Aurora liked to think of herself as good at hiding her emotions — unless said emotion was anger. She was practiced at it. She knew when to let them out with the minimal risk to exposure, and more often than not when she did reveal her feelings, it was of that angry sort. Her anger was always the thing that got the best of her.

But the anger she felt the next morning was resigned, almost cold. It wasn't an anger directed at a particular person, not even Potter, but instead at the universe and whatever forces were so determined to mess with her life. It was an anger she associated with loss, and the fear of loss.

In the Great Hall at breakfast, she only picked at her food, despite trying to appear normal. "I'm going to head to the library," she told Draco and Pansy, just as Professor Lupin sat down to breakfast — he wouldn't see her sneaking off on the map, that way. "I'll see you at lunch?"

"Sure," Draco said, brow furrowed, "but aren't you going to stick around a bit longer?"

She shook her head. "Half of Ravenclaw look like they've already gone. I want to find somewhere I can avoid people — namely Potter."

Pansy sighed. "Sometimes I think you should join that house, Aurora, the amount of time you spend with your nose in a book."

"Someone has to earn our house points, dear," she said, and Pansy bristled at the endearment, opting to sip her tea rather than respond immediately.

"Do remember we promised Lucille and Daphne a girls' night tonight." Aurora blinked and Pansy huffed. "Remember, Darren Avery just started dating Ilona Thorel?" Lucille had had her eyes set on Darren Avery — one of their housemates in the year above — for all of two months, but she had not taken the news about his girlfriend well, and had, apparently, insisted on a 'girl's night' to resolve her emotions.

"I'm not going to spend all evening in the library, too, Pans," she promised. "I'll be there."

"You're having a girls' night?" Draco asked, wrinkling his nose. Aurora grinned at him as she got to her feet.

"You aren't jealous, are you, Draco?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Definitely not of you. I expect you'll have a miserable time."

"Excuse me, I will have the best company in the world," Aurora said, and winked at Pansy. "Enjoy playing snap with Vincent and Greg."

Draco scowled, but Aurora gave him and Pansy both small smiles before heading out on her own. She didn't dare look to see if Lupin's eyes were following her, or anybody else's.

Granger's mad cat seemed to realise where she was going, because it appeared at her feet just as she moved out into the grounds. Aurora smiled faintly, following it to the Whomping Willow, which it stilled easily.

The passage to the shack felt longer and more claustrophobic than ever before. Her father was on the top floor, asleep by a dilapidated wardrobe, but he leapt up when she entered, ears pricked up.

"Don't look so excited," she told him, moving forward. "I haven't got any food, and I don't have good news either."

There was a flash and her father transformed back into a man, brow creased with worry. It occurred to her for the first time that Draco looked rather similar when he made that expression. "What's happened?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said sharply. "You, on the other hand, were seen by Potter yesterday." He flushed. "Potter was then caught by Professor Snape, who summoned Professor Lupin, who confiscated the Marauder's Map and also knows — or at the very least suspects — you have been hanging around in your dog form."

Her father went white and stared at her. "Shit."

"My sentiments exactly. Now, we need to begin to formulate a plan to get you out of the country—"

"I'm not going to run!" he said sharply, looking at her as if the suggestion was actually worse than murder.

"You are if you know what's good for you," Aurora said, ignoring the part of her that didn't entirely want him to. "Frankly, lingering for so long was irresponsible, I should have sent you away weeks ago. We have property in France, Italy and Russia, as you know—"

"I'm not going there!" he said, louder this time. "Aurora, I can't just leave because Remus might have something that could lead him to me."

With that statement, all she could do was stare at him. "In that case, you're even stupider than I thought. Are all Gryffindors the same?"

"I came here for a reason," her father reminded her. "Originally, to kill Peter — now to clear my name. I can't do either if I run. And if I do, when will I see you? I'm not leaving you again."

She didn't know what to do with that statement, whether she could allow herself to be pleased at the sentiment or furious that he was being so foolish. "It wouldn't have to be forever. Just stay away long enough that things die down, and Professor Lupin is assured that you aren't going to come back. He has the map now, he'll know if you come onto school property, and he'll be able to see me sneaking off using your secret passage, too."

"But if Remus has the map," her father said, looking far too pleased with himself, "he might see Peter on it. Then he'll know — he'll know I didn't kill him, he'll know something's off—"

"That would not prove your innocence in and of itself," Aurora reminded him. "And we have no guarantee. The odds on him seeing you and him seeing Pettigrew are likely around the same, but the risks are different."

Her father pursed his lips and started to pace around the room. Aurora curled her hands into fists. "You're certain Remus has it?"

