kreacher had appeared at the noise and cried, "The blood traitor!" and Dora darted out, looking furious even as she tried to right the stand.

"Dora, don't—"

Walburga Black took a look at her niece and great-niece and burst. "Andromeda Black," She snarled, in a voice that would have made Aurora recoil had it been aimed at her. "You dare walk these halls! Your feet should burn to walk on these stones!"

"Well, they do not," Andromeda said, eyes flashing.

Walburga shouted, "BLOOD TRAITOR!" Her eyes whipped to Aurora, and it felt like they pierced right through her. "YOU BROUGHT HER HERE! INVITED SCUM INTO OUR FAMILY HOME!"

"They are helping to perform a duty—"

"BLOOD TRAITOR!" she shouted again, and now the words cut into Aurora. "SCUM, FILTH OF MY BLOOD, SHAME OF MY ANCESTORS — YOU BRING BLOOD TRAITORS AND HALF BLOODS—"

"Grandmother, please—"

"GET THEM OUT OF MY SIGHT, GIRL! I THOUGHT I RAISED YOU RIGHT, THOUGHT I'D WIPED THE BAD BLOOD OUT—"

"Andromeda, Dora, please go—"

"YOU BRING SHAME TO ME!"

"Kreacher," Aurora gasped, trying to usher Andromeda and Dora away despite the identical, angry sets to their faces, "tell her to stop."

"Kreacher will not. Kreacher agrees with his mistress, Kreacher—"

"I am your mistress, Kreacher," Aurora said as sternly as she could while her voice was shaking so. It felt like she'd just been drenched in icy water.

Grandmother continued screaming, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH YOURSELF IN THESE YEARS, GIRL! WELCOMING TRAITORS AND FILTH!"

"Oi!" Dora said. "Who are you calling filth?"

"Stop it, Grandmother," Aurora said again, trying to pull the curtains over her portrait. "Shush, it's alright, they'll — they'll leave, please stop screaming such things."

The curtains ruffled and from behind them she hissed, "I raised you better than this, girl," and Aurora felt her chest seize.

"Kreacher." Her voice wobbled. "Bring Timmy and Dippy. Andromeda, Dora—"

"BLOOD TRAITORS—"

"Wait — wait outside."

"I will not leave you alone here, Aurora."

"Please," she said, "I'll be fine. But she — she'll just get angry if you stay here."

With cracks, the other two, younger house elves appeared. Their eyes widened at the sight of Andromeda and Dora.

"Visitors," said the smaller, blue-eyed elf, Timmy. "The Lady brings visitors."

"The old portrait was screaming again. Mistress Aurora, why was there screaming?"

"FILTH, SCUM IN MY OWN HOME!"

"Grandmother," Aurora said, hauling the curtains closed again. "Please. We'll be out of your hair soon. Go to sleep..."

The portrait muttered, "Blood traitors and filth, raised you better..." but the energy seemed to blow out of the curtains as they relaxed against the frame and the noise dwindled. Aurora sent a pleading look towards Andromeda and Dora, but both shook their heads and followed her as they went further down the corridor, towards the old sitting room. The elves had, mercifully, kept it in a decent state of cleanliness.

"We made sure everything looks well for Lady Aurora's visit," Dippy explained with a bright smile. "Kreacher was saying that the House of Black must be perfect, but he did not say we had more visitors."

Kreacher muttered, "Blood traitor and her daughter, worse and worse."

"Please don't speak like that," Aurora said as mildly as she could, rattled. She hated how it had bothered her. She wasn't frightened by her grandmother. She couldn't be. The portrait merely awoke a memory, not even a fully accurate one — though how accurate could a five year old's memory be. The words still stung.

"I won't be long," she said, and pleaded with Andromeda and Dora to sit even though both still looked angry. Andromeda's anger was a cold, resigned sort of thing, but Aurora could see the pain that glimmered behind it and knew they would need to discuss it. Dora's was a bright, burning anger which Aurora was just barely restrained. Both took tentative seats on the sofas.

"I merely wanted to check on the upkeep of the estate. All the family houses looked very well cared for on my inspection."

Dippy swelled with pride. "I cleaned the Silver House library, Miss! It was a most beautiful library."

Aurora smiled faintly — the library in Silver House was more akin to a forest than anything else, but that had its own charm, and it was impeccably clean. "I wanted to check again that there has been no contact from Sirius Black?"

