If Aurora had thought that returning to Arbrus Hill would be welcome after Parkinson Gala, she was to find herself mistaken. When she returned late in the evening via the Floo network, feet aching from a day spent dancing and standing around in heels, and quite exhausted from all the excitement, it was to find her father and Potter talking quite happily in the kitchen, seemingly trying to bake something from the smell of sweet cakes.

She frowned, lingering in the doorway, holding her bag over her shoulder, heart thudding strangely. Her father looked so simply happy, as did Potter, and she was hit with the odd, unsettling feeling that not only was she being left out of the moment, but that it was not one that would have happened with her present.

Indeed, when she finally cleared her throat and her father turned to notice her, she could feel the atmosphere change, from the tensing of Potter's shoulders and the new strain to her father's smile.

"Aurora," he greeted, hurrying to her and holding his arms out to take her bag for her, "I didn't hear you in the Floo. Did you have a good day?"

She nodded numbly, smile stiff. "It was wonderful," she lied, then forced her smile wider, and hoped it appeared sincere. "I really enjoyed getting to see everyone again. It feels so much longer than it has been." She laughed but even to her own ears it sounded false. Her father frowned, reaching out to her, but she stepped away ever so slightly, uncertain even as she cursed herself for the action.

"I should go to my room," she said quickly. "It's late and I'm tired."

"Stay up," her dad told her eagerly, eyes wide and, to her horror, worried. "We're making cake."

"It's half past nine. At night."

He shrugged. "It's fun!"

"It's irresponsible."

Her father's face fell into a frown and Potter looked back and forth between them in that most infuriating of ways, like he was waiting for something to spill over or a fight to break out. "You don't have to join," her father said, which had the unintentional effect of making her feel worse. "Stay, though. I want to hear about your day. Was everyone alright to you? No one I have to have words with?"

She almost laughed at the absurdity of his suggestion. "I'd like to see you try. And it was fine." She entered the kitchen nervously and perched on top of a clean patch of counter, which seemed to disgruntle Potter. It was rather an odd place to sit in full dress robes and makeup, but she was tired and not going to stand any longer, especially since her feet were aching in her heels. "I asked Draco and Pansy if they want to visit. They said they did, but don't know if they'll be able. I might go over to Draco's at some point, but..." She shrugged half-heartedly, avoiding Potter's curious gaze. "Also, I think Lord Abbott wants me to marry his grandson." Potter choked on the bit of cake batter he had snuck from the spoon. Aurora wrinkled her nose. "We're in agreement for once, Potter."

"Who would want to marry you?" he asked with a look of disgust, and she resisted the urge to kick him in the shins. Her father at least gave Potter a slightly scolding look, though one which was not nearly — she felt, anyway — as pointed as the ones he would give her for insulting Potter.

"I take it you said no?" her father asked.

"Obviously. I told you, I'm not up for courting and even if I was, Abbott's ancient, and a creep. No, I just had to sidestep it — Theo rescued me." She grinned at the memory but then it faded, replaced by another. "Cecil Parkinson insisted on dancing, though. He's the most boring boy I've ever met, but he thinks he's God's gift to the universe. Pansy says he's the best of a bad bunch of her cousins. And all the girls wanted to know all the gossip about you, of course. So did Rosebelle — Pansy's mother — but she was more subtle.

"I had a good time, though," she assured him at his persistent frown, "it was just a bit of a new experience, navigating that kind of environment where people want to open a dialogue with me, and I don't really have anyone to guide me. I think I managed, though."

"Yeah?" Her father still looked wary. "Well, you're doing better than I ever could, at any rate." She was sure he meant it to come out complimentary, but coming from him, the words simply didn't have the same meaning and weight, as they would from Narcissa or Arcturus or Aunt Lucretia, or even perhaps Andromeda.

Still, she forced a smile and shoved down the queasy feeling, before hopping off the counter again, the hem of her robes swishing around her ankles.

"I'll get changed," she said, aware of her formality in contrast to Potter's pyjamas and her father's slacks. "I'll see you later. Dad," she added quickly, and he grinned as she headed for her own room, still unsettled by the easy laughter in the kitchen, breaking the uncertain tension which only she had brought with her.