She nodded. "Our only other option is to appeal to him, but I don't know if that will work. It might be too great a risk."

He looked doubtful, too. "Remus thought I was the leak, after... I was too far gone, wouldn't let anyone in. He wouldn't trust me. And I don't know if I can trust him."

That was not so different from what Aurora had expected. She laced her fingers together, frowning. "If we could get him to hear you out... But I really don't know if he would. He's loyal to Dumbledore, I don't think he'd break that. I get the impression he's very reliant on this position, he was so unwell looking when he arrived. He's still ill..." Her father's eyes darted away from hers for an instant, and he looked almost contemplative, like there was something he wanted to say, but didn't know if he should. Then he turned back to her. "I think he likes me, but not well enough to believe me if I started going on about you being innocent and Peter Pettigrew being alive. And he definitely likes Potter better than he likes me."

That was also a good point, she thought. Potter was never going to believe that his best friend's rat was an Animagus turned mass-murderer. She had to remind herself, then — she couldn't get attached. If it turned out that he was indeed lying, she would have to cut ties. By this point it was clear he wasn't going to hurt her, but that didn't mean he didn't still want to hurt Potter. He could be using her.

But she didn't truly manage to believe it.

"As I said," Aurora continued, "we must prepare. Italy would be nice, you look like you need some sun, but Russia is further away and you're less likely to have the Ministry after you there. Of course, there is the issue of security, I'm not certain what state the wards are in, but Kreacher and the elves would be able to assist on that front, I'm sure."

"Aurora—"

"Of course, getting across to the continent would be a problem in and of itself. Apparating across Magical borders proves difficult and with your twelve year stint in Azkaban, splinching is a real risk. Portkeys are too regulated, obviously, and getting you to a Floo sounds like a nightmare—"

"Aurora—"

"—so I imagine the best course of action would be to get you across the English Channel, Dover to Calais is, I believe, the shortest crossing but it would still be dangerous, and you'd have to rely on no tourists noticing a dog swimming all the way out—"

"Aurora, stop!" His voice cut through the air. He ran a hand through his hair. "I know you're worried, and I'm flattered by the concern." She scowled at him. "But I am staying here. I'll be more careful, now that I know the situation. I have served twelve years in Azkaban, thinking of my revenge. I'm not going to let Peter slip away from me."

"No," she spat, "you'd rather the Dementors take your soul. I can handle Pettigrew."

"Rory, you don't even know where—"

"Don't you Rory me," Aurora snapped. "If he believes you have moved away, Pettigrew may be inclined to stick around here. I might still be able to find him. You said I could find his name on the map?" Her father nodded. "So I may still be able to do it. You have to go."

"No." He took a step forward, eyes light. "Aurora, you yelled yourself hoarse a few months ago, furious that I had, in your words, left you." She winced but held his gaze.

"I don't take them back."

"Exactly," he said, brow creased. His eyes shone and she looked away uncomfortably at the affection in them. "I'm not going to leave you again. There is one thing more important than revenge, and that is my daughter."

"I'm not a thing," she told him. "You don't have some claim to me."

"I'm not saying I do. I'm just telling you that I want to be here for you."

She scowled, looking away. "Why? Why now? Why couldn't you have decided this twelve years ago instead of letting them take you?"

As soon as she spat the words out she knew they were harsh, and her father did recoil. "Aurora, I wasn't — I couldn't cope—"

"And you think you can cope now? You think that you, as a wanted Azkaban escapee, can now somehow offer me — what, exactly? Stability? Nurturing? Love?" Her father opened his mouth and then closed it again. "Just leave! Go, and make everyone's life easier!"

"Aurora, don't use Azkaban against me!"

She let out a shrill laugh. "You went and got yourself locked up in prison! And now you come back, asking me to let you into my life, saying you want to protect me, you want my help — and when I try to help you, against everything I've been told, you won't leave! You won't go because of your stupid pride!"

"You're not listening to me!" It came out far louder than Aurora had expected, even seeming to surprise her father. "Aurora, I can make my own decisions."

She sneered. "Well, you certainly can't make good ones—"

"Don't talk to me like that! Aurora, I'm here for you!"

"I don't want you to be!" She regretted the words almost immediately; it was funny how those things happened. Her father blanched, sinking backwards. "I'm sorry. Father — Sirius — I didn't mean it like that. I spoke wrongly. It's just that it would be easier, and safer, if you were to leave. I'll be quite alright. You won't do me any good without your soul, will you?"

That seemed to hurt him even more. She didn't know what to do to remedy it, so she ran her hand over her ponytail, smoothing her hair.