All the elves shook their heads, Dippy and Timmy looking aghast at the thought, Kreacher looking like he wanted to spit curses at the name. "Good. And are you all still happy with the work you are doing?" She felt she ought to ask. There was little for them to do, and neglecting elves was not a very good idea. But they all nodded.

"Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black," Kreacher muttered, scraping into a bow which the other two mimicked clumsily.

"There's no need for bows," Aurora told them quickly. "Er — are you? Happy?"

"Very much," Dippy squeaked. "Dippy and Timmy enjoy cleaning, but—" She broke off, but Aurora nodded.

"It's alright, I'd rather you were honest."

"Dippy would like to see people more, miss," she said, looking almost guilty. "Dippy wants to help Mistress Aurora, but Mistress Aurora is never here."

"Dippy," Timmy said sharply, "it is not the Mistress's fault."

"No, no," Aurora said, "I know I am absent often. There isn't much I can do about that — but if you would rather be around people, I could have ask if there is a temporary place at Hogwarts. This isn't a dismissal," she assured Dippy hastily, "but I want you to enjoy what you are doing too."

She recalled Arcturus saying that house elves' loyalty had once been assured through friendship rather than fear. Kreacher had bound himself to the family first — but Dippy and Timmy had been taken on by Arcturus only a few years ago, while the other family elves had moved on, and Aurora really didn't know quite what to do with them. Clothes would be an insult in any case, but she didn't like the idea of keeping them in somewhere they were unhappy with. Such a thing was pointless, in any case.

Dippy's eyes swelled. "Lady Aurora is kind," she said. "I would be very happy with other elves, Miss, if that is what Miss wants."

Aurora smiled awkwardly. "I'll see what I can do? And Timmy?"

Timmy looked caught between the scowling Kreacher and the bouncing Dippy. "Timmy wishes to remain," he said, "Timmy would not serve any Hogwarts student. Timmy wants to stay and be with Kreacher." Kreacher hissed at him, which Timmy appeared amused by. "Timmy will be here when Lady Aurora returns. Someone must keep the House of Black clean and tidy."

"If you wish," Aurora said, with a nervous look at Andromeda and Dora, both of whom were watching the interaction with varying expressions of curiosity. "So be it. Dippy, I will call for you, if that is alright?" Dippy nodded enthusiastically.

"And Kreacher?" Kreacher looked up, ears drooping. "Are you happy here?"

"Kreacher serves none but the House of Black," he said, with a fierce eye cast towards Andromeda and Dora. "Kreacher stays."

"Very well."

She felt something more ought to be done, or said. She itched to go upstairs, to look at her father's old room, as if seeing it would somehow make things that bit clearer. But that was a foolish notion and she knew it. Few secrets would be uncovered by snooping around Grimmauld Place — and at any rate, she could see Andromeda was almost as uncomfortable here as she had been at the house in Anglesey where she had grown up, and Dora eyed everything around her with great suspicion. This environment was not good for any of them. So Aurora said carefully, "Do try and keep Grandmother's temper calm."

It was a small mercy that the portrait did not wake on their way out. All were exhausted in their own ways by the time they returned to the Tonks cottage, collapsing in the lounge before the empty fire.

"I'm sorry about Grandmother," Aurora said, feeling that she ought to get it ought of the way. "She..." Words could not summarise Walburga Black.

"She is certainly my father's sister," Andromeda said, sitting down, "even as a portrait. Small mercies, keeping my parents out of the front hall."

"I can't believe what she said," Dora said, glare fierce though thankfully not aimed at anyone in particular.

"I can," Andromeda said darkly. "But she's gone now. Her words don't mean anything if we don't let them."

"I can't believe that's your family." Those words, too, hurt — though somewhat less, as Aurora knew she didn't mean them to. "I mean, I can, Mum, you've spoken about them before. But..." She shrugged. "God, it was horrible."

"It's a portrait," Andromeda told her heavily. Her eyes, when she looked to Aurora, were just as heavy, but not angry at her. "You did warn us."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't know what to say to — to get her to stop."

Dora didn't look entirely pleased with this explanation, but she didn't say anything more about it. "Dad'll be home soon," she said tightly, "I'll put the kettle on."