Once she returned, in comfier night robes, her dad and Potter had both managed to get cake batter in their hair and were laughing at one another, cheeks flushed. A sharp, jealous twist went through her as she watched.

Why did Potter make it look so easy? Why did he have to show off that he could get along with her father so well and she still had no idea how she was supposed to act with either of them, or how to balance her own fear and anxiety with their desires to simply leap into the fray?

Though she was present, and though her father tried to include her, Aurora couldn't help but feel like she was missing something. That she couldn't manage to laugh as freely, to let herself go like they did as they licked spoons and sang to some awful music her father had put on. She felt strangely detached, like she was watching the scene unfold within the frame of a picture, or within a tapestry, rather than being a part of it. It was stupidly Gryffindor, she decided, the carefree way in which they acted.

A part of her, which she dearly wanted to be able to ignore, wished that she could just get over herself and do the same. Potter had no right to be so close to her father, to get along with him so easily.

But she didn't know how to do what he was doing, and that was the worst part by far.

-*

In the morning, Aurora came downstairs to the news that they were to have visitors, in the form of Remus Lupin and Hestia Jones. Remus, she didn't mind — she was actually rather excited to see him again — but Hestia Jones made her nervous. There was a certain weight of expectation which she felt, as well as a certain distrust of Hestia, which was not entirely earned or rational. But after so many years, she resented somewhat that Hestia was only trying to connect with her now, and that she seemed to still think she was entitled to see Aurora, simply because she had been friends with her mother thirteen years ago.

Though when her father explained the specific date, things made sense.

"It's been thirteen years to the day," he explained, eyes far away. "I thought I might... Well, it might be good for us to... Be together."

It was the first anniversary he had actually had the opportunity to commemorate, Aurora realised, and that made her reluctant enough to avoid saying anything against it. The night after her mother's death had been the night that the McKinnons had all been killed in the fire started by Gabriel Travers, and that was the date that had stuck in her mind.

Remus and Hestia arrived when Aurora was midway through a ballet exercise in the old ballroom, practicing allegro. She heard the Floo and tensed, pausing in her exercise to try and brace herself as she heard Potter's feet clatter down the staircase.

He was so loud, she thought with disdain, hurriedly fixing her hair and slipping off her ballet shoes. Not an ounce of stealth or subtlety. Far too comfortable in his own skin — and in her own house.

She glared in the mirrors at the end of the ballroom, hoped her cheeks weren't too awfully flushed, and then threw a short front-buttoned silk robe over her leotard to hurry through to the lounge.

Everyone else was already there, and once again she had that unfamiliar feeling of detachment, when it took a few seconds for them to notice her present. Perhaps, she thought, it was self-centred, but she was coming to find that she did not like walking into a room, expecting to pull attention, and not getting it. Last year everyone had been far too interested in her, for all the wrong reasons.

She still didn't like that it took too long for her father to turn and see her, and break into a grin.

"There she is!" he cried, bounding over and wrapping her in a tight hug which she tried to allow herself to lean into. She knew that if she denied his attention, then she wouldn't get it, and it would make everything worse. That didn't mean she knew quite how to accept it yet. "Were you practicing?"

She nodded wordlessly, patting him awkwardly on the back and letting him hold on a little longer before she stepped away. "Just some centre work. I'm not sure about the barre Tippy put up."

With sharp nerves, she glanced over his shoulder to see Hestia Jones standing beside Lupin, her dark hair unbound over her shoulders and her cheeks flushed from summer sun. Her eyes sparkled with excited mischief, and she was — to her chagrin — grinning at her.

"Hey," Jones said, flicking her hair, "nice to see you again."

Aurora gave her a wry smile. "Likewise."

If Jones was bothered by the short answer, then she didn't show it. "Sorry we didn't really get a chance to chat when I saw you after the trial — hectic day and everything, but I should've been a bit better."