"I know you're only trying to get me to do what you think is best. But running away won't get me anywhere. And I want to be able to be a father, Aurora."

She tried to keep her voice even, unsure of her spinning anger and confusion and guilt over what she had said. "Twelve years," was all she managed to say. "I know you want to be a father. I appreciate it, but you have no right to demand that I — that I become a daughter. And you're being foolish. I don't need you here and I certainly don't need you to get yourself captured again. So just — just go." He met her eyes, unmoving.

"I know you're worried. But this is my decision. I can be careful, I know the map's boundaries and its limits."

She felt strangled by her words as she tried to speak. "Fine," she said, voice slightly cracked. "If you're going to be foolish, then stay. See what happens. I don't care." Even as she said the words, she couldn't quite make them sound right.

Her father's face crumpled. "Aurora, I know you don't—"

"It's fine," she spat, "do what you want." She told herself she didn't care, because she shouldn't. She didn't care about him, but she did, somehow, care about what happened to him. "Just don't get yourself caught."

Face burning, she turned around and made to leave the shack. Her father didn't follow, but over her shoulder in her reflection she could see a great black dog had taken his place. It started to whine as she left.

-*

By the time she returned to the castle, having narrowly avoided detection by Professor Hagrid, Aurora had calmed down just enough to realise that this foolish venture had done precisely nothing to help her and her father's situation. In fact, it had likely made everything worse, and now she had undoubtedly upset him, too. That wasn't something that should have bothered her, she thought — and yet, somehow, it was. She maintained that she was right, that he ought to leave instead of being reckless, and let her deal with it, but she regretted what she had said, the way she had said it. Speaking to her father like that had not been her intention, and she knew she had upset him, but there was nothing she could do right now. Going back out there would arouse suspicion, and she felt perhaps they both needed some space, lest they argue over the subject again.

No one seemed bothered by her absence or the scowl she wore, skulking along the corridors and towards the library. A couple of first year Ravenclaws did seem bothered by the scowl, but that wasn't out of concern for her. And she did manage to find a quiet corner of the library to stew in, by the windows, where weak sunlight dappled her skin. But she couldn't focus on her work. Instead, she gnawed at her lip, thinking over what she'd said to her father, and what he had said to her. He was staying.

It made her feel weird. There was a part of her that was relieved, but she wouldn't admit that to herself for anything. And she was, also, scared. Her father was reckless and he had proved it time and time again. She should have pushed harder, should have told him he was leaving for his own good. It didn't matter that he was the adult — he was being stupid.

But she couldn't go back today. Not only was she too annoyed, but it was getting close to lunchtime, and Draco and Pansy would notice if she didn't appear as she had promised.

As it turned out, they had saved a seat for her between them, which she dropped into elegantly, suddenly famished.

"Transfiguration homework take that much out of you?" Draco asked as she started piling food onto her plate, lifting his eyebrows.

"Yes," Aurora told him shortly. "Maybe you'd know if you put work into yours."

Draco scoffed. Pansy leaned over and said, "Are you in a foul mood again?"

"Not at all," Aurora told her breezily, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. "Just reminding Draco of his educational responsibility."

Pansy grinned and leaned back. "We were speaking to Cassius Warrington when we were in the common room," she told Aurora, and Draco snorted.

Aurora looked at her. "And?"

"And," Draco said with a great and suffering sigh, "he was asking after you, so naturally Pansy has taken this to mean something absolutely ludicrous—"

"I think he fancies you," she said, and Aurora choked, feeling her cheeks warm at the thought.

"Pansy!"

Her friend leaned back with a triumphant grin. "It wouldn't be so bad," she told her. "He is good looking, isn't he?" Aurora tried to form an argument against this, but couldn't. "The Warringtons may not be on the list, but they are relatively pure. You could do worse, in terms of betrothal."

Now it was Draco's turn to splutter. "She isn't getting betrothed!" he said, too loudly.

"I'll decide what I'm doing, thank you very much," Aurora told her cousin sharply, and then in the same breathe, "and I am absolutely not getting betrothed. I'm fourteen."

"I'm getting betrothed," Pansy said, and then dropped her eyes to her lunch, cheeks pink. Aurora's heart twinged. "Someday."

"You have a family," she said sharply. "Besides, I am certain Cassius has no romantic inclination towards me. He is a friend. What did he want with me anyway?"

"Something about Quidditch," Draco mumbled, shooting Pansy a sharp look.

"Exactly." Aurora rolled her eyes. "He keeps asking me to go over Quidditch formations with him. It's hardly romantic, and even if it was, I'm not interested."

Pansy sighed. "Aurora, that's so boring!"