Aurora and Andromeda watched her go, and close the kitchen door, before the latter said, "You looked like you were shaking, sweetheart." Aurora tensed. "What Walburga said — well, it's not that I didn't expect it. I've heard it all before. It just doesn't make it any less horrid. Dora's never dealt with quite that sort of attitude. We always kept her away from all that."

"I'm sorry," Aurora said again, feeling suddenly very small.

"It isn't your fault," Andromeda said, and moved so that she could have Aurora sit by her. "We insisted on coming in with you, anyway."

"Yes, but..." She had no idea what she was trying to say. "It was horrible. It's like — like I forgot."

"You were only what, five, when she passed? It isn't your fault. And she was hardly nice to you."

"She was nicer."

Andromeda let out a dry chuckle and stroked Aurora's hair in a gesture that made her throat clog once more. It was almost maternal, but she shut that thought down quickly. "Dora's upset, too."

"Yes," Andromeda agreed carefully, "she's angry, but not at you. She's got a thick skin, and believe it or not, she has heard worse." Aurora still felt that uneasy guilt inside of her. What was she supposed to represent? "I remember when I was your age," Andromeda said, voice quieter now. There was the telltale crash from the kitchen which signified Dora opening a cupboard. "Just starting to rebel, to question my family. It's difficult to hear your own family spout such things about you."

She could not dispute that. But something horrible and bitter had curled itself into Aurora's chest, something that wasn't really guilt, but might have been shame. "That wasn't your fault," Andromeda repeated, but her grandmother's words still rang in her ears. It was worse to hear them when they were aimed at the people she cared about. "Nothing that's happened this year is your fault." Her eyes pricked with heat. "And you're Aurora, remember? No one else gets to define you." The words comforted her only slightly, letting something warm settle in the place the bitterness had carved out. "Your family aren't your fault either."

"But I'm — I'm supposed to..." Her words got stuck. "I'm meant to be in charge now. Represent us. I don't know how. I don't know what I'm supposed to be, Andromeda."

"Oh, Aurora," Andromeda whispered, and drew her into a tight, warm hug. "It's alright."

"It isn't," she mumbled. "I don't want to be... I don't want to be that. But I don't know what else."

Andromeda was quiet for a long moment before she said, "The Black family should be whatever you want it to be, Aurora. You represent yourself, first and foremost, don't you?"

It took a moment for her to nod. Technically it was true, but there was still so much associated with the name. So many things she already could not live up to — but others that she didn't want to live up to.

Because Andromeda and Dora and Ted — well, Aurora decided then, on the sofa in the sort of embrace she hadn't felt for so long — they were family too, now.

-*

The necklace from her father sat in Aurora's bedside table drawer all holiday, but the morning she was due to head back to school she took it out again, holding it nervously in her hand and worrying her lip. If she brought it with her, would people question it? Surely not. To anyone else it was just a nice necklace with a pretty stone. She didn't want to wear it, no, but there was a certain comfort in just taking it with her, and so she shoved it into the pocket of her overnight bag and hurried downstairs.

The train journey back to school was quiet, which unnerved Aurora. Draco seemed as normal, and both he and Pansy seemed perfectly happy talking to her, but she still couldn't shake the feeling that something was off between the two of them. She knew that they would have likely met over the holidays at the Bulstrodes' annual New Year's Party — everyone except for Aurora and Theodore had been invited this year — but neither was forthcoming about details, and no one else appeared to have noticed anything amiss.

Pansy brushed off Aurora's concern with the argument that this quiet was usual for the journey after the Christmas holidays — two weeks clearly wasn't enough for people to be excited about returning, but it was not a satisfactory explanation. Aurora herself grew uneasy as they drew closer, and she knew Draco noticed it.

"This isn't about Potter, is it?" he asked her as they stood waiting for the trolley witch.

"No," she replied, though that wasn't entirely true. "I don't give a damn about him. I'm just not looking forward to having to get up at half past seven every morning again." He laughed, but Aurora didn't think she'd convinced him. "How is Pansy? You two seemed odd."

He shook his head. "Nothing. It's just — well, it's more to do with our fathers than anything else. They fell out over some business thing, I don't know." His eyes narrowed. "Something is wrong with you."

"And?" she asked sharply, still now too aware of all that had passed the term before.

"And," he said, with a long sigh, "you can talk to me. I promise we won't argue."

She cracked a smile, but he couldn't make such a promise. Still, she said quietly, "We visited the Black family houses yesterday. Just... Routine checks. But it disturbed me."