Aurora's smile tightened. "That's alright." She stepped out from her father's embrace. Her eyes cut to Potter, who was looking on, bemused, and then to Professor Lupin, who seemed far more agitated, tensed like he thought he was going to have to dive in and break something up. Though maybe that was just because she and Potter were in the same room again.

"So," Aurora said, trying to brave conversation as she came into the room and went to perch on the arm of the sofa, indicating for everyone else to do the same, "you er, went to school with my dad? And Remus and—" She glanced to Potter, not knowing how to say it.

"The lads?" Hestia asked, corners of her mouth lifting. "Yeah. Blooming annoying they all were, too." She wrinkled her nose and leaned forwards to whisper in a conspiratorial tone, "Men. Still blooming annoying."

Despite herself, Aurora bit back a smile of agreement.

"Hestia said she was friends with both our mums," Potter said, in a tone that implied he thought he was being helpful.

Aurora withheld her glare. "I know."

"Marlene was my best friend," Hestia explained, "and Lils was in our dormitory too. Living together for seven years, kind of creates a bond. We were like sisters by the end — had to be."

"Right." There was little else to say, and nothing which Aurora truly felt comfortable with saying. "You knew each other well then. I mean, my dad said so anyway, but..."

If she knew Marlene so well, if she claimed to care, why was she only here now? Why had everyone decided now was the time to care, that they could stake some sort of claim on her or to her life?

"Come on," her dad said bracingly, "let's get cake. Harry and I made some last night before Aurora got in — chocolate cake, Remus's favourite."

Lupin rolled his eyes, but Hestia grinned and followed Sirius and Potter into the kitchen. Aurora trailed behind with Lupin while Potter chatted away to Hestia, wondering about his mother. Lupin smiled tightly at her.

"Now," he started, "two months ago, I would definitely not have believed you and Harry could survive each other living under the same roof."

She let out a low laugh. "It's a process. And there's still a week to go."

To her relief, he laughed. "Sirius is really glad you're making an effort, you know." She smiled tensely. "He is. It means a lot to him."

"I know it does," Aurora reminded him, hoping afterward that he didn't mind the snappish way the words came out. She hadn't meant it, and winced a little when she heard herself. "I've been 'making an effort' since January."

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I know. But this, with Harry... It's good."

She shrugged. "Suppose. It's not like we're friends, though. I'm just tolerating him." Lupin's lips twitched into a half-smile. "What?"

"Familiar words, that's all." He glanced around as they passed the open library door, and Aurora grinned.

"We've got a pretty good library," she told him, "not that anyone else here appreciates it."

He chuckled. "Yeah, Sirius wasn't really the bookish one out of us."

"I'm shocked," Aurora said, and was pleased when he laughed again. "If you go in, it'll probably dump some books on your head, though. But at least no people bother me."

Lupin grinned. "Yeah," he said, "that's always a plus, isn't it? Books over people?"

Aurora nodded with a wry smile as they slipped into the kitchen and Potter's voice grated on her ears again. "Definitely books over people."

Hestia bounded over to them as Aurora's dad started handing out cake. "How are you doing?" she asked, which felt to Aurora like the most useless, basic question ever to ask. "Enjoying summer? At least we've got some decent weather this year."

Aurora grimaced and said stiffly, "Yes, it's been lovely."

"Good for flying," Hestia said, nodding. "Sirius said you're a brilliant flier."

"He has to say that," Aurora pointed out with false modesty, "but yes."

Hestia grinned and broke into a laugh. "I was never all that into sports myself, but you're on the Slytherin team, right?" Aurora nodded. "Brilliant. Do you play Beater often?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I just play whatever my captain tells me to — usually Seeker or Chaser."

"Mhm." Hestia nodded, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Good for you, then, kid. My nephew — do you know Apollo, he said he knew you? — told me you were decent."

Aurora blinked in surprise. "He did?"

She had rarely had reason to interact with Apollo Jones, who usually preferred to stick with Lewis Stebbins and a couple of Ravenclaws they knew. She hadn't known he even noticed her, though in truth it was more likely he just said that to be nice. "Yeah," Hestia laughed, "I can't decide who you got your flying talent from though."