"That's practical," she said in a clipped tone, drawing her eyes from Pansy to Draco. "And besides, I think that if anyone does have romantic inclinations, they would be better off sharing them with the object of their affections, rather than trying to project them onto someone else's social life."

At that, Pansy went red, and Draco said, "What are you on about?" which meant Aurora had to try very hard not to laugh.

"If you don't know, I can't tell you," she said, flipping her hair. "Now, might I eat lunch in peace?"

The conversation did one thing well though, and that was to drive her worries about her father out of her head for most of the next hour, at which point she went to the common room with her friends and was startled into remembering by, of all things, the sight of Theodore Nott lounging across their usual sofa, glaring at a crystal ball. Maybe it was because the mist inside was grey, or because Divination was strange and mention of it always unsettled her somewhat, but Aurora stumbled over the threshold, and Draco had to steady her, staring.

She brushed him off with a lump in her throat, already thinking back to the Shrieking Shack. Part of her wanted to turn around and run, but that would achieve nothing, and her friends were already guiding her inside, clearly bemused by the situation. Aurora didn't have the words or the means to explain any of it, of course. No one questioned the way she focused only on her studying that afternoon, even if in truth she knew she wasn't concentrating right.

Girls' night was only something of a relief. Aurora didn't quite have the energy to worry about Lucille's crush or Daphne's debate over the cut of her new dress robes, or Millicent's sister's constant snapping, or even Pansy's demand to know if Draco had any feelings for her.

"He obviously has feelings," Aurora told her tiredly, flipping through an old copy of Witch Weekly from Lucille's sidetable. "I just don't know of what nature. You're better off asking him or giving up — he's a teenage boy, and teenage boys aren't generally good at communicating these things."

"I can't ask him," Pansy huffed, "I've told you this already."

Aurora tutted, nodding. "I know," she said, and turned back to the column about stitching rune patterns.

Lucille just said haughtily, "Boys are all a waste of time, Pansy. Every last one of them."

Aurora glanced over at her. "Listen to Lucille, Pans. She speaks the truth."

But Pansy only grumbled something about a lack of understanding — which, in fairness, Aurora really could not understand why Pansy would fancy Draco — and demanded that Millicent let her pleat her hair for her, something Millie was only too happy to oblige. It wasn't completely awful, but most of the time Aurora could only pick up snatches of conversation as she skimmed the magazine. Her mind kept drifting back to her father — what she had said and what she had done. She kept telling herself that she was being silly for worrying and really she had no obligation to concern herself with him anyway, but that didn't stop her.

When they all snuck quietly back to their rooms just after midnight, Aurora was still stewing. Pansy caught her arm shortly before they arrived at her and Gwen's room, and motioned for Millicent to leave them. Once she was sufficiently out of earshot, Pansy turned and Aurora braved herself for a question or interrogation about Draco.

Instead, Pansy said, "Something's wrong."

Aurora blanched and fumbled for her words. "No it isn't."

"Yes it is. You read, like, three pages of that magazine."

"It is Witch Weekly."

Pansy let out a long and low sigh. "Precisely, Aurora. You could read a page in about a minute. It's obvious you're not yourself—"

"Who else am I, then?"

"—the others may be too stupid to see it, but I'm not."

"Are you including Draco in others?" Aurora teased, hoping to steer the conversation away, but Pansy shot her a frightfully stern glare that insisted she stop.

"There's something you're not telling us," Pansy said, and then raised her eyebrows. "Yes, there is. I can tell in your eyes."

Aurora blinked. "What? No you can't!"

"Yes, I can," Pansy told her haughtily, with the sort of tone Aurora usually reserved. "I'm not going to say what I think it concerns because that's probably obvious, but really, Aurora, you can tell me." Her heart felt like ice in her chest. "I'm not going to blab to anyone, obviously. And I'm in no position to judge you." She folded her arms, and when she stood up straight, it surprised Aurora to realise her friend was actually that bit taller than her now. "But I'd rather not see you worry on your own. Again."

"What do you mean, again?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Aurora." Pansy pressed her lips together and sighed. "The fact that you don't want to tell me means it's probably a big deal, which means you probably haven't told anyone else because that's just what you do, which means you're worrying on your own, and to be honest, Aurora, you need to stop."

"Who are you tell me what I do and don't need to do?"

Pansy just sighed again. "Your friend, maybe? Look, if you don't want to talk to me, at least talk to someone. I don't like you looking so out of sorts."

And for a moment, Aurora really considered telling Pansy everything. She considered spilling her bloody heart out in the hallway and letting Pansy tell her she was being an idiot and everything would work out fine, or just clinging on to her friend for dear life. But she could not. She could not put that burden on her friend, and besides, she didn't know how to tell her everything that was happening when she barely understood herself.