"The Manor?" Draco asked, eyebrows raised. "You haven't been there since... You know."

"I know." She sighed, and waited until a group of second year Gryffindors trotted past, Ginny Weasley among them, before she spoke again. "But we visited Grimmauld too and my grandmother's portrait... She just wasn't very complimentary." Draco frowned. "It bothered me more than it should, but I'll be fine."

"How often have you said that?" Draco mused, and she sighed.

"I'll talk to you once I know what I'm thinking." Secretly, she thought — but couldn't bring herself to say — that there was no way he would even begin to understand her confused thoughts. "But it oughtn't to affect me. I'm just tired and overthinking. And anyway — let's talk about happier things? Did you get the Quidditch League annual?"

Draco didn't look convinced, but they were both still being careful about more sensitive topics. Quidditch, at least, was safe.

-*

When they got up to the castle, Dementors were already guarding the gates. She felt them before she saw them, dark masses against the barely-lit sky. Cold seeped into her very bones as she passed, and her carriage stilled. One of them came closer, and she tensed, hand going immediately to her wand. "Expecto patronum," she whispered under her breath, though nothing happened.

Voices rang in her ears. It was like she was underwater, hearing from very far away.

'Don't do this, they're going to kill her.'

Her breath caught in her throat. She tensed, hand tightening around Pansy's.

'Call off your bitch, Sirius. Maybe if you give up the location, we'll let the girl live.'

She was here. Her friends were here. She was okay, it was only a memory.

'Sirius, no, don't do this!'

The voices rang all around her. She tried to think of something positive — she was with her friends, safe, they wouldn't hurt her, would they?

'Don't you dare hurt her! Don't lay another finger on her!'

Then the Dementors retreated. She could breathe again, but her hand was tight around Pansy's, who was staring at her in concern.

Warmth came back to her as they trundled onwards towards the pale lights of the castle windows. "Are you alright?" Pansy whispered. Aurora's head still spun.

She didn't answer, instead pressing closer to her friend and clutching her wand. She would practice the charm again tonight.

-*

The first classes back passed slowly. Arithmancy was not awful, especially now they were using charging equations to get a grip on laid spells — those whose effects did not come out in a burst or rush, but instead unravelled slowly and steadily over time, usually cast upon a certain object, building, or person. Aurora enjoyed the work immensely now that it didn't rely on prior knowledge of personal information she was half-embarrassed to admit to not knowing, but Hermione Granger's persistent sideways looks were now caught between smugness, suspicion, and — possibly worst of all — pity.

"Please," Professor Vector said at the end of the lesson, "ensure you read Chapter Five of your textbooks — calculations and cursing." Granger winced and a smattering of whispers went around the room. "Yes, I agree it does not sound like the most palatable of subject matter, but it is a vital element of our course and the title should not be treated as a taboo. Curse magic is valuable magic nonetheless. You will be marked on a group project for these next few weeks, and it is essential that all members have sufficient understanding to truly power your spells — though not curses."

Aurora tried not to roll her eyes. Her gaze slipped to Granger, who seemed torn between giddiness at the idea of homework, and dismay at the assumption that they could easily wind up in a group together. Aurora wrinkled her nose and collected her bags, but as she went to turn, she thought of something.

"How are Weasley and Potter?"

Granger looked slightly frightened at the question and it was very unconvingly that she said, "Fine." Aurora raised her eyebrows. Granger hadn't been sitting with them at breakfast that morning — it was unusual, and very noticeable to anyone who paid attention to the three of them. "If you're angry at Harry..."

"Potter does not concern me. He is nothing but an idiot."

"He feels awful about it, he knows he shouldn't have reacted like that—"

"I don't care," Aurora said firmly, rolling her eyes and then assuming a colder expression of calculated curiosity. "It's just, I heard a rumour... About Weasley's rat? You know, the little ugly thing? I assumed it's a rat, and not a hairbrush."

Granger blinked. Her voice was even more strained as she said, "Scabbers is fine."

So that was the rat's name. "Really? Because I heard your cat is a menace, chasing him around the common room — is that why Weasley isn't talking to you?

She hadn't really, but she had heard from Gwendolyn via Leah MacMillan via Frida Selwyn that Granger had a cat, and it was apparently rather mad in general. The reach seemed to work, as Granger said stiffly, "He does what any cat would."

