A few days after meeting her father, Aurora had a new destination in mind, one which she was even less familiar with. Harry Potter lived at Number Four, Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey, with his mother's sister Petunia Dursley, her husband Vernon, and their son, Dudley. Her father did not speak highly of either Petunia or Vernon, and Aurora didn't expect much.
She took the Knight Bus there, avoiding the stare of the suspicious conductor Stan Shunpike. Also on the bus was Augusta Longbottom, Neville's grandmother, and her piercing look told Aurora the old woman knew exactly who she was.
She pursed her lips and steadfastly ignored them. The countryside they rambled through was not particularly exciting, though they did at one point wind up in Newcastle, teetering on the edge of a bridge over the Tyne.
Privet Drive was a terribly boring street; all the houses looked to be made of the same brick, with the same gardens — barring the occasional discrepancy in flower choices — the same doors, and even the same shade of boring grey-silver cars. Aurora felt only a street such as this could be home to Muggles with something to hide. She ventured down towards Number Four, fiddling with the hem of her red cardigan. It had been Dora's once, and was a little short for her, and most likely out of fashion, but it was a Muggle item and she knew she couldn't very well show up in her full robes. She already received enough stares from the neighbours, whom she imagined to be the sort who viewed anyone they didn't recognise as an outsider and hooligan. They seemed awfully judgemental as she passed, and Aurora felt unexpectedly self-conscious. Had she made some terrible error? It was not her fault that Muggles had such strange customs and trends. Gwendolyn's family had not acted like this.
She found Number Four at last, precisely in the centre of the long street, and she strode to the door, where she knocked crisply three times before stepping down and waiting. There seemed to be some sort of argument going on in the entrance hallway, and she tapped her foot impatiently. Perhaps Muggles didn't care about punctuality in answering the door. Certainly, she thought, Potter had never seemed to care about basic etiquette or manners.
Eventually, as Aurora stared at her reflection in the glass window panes at the top of the door — she didn't know where Muggles got such ideas, they offered her no insight indoors and likely afforded none to the inhabitants looking out the way either — and smoothed back the flyaway hairs from her low bun, the door opened to reveal a blonde woman with a long neck and sharp eyes. She was wearing a floral apron, and stared at the stranger on her doorstep.
"Hello," Aurora said as politely as she could, bobbing her head in greeting, "are you Petunia Dursley?"
"Yes," the woman said slowly, with a very obviously fake smile. "Are you a friend of my Dudley, dear?"
"I'm afraid not," Aurora said, clasping her hands together and saying as pleasantly as she could given the absurd nature of her words, "I was actually hoping to see Harry Potter."
The change in Petunia Dursley's face was truly something to behold. Her lips twisted downwards, her eyes sharpened in suspicion, and her cheeks lost their colour. She clasped the door tightly as though contemplating whether or not to slam it in Aurora's face. "Who are you?" she asked sharply, voice losing any of the cautious warmth and false sweetness which it had held before.
"I am... An acquaintance." Friend was far too strong a word, but she didn't think she ought to introduce herself as enemy. And besides, that was not the terms on which she sought the boy out. The polite approach, she felt, would always be best, and she hoped she could still make some sort of positive impression. This tactic usually worked. "From Hogwarts. I also happen to be his godsister, I am uncertain if he mentioned—"
The door was slammed in her face. Aurora gaped at the sudden blow, and stared indignantly at the little window on it. She could still see Mrs Dursley's shadow.
"Excuse me," she said, opening the strange little letter flap, baffled by the sudden reaction. Even though she knew Potter had said his relatives didn't like magic particularly, this seemed rather extreme — she had assumed that they, like most Muggles, simply did not understand it. "I apologise if I have offended you."
"Get away from my house!" Dursley snapped from behind the door.
"I don't want to impose," Aurora said as evenly as she could, "but it is a matter of great importance that I speak with your nephew."
She heard a door slam and groaned. Aurora stepped away and glared up at the door, trying to work out what it was that she had done so wrong. Perhaps it was the mention of Potter. She knew he didn't speak of his family much, but she still didn't understand how his very name had garnered such a reaction. Or perhaps it was the mention of their relation. That was possible. If they knew who Potter's godfather was, it would only make sense that they weren't exactly fans, though she would have expected Potter to explain things.