"My father rides a motorcycle," she said plainly, "which is an awful beast. I like to think it's from my mother."

Hestia's grin turned to a smirk. "Ah, but Mars rode that things quite enough herself. She was desperate for a bike. She was the one who would have had you on it from age four if she could."

Aurora didn't like to think of what her mother would have done, if she had had the opportunity. It was too stark a reminder of what was absent, but what she still couldn't bring herself to think of as loss. And of how everyone expected her to want to know those things, when in fact they just made her uncomfortable, because she had no idea how to react.

So she just shot Hestia an awkward smile in return and hurried to grab a slice of cake from her dad, pleading with her eyes that this wouldn't run too long and she wouldn't be subjected to discomfort.

But her father, it seemed, really enjoyed having his friends back. Even Potter wound up taking a backseat, content to listen as they recalled old school stories — though he was much more keen to interrupt and ask questions than Aurora, who flinched anytime someone turned to her for input, as if she ought to have anything to contribute to the story of a life of people she couldn't even remember, as if she was expected to know what to think of Marlene McKinnon's attempt to dye her hair blonde and turning it green instead.

Every time Hestia Jones looked at her, Aurora got the distinct impression that she was trying to see Marlene McKinnon again, and from the questions about her hobbies, her favourite foods, it felt like she had a checklist, was trying to compare her, and even if her father didn't seem to notice, it wound Aurora up until she felt she was going to burst with aggravation, and had to excuse herself to the kitchen under the pretense of cleaning dishes away.

She was joined by Potter not two minutes later, just as she was taking a drink of water and trying to reassure herself that it was fine, Hestia was nice and a good person and she could allow herself to be subjected to this if it made her father happy, and that there was nothing wrong with learning about her mother even though everything she knew told her to leave the subject alone.

"You alright?" Potter asked her from beside the door, making her jump and then scowl at him.

"I'm perfectly fine," she said in her strained voice, and he shrugged, hopping up onto a stool by the counter and helping himself to an orange.

"Okay," he said, peeling it. Aurora stared.

"What are you doing?"

"Having an orange."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why? What are you up to?"

He blinked innocently. "Nothing. I just figured they wanted to chat themselves."

"No you didn't. You followed me."

Potter scoffed. "And why would I follow you, Black?"

"To annoy me." Which he was succeeding at. "To steal my oranges."

"I live here!" he protested. "They're my oranges, too."

She snatched two from the bowl. "They're my oranges."

"No they're not." Potter went to snatch another two, and like a cat, Aurora pounced, glaring at him. He drew back, the expression on his face suddenly wary and uncertain. Aurora found that she hated it. She didn't know what it meant, on him — uncertainty appeared so suddenly, without warning, without discernible reason, and she could not bring herself to understand him.

"You haven't answered my question," she told him, avoiding the issue of orange possession. "Why did you follow me? You seemed to be having a jolly old time of it with my dad. You two are best friends now." She said it with false enthusiasm, sarcasm dripping from every sweetened word.

But Potter's face had fallen somewhat, into one of quiet contemplation. She hated that face, too. She didn't like Potter when he was thinking. He never used it for good.

"Dunno," he admitted, glancing over his shoulder, "just feels like... They're talking about our parents."

She stared at him and blinked slowly. "Yes, well done."

"Oh, sod off!" He stood suddenly and Aurora started.

"What? What did I say?"

"Do you just have to be rude? I was answering your question and you're making fun of me!"

"Potter, that's just how I am."

"Yeah, to me! God — I came through 'cause you looked uncomfortable."

"And did you think your presence was comforting?" She pouted mockingly. "Did you think you were going to be my friend?"

"I thought that was what you wanted," Potter snapped, "right? When you said to be civil?"

"That doesn't mean friendship, that means 'I'm not going to poison you."

He scoffed. "God, you're so..." He trailed off, held himself back from whatever he was going to say next, and shot another glance at the door, this time containing more worry. Aurora stared, wondering again at just what on Earth went through Potter's head. He went back to peeling the orange.

Gryffindors were a very odd bunch.