"Oh, I know," Aurora said, "I have a cat, too. But that rat is awfully... Old, isn't it? A bit pathetic really, last time I saw it. Hasn't Weasley had him since first year? Rats don't live so long anyway, I'm sure if you're worried about your cat, the rat still has much bigger things to worry about. Even if the cat does scare him to his death."

It could have been the wrong thing to say, if Aurora had been trying to reassure Granger — but she wasn't. "Scabbers isn't anywhere near dying, thank you very much! And not because of Crookshanks! Ron's family has had that rat for years!"

"How long," Aurora taunted, and Granger stared at her. "I heard it was the Prefect brother's first, is that right? Is that a hand-me-down like everything else?"

It was a low blow, and if she'd asked Weasley himself she could well have been in for a hex. But Granger, even as furious as she was, would never hex someone in a classroom. "If you must know," she said tetchily, "Ron's family have had Scabbers since Ron was a year old, and he will be perfectly fine! He's well cared for! And Crookshanks is not — he's not doing anything wrong! It's not my fault!"

Aurora did feel a small pang of guilt when she saw that Granger's lip was wobbling and she looked close to tears, for whatever unexplainable reason. She stormed past, but Aurora had gotten the information she wanted. It stunned her enough that Pansy had to snap her out of it.

"What were you talking to Granger about?" she asked, wrinkling her nose as they made their way out of the classroom.

"Merely asking after her pet," Aurora said breezily, with enough of a smirk that Pansy would know there was more to it but not feel the need to ask and implicate herself in anything. But her own head was spinning.

She didn't trust her father, or entirely believe that he was telling the truth. But, Weasley had to have had that rat for twelve years. No normal rat lived for that long.

But an Animagus might.

-*

On Wednesday, Aurora headed to the library during lunch, hoping she might find more information about Animagi that might clarify her suspicions about Pettigrew. Many of the books about Animagi were in the Restricted Section — which Aurora thought was ridiculously unfair for any curious students, solely because it was classed as being 'dangerous' — but there were enough in the general Transfiguration Section that she managed to find in After Animagi: Life After Completing the Transformation a passage which confirmed Animagi could often live for much longer than their usual animal counterparts. Even if they remained in their animal form — thought the book very strongly warned against such a stint — they could have a life expectancy of up to sixty years.

The knowledge made her only slightly more confident about her father's accusations. But she still couldn't trust him, and she was uneasy as she made her way alone to class. Potter, somehow, managed to find her just around the corner from the library, and followed her for a moment in silence before she turned and said, "Spit it out, Potter."

"I—" He floundered, as he came to her side. "I um... I just wanted to say about that day in Hogsmeade. I... learned some things?"

She slowed, unsettled. "Learned what, Potter?"

"About... You." He cleared his throat. "I, um — I guess I'm sorry?"

That made her stop in her tracks entirely. It was like the world had just slipped away from her. "What did you say to me?"

"Don't make me say it again—"

"Harry Potter is apologising to me?"

A scowl crosses his features. "Oh, sod off, Black."

"What brought that on, Potter?"

"I — I don't like you, Black."

"Oh, thank goodness, I thought the world truly had gone mad."

"I didn't know..." He looked deeply uncomfortable now, but Aurora was too stunned and confused to walk away. "Look, in Hogsmeade, I'd just found out what your dad did and I mean, you haven't exactly done anything to — I mean, you did, you... But I — I didn't know, I didn't really realise... About your mum."

Something cold fell into the pit of her stomach. Aurora could hardly do anything but stare at Potter, incredulous. "I don't like you, Black—"

"So you keep reminding me," she said faintly, hardly hearing her own voice.

"But I didn't mean to do that to you. I know it isn't your fault, I was just so angry, I didn't — didn't know what I was doing. But whatever you are... I know you're not... Him."

Again, she struggled to think, or speak. Rarely was she at a loss for words but this was an exception to every known law of the universe. "Well," she said. "Glad we sorted that out. Stay away from me."

She made to turn away, her blood cold and her very existence shaken by the fact that he was apologising, that he was sorry, that he was pitying her — but Potter called after her, "I know you're my godsister!"

Aurora swallowed. "And?"

"You — how long have you known?"

"I've always known."