Aurora sighed. She would have to either come back another day, or find another way to contact Potter. She could write of course, but there was no guarantee he would read it or write back, and this conversation would really be much easier to have in person. But just as Aurora was turning to leave, the door opened and Potter came hurrying out, his shoelaces undone and his hair a mess.
"Black," he panted, catching up to her as the door swung shut behind him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Nice to see you, too," she told him coolly. She nodded to him. "We need to talk. Come on, I get the impression your aunt doesn't want me loitering on your lawn."
"Right," Potter muttered, as she motioned for him to follow and walked out onto the pavement. "I don't really want to go anywhere with you, Black."
"And you think I'm happy to be here?" she asked sharply, tossing her hair. "No, this is a business trip."
He stared at her. "What?"
"My father deserves a public trial to expose the failings of the Ministry and ensure there is no doubt of his innocence. I am going to demand it, and I want your word that you will support my father."
"Right." Potter frowned. "Well, obviously, I mean, I'll... Well, I'll tell the truth. I said so already, didn't I?"
She allowed herself a small smile. "That's what I hoped to hear."
Potter contemplated her for a moment and then shook his head. "Come with me," he told her. "You're right, Aunt Petunia would be furious if I kept you hanging about the garden." Aurora smirked in satisfaction, as Potter led her down the street. "What did you say to her?"
"All I did was introduce myself!" Aurora said defensively. "Clearly, she did not want to know that I am your godsister, or that I know you from school. Frankly, she looked disgusted."
Harry winced. "Yeah... Look, I said they don't like magic. But they really, really hate it. Any mention of school, of any of my friends..."
"What?" Aurora asked. This was beyond what she had imagined from the Muggles. "Why?"
He shrugged. "Cause they do. They think it's weird. Wrong."
"But... You're magic. It's — part of you."
Potter let out a rather self pitying laugh. "Exactly."
Aurora frowned, recalling what her father had said, about Potter being too thin, too eager to leave his family behind. Already, she could see a change in the way he held himself. Like he felt out of place here, the town he had grown up in. She didn't like to recognise that feeling.
"I am also here on behalf of my father in a different matter," she began slowly. "He thought it important that he — or rather, I — check in on your well-being."
"And he sent you?"
"Well, he was hardly going to ask Cornelius Fudge to do it, was he?"
"Yeah, but..." She got the sense he was flailing somewhere behind her. "It's weird."
Aurora raised her eyebrows and he came to keep pace with her again, leading her through yet another street that looked the same as Privet Drive, through a narrow alley towards a green patch enclosed by an iron fence.
"Well," she said after a few moments of frustrated silence, "are you well, then?"
"What?"
She rolled her eyes. "I am here for a reason, Potter, as I told you. And it's not for the good of my eyesight, I can tell you that, Muggle fashion is simply horrific." She frowned, trying to take in his features even as he walked away. "You look a little pale, Potter. And very thin." He glared at her. "Your hair is a mess, but that's nothing new."
"If you're done with criticising my appearance—"
"I'm merely observing," she said, as he led her to some wide garden, pushing a gate open. "If you must know, my father got your letter saying you're all on a diet and asked me to make sure you're eating, because you were far too eager to leave your family and he's concerned about you."
That moment of honesty stunned him into sitting down on a bench. Aurora took a seat next to him, albeit more delicately, and smoothed her skirt out. "You seem like you're enjoying poking your nose in," he muttered, and she shrugged.
"Perhaps I would if it weren't you," she told him. "Your life seems infinitely dull to me." That was perhaps, not entirely true, but she didn't want to say anything to Potter which might come across positively.
"I see you're going to be as annoying as ever."
"It has only been a fortnight, Potter. Perhaps in a century's time I'll grow to tolerate you."
He gave a surprising laugh and Aurora stared at him. Even he didn't seem to have expected it. "Sorry," Potter said quickly, closing his mouth tightly and looking away.
Aurora smirked, then sighed and took on a more serious approach. "You said the people you live with don't approve of magic?"
"Yeah." He have a derisive sort of laugh. "They really don't."
"Why?" she asked, and he looked at her like she'd gone mad.
"They just don't! They're Muggles, and they think it's freakish!"
"Freakish?" she echoed, recalling with sudden intensity Pansy's voice yelling freak after Hermione Granger, and at the same time remembering the furious whispers from the other house tables every time she passed, and how desperately she had wanted to go against everything she'd been taught and simply blend into the sea of students. "What's freakish about magic?"