So, she said, "I can't tell you."

Pansy looked at her flatly. "Why not?"

"I just — I can't, Pans."

"You can't," she repeated slowly, "or you're scared to?" She didn't answer that question. Pansy groaned and held up her hands. "Fine. Fine, if you don't want to tell me, if you want to keep on keeping this to yourself, I can't make you tell me."

Aurora swallowed tightly. She reached out to take her friend by the arm, hold her for a second, ignoring Pansy's stare. "I can't tell you because I'm worried it'll end badly."

"Surely that's all the more reason why—"

"No, Pans."

She gave her that shrewd gaze. "I'm not stupid. Your father's tried to contact you, hasn't he?"

"No," Aurora lied immediately. Pansy wasn't fooled.

"Draco told me about your birthday. He was worried," she added quickly when Aurora opened her mouth in indignation, "if your father's threatening you, tell me and I will tell my parents and my father will get his contacts together and—"

"No," she said quietly, holding Pansy's frightened gaze, "he won't."

"He will," Pansy said fiercely, and Aurora felt her chest shudder. "I know you think he won't because of their backgrounds, but he has changed! He'll be more concerned with the fact that a friend of the House of Parkinson is being threatened by a blood traitor than whatever allegiances they may or may not have shared twelve years ago!"

Her lip wobbled treacherously. Aurora held Pansy tighter and before she could stop herself she put her arms around her and held her tightly. "Aurora, what are you—"

"It's alright," she whispered. "I'm going to be fine, Pansy. He isn't threatening me, not at all. Just trust me."

"You don't sound very fine," Pansy said, with a tremble of fear in her voice. "Aurora, what's happened?"

"I really can't tell you," she told her, shivering as she stepped back to see her friend's face drawn in confusion. "Much as I want to. Not yet."

"What exactly have you gotten yourself into?" Pansy asked, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

"You can't say anything—"

"I won't," Pansy cut her off, "I won't tell anyone, I told you I wouldn't. As long as you're safe?"

It was a question more than anything. But after a moment of hesitation, Aurora nodded. "It's safe." The only person, she told herself, who wasn't safe was Peter Pettigrew.

Pansy still considered her with great caution, which wasn't surprising. Aurora knew she wasn't stupid. She knew she could probably put together some of what was going on. But she seemed to trust Aurora. "You have to be careful. I can tell it's upsetting you, even if you say he won't hurt you, I don't know if that's right. And you've been upset all day, don't think we can't tell. If he hurts you—"

"He isn't going to hurt me," Aurora said, and she believed it. "I... I can't explain, especially not out here. But I know that, whatever else is going on... He isn't going to hurt me."

For a very long, drawn out moment, Pansy merely stared at her. Then, to Aurora's relief, she nodded. "If you tell me," she said, "I can help you. But. If you can't. Be careful what you get yourself into. I don't want you getting hurt, or getting in trouble. Don't be stupid. I know you'll say you're not stupid, but, Aurora—"

"You're just worried about me," Aurora said quietly, her voice sounding far away to her own ears. "I know, Pans."

Her friend still looked nervous. "You will tell me, if it all gets too much? Right? I don't know what you think you're doing, I want to trust that you're in the right, but — I'm worried, Aurora. You've been off all year, and I mean, it makes sense, I know why. I can tell you've been even more upset since Christmas." Aurora felt a lump well in her throat. "Please be careful. And... Tell me. When you can. I can help, I'll do anything I can. You're my best friend." The confirmation made Aurora want to tell her the truth all the more — but she didn't want to take the chance of putting her friend in any danger, or of implicating her. Yet she trusted Pansy, enough to know that she meant what she said, and that she'd help her, that she wouldn't tell anyone. "But please," Pansy added, when it became clear Aurora wasn't going to tell her the truth, not yet, not until it was safe, "for the love of Merlin — don't fool yourself."

With that, and a quick squeeze of Aurora's hand, Pansy disappeared down the corridor and Aurora leaned against the wall, head spinning. She couldn't believe she had said that; had let her feelings give her away. It made anger flare in her chest, not at Pansy but at herself. She couldn't drag her friend into this. The implications were bad enough...

Aurora sighed, massaging her temples. This was all a terrible mess, but she knew she still had work to do. She would talk to her father again, apologise for her outburst — she knew she hadn't reacted well, had let her emotions get the best of her, but she didn't know what else to do.

But even still, she knew, there was one thing that could prove her father was telling the truth — or rather, one person.

And his name was on the map in Lupin's office.