"I guess I just felt like, they — they wanted us to be there 'cause of our parents. 'Cause they want to talk about our mums and my dad." She frowned, nodding. "But it's like... I really want to know more, right? I didn't get to know anything with my aunt and uncle, so, it's good. But, I don't know." He shrugged again, staring at the ground.

"You feel like when they talk about them," Aurora started slowly, "in front of you, they're expecting you to contribute. To say something. But you can't. You wish you could, even if it's just to fill a gap in conversation — but you can't."

"Yeah." Potter gave a slow nod, only just raising his eyes to meet hers. "Exactly."

She grimaced and tipped her head back. "I hate that we feel the same way." He had the audacity to laugh. "Shut up."

That made him laugh harder. Bloody Gryffindors. So, so strange.

"I think I miss them. Mum and Dad. Do you? With your mum, I mean?"

"I don't know," she said, "I don't know my mother. I'd have missed her if I'd have been five, I suppose. But I miss my grandmother more, and my great-grandfather, and great-aunt and uncle and... Everyone, really." It was vague enough that the admission did not feel too terrifying, but she hated herself once she had spoken the words anyway. "I think people think I should miss her."

"Yeah," Potter said quietly. "I don't know if I can miss them. Even though I want to."

An unsteady silence fell. An understanding which she couldn't shake off no matter how it made her skin crawl.

She didn't want to understand Potter. She didn't want to have anything in common with him, and she certainly didn't want to discuss any sort of emotion with him.

So Aurora stood up sharply, wrapped her arms around herself. "Do try not to get orange peel all over the floor, Potter. It's a nightmare to clear up and it irritates Stella's nose."

"Hedwig likes it."

"Hedwig is an owl, she doesn't have the same taste as a cat."

"Your cat would eat literally anything you put in front of her."

"No, she wouldn't. She's sophisticated."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot, she must have been at your tea party yesterday."

Aurora glared at him, bristled by his nonchalance and the casual way he spoke of such an important event. No respect, she thought firmly. "It wasn't a tea party. Don't be jealous you weren't invited."

"And hang around your friends all day? No thanks."

"At least my friends have fun," she snapped, stalking to the door, "and we'd all much rather not have to see your face at all, thank you very much, Potter."

She ignored his retort as she returned to the lounge, but that same discomfort from earlier still crawled over her skin and up her neck, heading them talk, realising all the ways in which they wanted her to be like her mother, but she couldn't. Hestia wanted to 'get to know her' but she seemed to just want to know Marlene McKinnon's daughter, not Aurora Black, because Aurora, she explained, had been prevented from meeting Hestia by her grandmother and then great-grandfather, which Aurora decided to be nonsense in the latter's case.

Her father on the other hand, seemed merely disappointed at Aurora's reluctance to talk to Hestia, even though it turned out they had very little to discuss. She hated feeling like a disappointment, when she let him down because she simply did not know how to let all these new people into her life, and hated feeling like she was being forced to.

By the end of the visit, she was exhausted from the effort of keeping up a smile and the appearance of cordiality, and had to stop herself from storming up the stairs or snapping at her father when he asked her and Potter how they found Hestia. At least Potter managed to be nice. Aurora rolled her eyes and changed the subject, holding her tongue on the issue, stewing in her annoyance all through the night and into the next morning.

Brittle and on edge — a situation not at all helped by Potter's owl screeching past her window all night — she all but threw her spoon into her yoghurt at breakfast. It was like a storm cloud had gathered over her, and she was determined not to let it burst.

She knew it was not going to be an easy feat, particularly when Potter looked her up and down, raised his eyebrows and said, "You're in a bad mood."

"How observant, Mr Ravenclaw. Ten points for your house."

He pulled a face and she resisted the inexplicably childish urge to stick her tongue out in retaliation. She told herself she wasn't going to stoop to his immature level, but she did enjoy laughing when, a moment later, his owl flew in the window and landed in his hair, causing him to spill his glass of orange juice.

"I love your owl," Aurora said in a conversational tone, smirking over at him. Hedwig hooted, glared, and then flew away.