"I don't know," he snapped, "why don't you ask them?"
"Well, if they truly believe magic to be freakish I am certain they would hate me for inquiring further."
He made an annoyed sound. "Do you always have to be a smartass?"
"I'm merely making a point, Potter."
"You're insufferable," he muttered, turning away, and she raised her eyebrows.
"And you're being childish."
To that, he just turned away, leaving Aurora with the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing what she was dealing with, a feeling she had become far too accustomed to this year. "They don't really like me either," Potter said after a moment.
She frowned. "Who? Your aunt and uncle?" He nodded. "But they're your family."
He laughed bitterly. "Try telling them that."
She knew she'd certainly said something wrong then. She was left, for a moment, to do nothing but stare. Families didn't always like each other, she knew that, but those Dursleys had raised Harry since he was a baby. He was, or should have been, as good as their son. Part of her wanted to say, I'm sure that's not true, but she didn't think she had anything to support such a statement.
"Is that why you were so happy to leave?" she asked, knowing that it was. He didn't answer, but he didn't need to. It occurred to her then, that Potter's situation might not be so dissimilar to that of her father, when he was their age. She recalled the Christmases he always spent at Hogwarts — was it truly as Draco had always teased, that he genuinely wasn't wanted at home? She had thought those were just jokes, that he preferred to spend time with his friends in the castle, or that something else complicated his returns at Christmas. Something uncertain and rather cold unfurled inside of her.
Growing up she'd gone through a number of guardians and lost most of her family, be they Grandmother, or Arcturus, or Lucretia, but she'd known that she was loved, that her existence was valued. She could hardly conceive of not being loved by her family, and loving them in return.
"So, you said you're getting Sirius a proper trial?" Potter asked, breaking her out of her contemplation.
"Oh, yes," Aurora said hastily. "The Ministry wants to have a small, low-key inquiry, in the Autumn, but I believe it needs to acknowledge what they have done properly. After the war, many of the trials were public, or at least had large press presences. And everyone knew when my father was taken to Azkaban — so I think that everyone needs to know when he is declared innocent. But the Ministry wants to keep the scale of this low. I think that is an injustice in itself. Of course, I also have to sort out how to make this actually work to our advantage. My father made himself unpopular with the purebloods long before he was imprisoned, but those purebloods happen to have accepted me and count me among them, and I'm loathe to give that up. There's still certainly a way to bridge the gap, even though my father would rather not interact with that portion of society at all were it not for my interests. We've at least a chance with some of the more progressive families, like Daphne's."
"Daphne?"
"Greengrass. My friend. You know her. She's blonde and very pretty; she studies Divination, too."
"Right." Potter looked like this was a lot to take in, which she supposed it was. "Do you know how long it's all going to take? And if — I mean, when — he's proven innocent and everything, did... Did he say anything about meeting me?"
"We hope that the legal process will be done and dusted by the end of July," she told him wearily, "but I am in no position to make promises about you meeting with my father. He is currently in residence at one of my family's estates, and the list of visitors is rather restricted for the moment."
"I take it I'm not on it then?"
"Would you rather I told you nothing?" she asked lightly, and he looked away. "Precisely. You will be able to speak with him when it is time, I can promise you that. Probably you'll be able to visit at some point before the trial, to build the case, they must make allowances for that. And he is very keen to see you, once he is able to. After the trial, whenever that may be." She took in a breath. "I need your assurance of loyalty, though. Not only to my father, but to my family."
Potter narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why?"
"Because, in allying with me to lobby against the Ministry, you are also allying the Potter family with the House of Black. Of course, that is in informal terms, but I need your loyalty all the same. We represent more than we are, after all."
He looked sceptical. "What do you mean, Potter?"
Aurora stared at him, not quite sure what to make of the question. "I'm sorry?"
"The Potter family? Does that... Mean something more? I mean, I'm just me."
"Are you trying to make a joke, Potter?"
"No." His eyes were wide — he appeared genuinely confused. "What... What do I represent?"