There was a moment in which neither of them dared to move or speak. Aurora held Potter's gaze, thoughts in turmoil. What the fuck was happening? What was she doing — what did Potter think he was doing?

"We first met in Diagon Alley," he said. "Your Aunt was with you."

"And?"

"You were upset." Her cheeks burned at the memory.

"Shove off, Potter, this has nothing—"

"And then on the Hogwarts Express. I was so confused why you left like that, but it's because you knew. You realised who I was and you — what, went to fetch Malfoy?"

"No," she said pointedly. "I wanted to stay out of your way, Potter, as a matter of fact. I had plenty to concern myself with that didn't involve you — as I do now, in fact."

"But you knew." The look in his eyes was like a betrayal. "You knew who I was. What we were to each other."

She let out a shrill laugh. "Potter, we are nothing to each other."

He stared at her, but then his face hardened. "Yeah. I know. I just don't understand."

"Don't understand what?" she snapped.

Potter swallowed. His eyes darted to the wall and then back again. "How could do such — such a horrible thing."

Her heart seemed to batter her chest in that instant. She thought back to her father's words, his pleading of innocence. She thought back to hearing her mother's final moments, the cry of I love you. She put on a look of cold neutrality and said, "It's a mystery to us all, Potter. Are you done dissecting my history?"

It took a second, but he backed away. Aurora let out a shaky breath.

"This doesn't mean I like you," Potter said hastily. "Just to be clear. But I dislike you because you're mean, not because of him. And I'm sorry, about your mother. I — I know she was a Muggleborn, too."

That word struck her somehow. "Oh, and have you come to tell me you're going to share my dirty little secret now, have you?"

"No." Potter looked offended. "No, I just wanted to say sorry! About what happened in Hogsmeade, and that I shouldn't have — have reacted like I did. And that I should have realised this... Isn't really easy for you."

Aurora stared at him. She almost laughed. But somehow the sound wouldn't materialise. She could see, even though she didn't want to, that he meant what he said about her mother. Her voice came out as a faint, "I hate you too, Potter."

"But I know you're... Not as bad as he is. I still remember first year."

She raised her eyebrows. "I thought you had a more selective memory than that, Potter." His cheeks flushed red.

"Well, you didn't exactly make it easy to be—"

"Just keep your hands off me," she interrupted, "won't you? And don't bring up my family. Ever. Again. I won't be so lenient in future."

"But you..."

"Goodbye, Potter," she told him faintly and then turned, stalking along the corridor.

She had barely come to her senses when she reached her classroom, the first one there. What the hell did Potter think he was playing at, apologising to her? Was this some bizarre Gryffindor attempt to gain the moral high ground? If he thought she was going to forgive him then he was sorely mistaken. On the contrary, Aurora was certain there was far too much bad blood between them for either to ever forgive the other for anything. The fact Potter had actually said the word sorry, and said it with some sincerity, was enough to throw her off. What business did he have, handing around apologies and shaking up the balance of their dynamic? Did he expect something in return?

She hated that he'd spoken to her, that he'd shown what might be described as kindness, because that wasn't who she wanted to see in him, and she wanted an excuse to scream at him. She hated that he knew anything about her mother, and that he thought it meant he knew anything about her.

She hated, most of all, that horrible look of pity in his eyes.

-*-*-

A/N: I had intended to release this chapter last night since it would be officially a year since I first posted on, and managed to royally muck it up and forgot to post on here after I posted on ao3. But anyway, it's here now, and I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has liked, followed, or commented on this fic in the last year — it means the world to me.

I also wanted to gauge interested in a potential fic focusing on Marlene's time at Hogwarts? It wouldn't be my main priority ofc, and likely would be a lot shorter than this fic, but I've been working on the Marauders' background for the sake of building this fic and have become more attached to the characters than intended. I've only got the bare bones written but would consider turning it into more of a fic if people were interested (despite being a Wolfstar fan at heart, like I said — I got attached, and one or two characters from the past are going to start popping up).

Also, prior to the last few chapters, I wrote up a version of the conversation with the Minister and co in the Three Broomsticks which Harry eavesdropped upon, just so I had a clearer reference for what exactly Harry thinks the version of events is in this timeline. Readers over on ao3 seem interested in reading it so I will likely edit it and share on here sometime soon, but wanted to give a heads up and see if anyone was interested in reading that.

That's all for now, and thank you again to everyone who has supported this fic. It means a lot.