"She doesn't like you."

"Well, she didn't mess up my hair — though in fairness, yours is generally more of a mess than mine."

"It's affectionate," Potter said crossly.

"Because it looks like a nest."

"Yes." He narrowed his eyes. "And your hair is a mess, actually. I'm surprise your cat hasn't mistaken it for wool."

"See, my cat actually has a brain, and you're really struggling to find something to insult this morning." She smiled sweetly and Potter scowled, flicking water in her direction. "Hey!"

"Oh, Sorry," he said, cocking his head, "I thought you'd melt."

Aurora stared at him blankly. "Why would water melt me?"

He smirked, looking all too proud of himself. Aurora leaned forward, curious in her annoyance. "What are you on about, Potter?"

"Nothing," he sang, as Sirius came down the stairs, "you really should take Muggle Studies." She raised her eyebrows and he added, "It'll enlighten you."

"Oh," Aurora gasped theatrically, "Potter's learnt a big word."

"Shut up, Black."

"Sophisticated."

"Good morning," her father said bracingly, and neither said it with any of his enthusiasm. "Don't tell me you're arguing already."

"Why would water melt me?" Aurora demanded to know, and her dad let out a short laugh of surprise.

"It's a Muggle reference."

"I got that."

"It's a little harsh, Harry."

Potter's cheeks coloured pink. "Sorry," he mumbled, and Aurora tried not to laugh at how obviously unapologetic he actually as, if not for her father.

"I still don't know what it means," Aurora pointed out and her dad sighed.

"We'll add the Wizard of Oz to the list of things to learn about."

"Brilliant," she muttered — of course he took Potter's side, letting him tease her without even having the sense to tell her what it meant.

"I'll see if I can get a video player. Remus might have one lying around somewhere."

Aurora had been introduced to the concept of a video player at Gwendolyn's a few summers ago, but it was still rather odd. She didn't like that the people in the box would just do the same thing over and over, but they had already done it. There was no consciousness or awareness like in an animated portrait. They were simply memories, recorded on film, playing out in a box. A bit like a Pensieve, except one wasn't in the box, and just had to look — the whole thing was deeply uncomfortable to her.

But she still wanted to know how Potter was trying to insult her, so she agreed, and ate her breakfast.

While her father tried to track down a video player, she went out for a fly. It was a clear, cloudless day, with only a faint breeze — perfect conditions for flying, altogether, and she was determined to make the most of it. She ran Quaffle drills on her own until Potter came out and raised his hands for her to throw the Quaffle into. She launched it at him, annoyed when he made a perfect catch.

He grinned, waving back his hair. "Think you can beat me this time, Black?"

She glared at him silently. Even his voice was annoying today, not including the words themselves. It grated — all of him grated, all of him made her want to scream. He could act the part of happy, interested teenager, the good godson, smiling and laughing and getting along so easily because he was just happy to be there. She hated and envied the ease with which he allowed himself to settle into life with her father, even the way he had managed to make small talk with Hestia and Remus yesterday, when she felt on the verge of screaming.

Aurora cast him another look and flew into a steep dive towards the ground. He followed, because of course he did. Showing off, she thought bitterly, at the same time he yelled, "You're such a show off, Black!"

The audacity.

"Says you, Potter!"

"Hey, I'm just following — you didn't answer my question!"

"You didn't answer mine!"

"What one?"

"Why would water melt me?"

Potter let loose a loud laugh. "It's nothing."

"It is," she seethed, evening out and whirling around to see Potter draw short behind her. "You're laughing and it's stupid and annoying. You think you're so clever."

"Nah," he said, shrugging, "I just think it's funny."

"Merlin, you're so... Aggravating!"

"Big word, Black."

"Shut up, Potter. I'd be surprised if you even know what that means."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You really think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"Yes," she said shortly, and he threw the Quaffle at her.

Aurora, surprised, swooped away and just missed being hit as she grabbed the Quaffle. Potter was smirking, until she batted it back and he had to swerve steeply to kick it back towards her. It was a poor kick — he would make a horrible Keeper, she thought — and Aurora swept down to grab it.