"Your house, first and foremost," she said, trying not to stare. Had no one gone over his heritage with him? "The Potter name dates back many centuries. Even my family married into yours at one stage, a great-uncle of yours, and a great-great aunt of mine, if I recall correctly — though we have no actual blood relation. I don't know if you have any political seats anymore, though you would have once — there was a reshuffle of the Assembly seats a couple of decades ago. Surely Dumbledore or someone must have told you..." Then again, she thought, Dumbledore wasn't exactly trustworthy. Though what would he have to gain from hiding information from Potter, rather than using it for his advantage? Perhaps it was merely incompetency. Either way... "It is not a prime concern at the moment. I just need to know that, for these purposes and perhaps others, the House of Black has the support of the House of Potter."
"Why?"
"Because," she sighed, "as I keep telling you, your name means something. It means power. It means money. It means politics. Clearly, you are woefully underprepared—"
"Hey!"
"—and underinformed, but that can be excused for now. If you give personal public support, that is one thing. You are the Boy-Who-Lived — apparently — and that means something to people, too. But the name Potter means something to many purebloods who are more on the fence ideologically. I'm not sure if the Potters qualify for lordship—"
"For what, sorry?"
"—but I am getting distracted. Will you, Harry Potter of the House of Potter, ally with me, Aurora Black of the House of Black?"
He looked at her like she was mad. A part of her expected a rejection, but then he said, slowly, "Yes?"
Something warm went through her. Potter seemed to feel it too, and looked wary. "What exactly did that mean?"
She waved her hand. "Don't worry, you haven't signed your soul away or anything, you don't have to look at me like that. Now I just have better grounds to confront the Minister with." She checked her watch and stood up — it was half past two. "Speaking of, I have an appointment in an hour. I believe that's all. And you are keeping well?"
"Wait, you're going? Already?"
She stared at him. "Well, I wasn't going to stay forever, Potter. I have important business to attend to."
He glared. "So you're just going to leave me here? You're just going to show up, piss off my aunt, insult me, and then bugger off?
Raising her eyebrows, Aurora drawled, "Unless you wish to join me at the Ministry." It wouldn't be a wholly awful idea were it not for the fact that she didn't trust him to hold to any presentation of unity with her yet. If they could get through ten minutes without arguing, perhaps.
He pursed his lips. "But I will be able to see Sirius soon, yeah?"
"Certainly. He is just as eager to see you, Potter." That seemed to perk him up. "And about your family... You have enough to eat?" Potter grimaced. "I will arrange something. Or have words with your aunt, if you would like."
"Why?"
"For my father's peace of mind. Not yours." She shook her head. "Do you want me to take action or not?"
Potter blinked. "I think Sirius might be a bit more intimidating. If you could..."
"I will arrange some writing." She smirked, and smoothed out her skirt. "Now, I really must go. Enjoy your rest of your day, Potter."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned, and made her way back to the secluded spot where the Knight Bus had dropped her off in the first place.
"That was quick," Stan Shunpike said when she got on. "Flying visit? Shoulda used a broomstick." He laughed at his own rather rubbish joke as Aurora paid.
"Ministry of Magic, London Entrance, as soon as you can. I have an important appointment."
Taking the money, he swallowed. "Certainly. Right, Ern — Ministry, London Entrance. Get a move on with it."
Aurora smiled tersely at him and hurried past, towards the back of the bus, where she shrugged off her red cardigan and replaced it with a flowing emerald green robe, cinched at the waist, over her white blouse and black trousers. As they tumbled across the country, she considered what Potter had said and, importantly, what he had not said. It was clear that his situation with his relatives was worse than she had thought, and she couldn't wrap her head around it. Magic was as integral to his being as thinking. It was life itself. For his aunt and uncle to take against it, felt so wholly wrong, especially as they seemed to hold it against Potter personally. She did not want to sympathise with the boy, but struggled to reconcile all of it with the world she had grown up in, not entirely at ease with herself or her status, knowing that people spoke and whispered about her even when Arcturus tried to shield her from it, when he told her her mother's blood didn't matter because Aurora was a Black through and through. She had always tried to keep a more open mind, without compromising her own position. After all, she knew her own potential and worth, so she had to be open to seeing it in others who were not pureblood.
And even with her status, she had never felt that her family hated her for it. Perhaps it was naive. She knew her grandmother had not been pleased by it, had been insistent upon 'educating' the bad blood out of her, reforming her to fit the family mould. Perhaps she had been too young and too isolated to understand it, perhaps she merely wished to remember it differently because it was easier.
Potter, however, seemed only too accepting of his lot in life and she didn't understand that at all. She knew that her father would not like it.
He was still as annoying as ever, but he confused her. Aurora had always thought him arrogant, and she would stand by that even now, but there had been a strange, uncertain edge to him, like he didn't feel he belonged in his own skin.
Even so, she tried to drag her mind away from it, and all the issues it brought up for herself too. She had a purpose, a mission to fulfill today. She had gotten what she wanted from Potter. Now, she had to contend with the Minister.
-*
Cornelius Fudge looked deeply disturbed when Aurora appeared in the little waiting room outside his office, at precisely half past three that afternoon. It was as if he hadn't expected her to actually show up.
"Lady Black," he greeted tersely, "come in."
Aurora smiled back, just as tense, and her robe swept around her as she went inside the Minister's office. It wasn't quite what she had expected to be greeted with; the walls were a crisp blue, adorned with paintings of past ministers which stared at her as she went past. Newspapers were stacked upon a table in the back corner, and she spied a rather large bottle of brandy which, interestingly enough, she knew to be Draco's father's favourite. "Do sit down," Fudge said, wringing his hands together. Aurora did so as smoothly as she could, maintaining eye contact. "I won't ask what you think I can do for you today, Lady Black. I can assure you, the progress of your father's legal case is going as well as can be expected."
"I am aware," she said in a clipped voice, tilting her head up so she had at least the illusion of looking down at him. "I commend the Ministry for the efficiency of its response. However, I do not think either of us can deny that the treatment of my father has been dismal. Certainly, there are many who are outraged that a member of such a prominent pureblood house could be subject to such an injustice." Fudge's face flushed slightly, his brow creased and his lips pursed, and she knew she had touched a nerve. He knew this already. Perhaps he was worried. Aurora didn't know what Lucius's reaction had been, as Draco had declined to mention his father in any of his recent letters, but it looked bad for the Ministry and even if Lucius didn't care about her or her father, he would not like the message it sent, that the Ministry did not care enough about pureblood families, let them rot. And Fudge was so very reliant on his gold. "My impression is that the Ministry intends a small-scale inquiry, not a full Wizengamot trial. This, as I'm sure you know, will not be enough to appease many of your critics. Nor will it appease me." She lifted her eyebrows.
"What you must understand," Fudge said in a hush, "is that this is a very — very delicate matter. The Ministry cannot be seen giving into demands."
She smiled coldly. "I understand, but I am sure the Ministry also should not be seen attempting to cover up its failings, or to diminish them. The people want to know the truth, Minister. It would be in both our interests if you gave my father an appropriate, fair trial — as your predecessor failed to do. If you do this," she said, leaning forward slightly, "the burden of blame will be alleviated from your shoulders. Surely, Minister, if the people see that you are trying to uphold justice where Minister Bagnold and Bartemius Crouch failed, why, the matter may not become so delicate as you believe."
Fudge stared at her, then straightened. "What is it you would have me do, Lady Black?"
"Have a full trial. Ensure it is reported on, that there can be no doubt about the truth of my father's innocence. Issue a public statement, something about reintegration, about the Ministry looking forward. Ensure that you run it by me. And open an inquiry into the mishandling of my father's case. It's really the least you can do."
Fudge raised his eyebrows. "It is not my job to cater to you. We will deal with your father's case efficiently. Peter Pettigrew is already in Azkaban, and your father on mere house arrest awaiting a verdict, which three weeks ago would have been unthinkable!"
"Yet you still dally. The evidence is stacked entirely in my father's favour, but you have yet to issue either pardon or apology. I understand you wish to let the press and media frenzy die down, but the longer you wait, the more confused people get. The more they think you are trying to hide something. I want my family's position in society restored, Minister. I want everyone to know that they can associate with us. I want my father's freedom assured as soon as possible, because he has spent far too long without it. And I am sure that you want public faith in your administration restored, too. You need to be transparent." Fudge looked uncomfortable at the very thoughts. Transparency had never really been an interest of the Ministry, after all. She was coming to realise such things more and more. "As you know, as Lady Black, I am entitled to my own seat on the Legislating Assembly, where many of my peers are also on your council or the Wizengamot. I am sure that I am not the only one concerned that the Ministry has made such a grave error, failing one of its own, one of its longest serving families. In addition, Harry Potter has already given me his formal assurance of support in this request." At that, Fudge flushed — the House of Black was one thing, the House of Potter another, but the Boy-Who-Lived bridged the gap. Allying herself with him was a risk, as everything was. But at this point in time, Fudge could not be seen to deny Harry Potter as he did Aurora.