When she turned back up, it was to see that annoying, goading smile of Potter's fade. "What?" she asked immediately, as his brow furrowed. His ham went to his forehead — to his scar.

"Nothing," he said and she knew it was a lie.

"That's not true. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Potter repeated, "sod off and chuck me the Quaffle, Black."

She did, but her eyes were still narrowed. "You don't have to be rude."

He scoffed, tucking the Quaffle into his chest. "As if you're anything but rude."

"I think you'll find I am perfectly polite to everyone who deserves it."

Annoyance flashed across Potter's face and he dropped the Quaffle, letting it fall to the ground. He turned around to fly away, and Aurora gaped after him, confused by the change.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

"Nowhere, Black."

"You're clearly going somewhere."

"Yeah," he said, "and you don't care, so, leave me alone."

She gaped further. This was even stranger, and more puzzling behaviour. Any time away from Potter was good though, and she turned haughtily in mid-air to fly away, down towards the broom shed by the front wing. The wind tearing at her hair was a welcome feeling, and gave her a vicious sort of thrill as she raced down towards the ground, heart hammering, and pulled up at the very last minute to see Potter glaring over at her.

She smirked. "Impressed, Scarhead?"

"Hardly. I did that back in first year."

"You almost broke your neck back in first year," she retorted, recalling the way Potter had taunted her cousin, and then, with a twinge of guilt, how Draco had taunted and teased Neville all that day. "You were trying to show off."

"I'd never flown before," Potter told her, and she laughed.

"Yeah, right, Potter. Stop trying to impress me."

"No, really," he said, flying closer. "That was my first time. I thought I was totally going to break my neck. And that I'd get expelled."

Her cheeks flared with embarrassment. Her reluctance to believe Potter's natural ability held potential to be misconstrued as a compliment, and Potter looked entirely too smug for her liking.

"I wish you had," she snarled back, ignoring the burning of her cheeks, "it would have saved me an awful lot of trouble."

"Ah, but then who would beat Slytherin at Quidditch?"

"You've never beaten me at Quidditch," Aurora pointed out, and he grinned, turning the Quaffle over in his hands.

"Want a rematch then, Black? I know you were too afraid last time."

The taunt buried aggravation deep in her chest and caused it to flare up again, a brittle sort of heat. "I won fair and square, and you know it."

His eyes flashed but he didn't have the will to argue the point. Good, she thought. He knew she had won. He was just too prideful to let it go, to concede to her of all people.

"You got lucky, Black."

"I handled the situation." She shrugged, widening her eyes in a mocking manner. "Too bad you didn't."

"It wasn't my fault the Dementors came."

"Oh, no," She drawled, growing impatient, "if I recall correctly, you blamed me, didn't you? Did you think I summoned them, or did you assume they were after me because of my naturally evil temperament, hm? Or did you blame my father? I'm sure he'd love to hear all the things you said about him last year. All the things you held against me."

He blinked, looking suddenly. "I — I didn't know. And he — he'd understand. He did. You blamed him too. I saw your Boggart, remember? You were scared of him, too, you didn't—"

She lunged at him, anger spilling over at the words. Potter let out a yelp and soared upwards, and she followed, dodging the Quaffle which he tossed over his shoulder.

"Don't talk about my Boggart," she snarled, "you don't know anything, Potter. Things have changed."

"I know," he insisted, "so have I."

She let out a high, shrill laugh of indignation. "You're still a prat. You're still an idiot who can't admit he lost to a girl."

"It's not because you're a girl!"

"No? Then is it because I'm a Slytherin, huh?"

They reached the top of the tree line and Potter paused, whirling around in midair to see her. "Is that why you hate me, Potter?"

"And why do you hate me?" he snapped. "It's not cause you're a Slytherin, or a girl — I hate you because you're mean and cruel, pointlessly, and because you've never tried to be nice to me!"

"I saved your life twice."

"And insulted me for it and held it over me! Always! And I'm trying to fit in here and you won't let me!"

"You're trying to fit in with my father," she snapped, "Not me. You couldn't give a shit about me, and that's fine, because I don't give a shit about you either, Potter. I don't like you. You're annoying, and foolish, and can't take being beaten. You're insufferable."

He blinked, drawing back. But in an instant, he snapped again, "This is what I mean! I'm trying, but you just want to hate me!"

"You started this!"

"I did not! You started this, all of this, when you—" He blinked, as though trying to recall. "When you — you ran after us on Halloween, spying! When you tried to blackmail me over Norbert!"

"Who the hell's Norbert?"

"The dragon!"

"Who calls a dragon Norbert? And anyway — you're the one who attacked my cousin—"

"When did I do that?"

"And could have gotten him hurt when you went for him in the air! And you never liked me anyway!"

"Well, I had pretty good reason why! First I thought your dad was a mass murderer, then you proved you're awful anyway—"

"Oh, that's a great way to make friends, isn't it, telling people they're awful—"

"You don't want to be friends anyway, Black. And I couldn't care less."

"Maybe you should. Maybe you should leave me alone!"

"I'm trying to make something here!" Potter shouted. "You're being unfair!"

"I'm being unfair? This is my house, you can't shout at me in my own grounds when you are a guest! You're so rude, Potter!"

"I just want to try and get to know my godfather!" he shouted. "Because you met my aunt and uncle, you know they wouldn't want me knowing about my parents, but I want to! I have to! It isn't my fault we get along better! Maybe if you made more of an effort—"

"Shut up." Her voice came out cold, and her body felt numb, chest rattling as she spoke. She looked at him dangerously, holding his gaze. He swallowed tightly, cheeks flushed from the wind and his anger. "You know nothing, Potter. Nothing about me. Nothing about my family." She crept closer, bent low over her broomstick. "Do not compare yourself to me."

Furious tears burned at his words. They got along better. Maybe if she made more of an effort — but she didn't know how. She didn't understand these things. Didn't understand her father and didn't understand how to make a family out of something so broken and messy.

"Do not talk to me," she said.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Don't speak," she hissed, seething. Her broom vibrated in tune with her anger.

"I know your family was different and everything and I didn't mean to say—"

"Don't," she snarled, "say a word about my family."

And, fury burning through her, she turned and shot towards the ground. Her father was by the door, watching, and the sight of him made something curl, angry, in her gut. When she landed with Potter just behind her, she all but threw her broom on the ground and stormed to the shed.

"Hey," her father called over hurriedly, "What's going on, you two? I thought you were out for a nice fly—"

"Nothing's nice where he's involved," Aurora spat, "he's just pathetic."

"Aurora!"

"You don't have to have a tantrum, I said I'm—"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Don't swear at him!"

"Don't take his side!" Aurora snapped, whirling around to face her father. "You're meant to be my dad, aren't you?"

"I'm Harry's godfather too—"

"Good!" she shouted. "Be his godfather! It's clear you both realise how much better it is when you're on your own! You don't want me around anymore, I understand!"

"What? Aurora, of course—"

"I know you want to — to play happy families! Well it's not going to happen! I'm sorry I don't know how to do this — with him, or you, or Remus or Hestia fucking Jones! I hate it! I hate it here and I hate him and I hate all of this!"

"I thought you were trying to get along!"

"No! We're not, and we don't want to!"

"Harry's making an effort — what exactly is going—"

"Yeah, turn to Harry!" She slammed the shed door shut and faced him. "Perfect! Have a lovely chat while he tells you everything he hates about me! Maybe you'll make chocolate cake at nine o'clock tonight! I don't know!"

She stormed past him and into the house, towards the lounge with the fireplace. "Where are you going?" her father demanded, though she could barely hear him over hardly concealed sobs of anger. She hated them, hated her emotions, hated herself for feeling anything, for letting herself be vulnerable in a position where she had to feel anything.

"Home," she snarled, and as she thrust the Floo powder into the fireplace, she whispered so he wouldn't hear her, "Black Manor."

The front room disappeared, and the last thing she saw was her father's alarmed pale face, mouth forming words she didn't stick around to hear.