"What would you have me say," he asked finally, "in this statement?"
"That the Ministry offers a formal apology for its mishandling of my father's case and failure to identify the true criminal. That the Ministry extends an apology to the House of Black, and supports its future." She straightened, seeing the flicker of his eyes, wondering how far she could go. If she could, she would have him grovelling — but she couldn't push her luck. This had to be a measured negotiation.
"And if I don't?"
She raised her eyebrows. She could not appear too desperate — Fudge could not appear to have the upper hand. "Then on your head be it, Minister. My father's innocence will be proven either way — I merely wish it to be sooner rather than later, it is no less than what he deserves, after all he has been put through. Do you want to make an enemy of the House of Black? I'm sure the money we donate to St. Mungo's Hospital could easily be moved to private endeavours elsewhere."
Fudge's smile thinned. "I will have a draft statement sent to you."
Aurora sat back with a satisfied smirk. "And do you have a date in mind for the trial?"
"Mid-July ought to do it," he said, flicking through papers, looking at the wall. "Lots of press activity, and the full Wizengamot comes back into session shortly after Merlin's Day."
"That sounds quite perfect." Aurora stood with a smile. "The inquiry into the mishandling, I trust, will be dealt with? I'm sure the Daily Prophet would agree that neither your nor Minister Bagnold's administration has been effective in carrying out true justice. I doubt I am the only one who sees this." Fudge's lips thinned. If she played this right, Aurora thought, she could wring more than just apology out of the Ministry. Her father would be entitled to an awful lot of compensation, she was sure.
"See here," Fudge said, "the way this government runs is not your business."
"Isn't it?" she challenged, eyebrows raised. "I would think it is the business of everyone it rules over, Minister. But if you do not wish to open an inquiry and give the public your assurances, I am sure they will decide your personal efficiency for themselves. And it was Bagnold who opened up the Assembly elections, after all. I'm sure she would agree on the importance of public opinion."
Fudge's face went red, then purple. Aurora held his gaze with bated breath. Slowly, he nodded. "No. No, you are right. There will be an inquiry, but I can't give any — indication of an outcome. This has all been such an embarrassment..."
"And I am sure you do not want any more embarrassment," Aurora said lowly. "Or any more negative press. But I am sure this will help you, too, Minister. I do not wish to make an enemy of you, believe me. I would much rather that we could work together." Then, seeing that she had won — for now, at least, she would be a fool to expect Fudge not to try and wriggle out of it — she smiled lightly. "I am glad that we could have this sorted, Minister. I trust the decision will benefit us both."
He pursed his lips. "Quite." They shook hands, and Aurora inclined her head politely.
"Thank you for your time, Minister. I trust that statement will reach me soon?"
He was quick to nod. "Of course, Lady Black."
"Good." A satisfied, proud smile tugged at her lips. She liked to think Arcturus was watching this moment. "And Mr Bartemius Crouch, will he join in this apology?"
Fudge's smile faded. "Mr Crouch is busy at the moment, Lady Black."
She raised her eyebrows. "Busier even than you, Minister?"
He flushed. "I will speak with him, but any personal correspondence may be... Difficult. Old Barty's having a hard time of it, as you might imagine."
She smiled thinly, devoid of humour. "My father has had rather a hard time of it too, Minister. For the past thirteen years. A word from Mr Crouch would mean a lot." Her father likely didn't care at all what Bartemius Crouch thought of him, but Aurora thought it was important to cover all the ground, and to get everything that she could out of this. "We shall speak again soon."
With another slight incline of the head, and receiving similar deference in response, Aurora let Fudge show her out of the office and along towards the elevator. It was only when she was at last alone, heading to the grand atrium where she had arranged to meet Dora after she finished work at four o'clock, that she allowed herself to smile properly. That had all gone rather well, she thought. Things were looking up, for once in her life. And she thought she rather deserved the flicker of self-pride she felt warming around her heart.
A/N: Thank you all for your comments, thoughts, and feedback on the last chapter. It's definitely interesting to see the diversity of opinion. Like I said, romance really isn't the focus, but there were a lot of good points which I'm taking into account, and I hope you all enjoy where the fic is headed.