Aurora entered the kitchen late the next morning, tired despite having an early night, to the sound of voices inside. She only just managed to catch her dad saying her name before she opened the door, glaring at him and Potter, who looked immediately guilty. She glared back at him, but he offered a tense smile and she forced herself to soften.
He had been surprisingly calm last night, surprisingly subdued and almost welcoming to her. Clearly there had been some sort of effect from her running off, but she still wasn't sure what that might be.
She looked to her father, wary, and he nodded. "I made tea," Potter said, holding a mug out like it was a peace offering. She pursed her lips but accepted the olive branch.
Annoyingly, Potter was good at making tea. Just the right amount of milk, just the right amount of sugar.
"Thank you," she mumbled, refusing to look him in the eye.
Potter cleared his throat awkwardly. "No — no problem."
She tweaked her lips into a small smile and grasped the handle tighter. Her father coughed and said, "I'll go see if Tippy's up to making breakfast yet. She was exploring the attic earlier."
Both Aurora and Harry looked up sharply, pleading silently with him to stay because this situation was even more unbearable and awkward than usual. He rubbed Aurora gently on the shoulder, but at their looks, he stayed, and whispered to her, "I've spoken to him. It's alright."
She could not bring herself to believe him, instead choosing to remain in the stifled, quiet kitchen, sipping tea which had no right to be as good as it was.
"Any plans for today?" her dad asked to break the tension.
They both shrugged.
"I've written Pansy," Aurora said, "and I'll write to Draco, but I don't think he'll be allowed to come. Narcissa might not like it — and Lucius will like it even less."
Potter noticeably wrinkled his nose at the names, which annoyed Aurora, but her father made no expression but to raise his eyebrows at Potter, quelling any protestations he might come out with. Good, she thought to herself, with an unexpected sense of relief.
"Hopefully you'll get a reply soon," he said, "then we can get organised, yeah?" She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"Yeah. It's not so long until the World Cup Final, anyway — I know Draco will be there and hopefully we'll get to see each other."
The Quidditch World Cup Final was in fact to be held in five days' time, and Aurora was rather excited about it, not only to be back with the Tonkses, but also because she had never seen such a major Quidditch match before. Even her own team, the Holyhead Harpies, she had only watched playing once, and they had suffered an unfortunate defeat to Puddlemere United.
It was only an added benefit that Potter was going with the Weasleys, and therefore would not be around to bother her.
"I think if Pansy comes I'll get some more nail polish and face charm masks to try out — she brought this one the last time all the girls were together and the black nail polish crackled like actual lightning when you moved your hands the right way."
Potter wrinkled his nose. "You paint each other's nails? That's what you do in the Slytherin dorms?"
She stared at him, with an amused smirk. "We don't all sit around plotting murder. That's a topic reserved for the monthly house meetings in the common room."
He scowled, and her father laughed, before giving them both warning looks and slipping out of the kitchen with a mumble about bacon rolls. "Subtle," Aurora muttered.
"I'm going to assume you were joking about the meetings?"
She merely winked, and raised her eyebrows. "A Slytherin never tells our secrets."
He laughed weakly and then leaned back. Neither could meet the other's eyes — Aurora's mind whirred, wondering what he had been told by her father, what he thought of her now after her display yesterday, and what he might do or say about it.
"So," he said after a moment of tense silence. "You, um. Feeling better today?" She glared sharply at him and he looked down, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry."
"For?" she asked haughtily.
"Well. You know. Um... Listen." She narrowed her eyes.
"Yes?"
"Your dad, um, said a few things."
"Did he now?"
He glared, annoyed, and she forced herself to soften. Cease hostilities, she reminded herself. Hear him out — that's what her father wanted and she had to at least pretend to make an effort of it. "He said you, that you aren't really all that comfortable here."
"Genius."
"And I — I reckon that's a bit to do with me. But, I am trying to get along with you. It's really annoying when you don't want to."
"On the contrary," Aurora said, "it's downright infuriating when you try to play nice after all this time."
"Right." He took in a deep breath and Aurora privately dreaded whatever he was going to say next. "Listen. I — I'm sorry. About, how we didn't get on the last few years."
"That's rather an understate—" She cut herself off, biting her lip in silent admonishment. "What, specifically?"
"I mean... I don't like you. You've never really given me a chance to like you. But I guess I kind of judged you a bit harshly. Not that you didn't judge me but... You're not as bad as you seem, Black. You're not as bad as I thought Slytherins had to be." She raised her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, for not giving you a chance."
"I never wanted you to give me a chance, Potter. I don't need chances from you." She sucked in a breath at the annoyed, slightly disappointed look on his face. "But, I suppose, thank you, for the gesture." His grin was hesitant but it was there. Though, Aurora could not bring herself even to begin to smile in return. The fact that either of them had had to say those words left a sour taste in her mouth.
"You, um." He cleared his throat and looked away. "I guess I don't really know Parkinson."
Aurora blinked and said slowly, "No? You don't."
"Yeah." He nodded awkwardly, eyes wide like they were searching for something to say. "I guess it'll be nice for you to see her."
"Yes." She frowned. "It will."
He nodded and silence fell again, both of them strained. Aurora sipped her tea, watching him over the rim of the mug, as his eyes darted back and forward between her and the door. His nerves and uncertainty were plain, and would have been amusing if she herself were not so disconcerted by the whole thing.
Potter took in a sharp, deep breath all of a sudden, catching Aurora off guard as she went to drink her tea again, for lack of anything else to do. He said, in a rush, like he wanted the words to be over and done with, "You gave me that photo."
She blinked, trying to figure out what he was on about. "What photo?"
"That one of my parents, when they were younger. After what happened with Quirrel, someone left a photo for me with no note, and I couldn't work out who because Madam Pomfrey wouldn't say. But it was you, wasn't it?"
She daren't admit to it, just stared at him until he got the point and said hurriedly, "Thank you, then. And I suppose — well, when I heard what everyone thought happened about my parents, and your dad's role... I wasn't thinking. I took it out on you and I am — genuinely — really sorry."
"Are you only saying that because you have to? Or because you know the truth now? Would you ever have thought differently if my father's innocence hadn't been revealed?"
His answer was slow, uncertain, shown through the way he blinked, eyelashes fluttering. "I don't know," he said, and a part of Aurora appreciated the honesty over an easily tearable lie. "I don't know if I'd have been able to admit it, anyway. But I felt bad even just after and I just didn't know how to say. I told you that, didn't I? I apologised. I know you didn't like it, but, there. And I'm sorry for being stupid about the Quidditch game."
"Did my father put you up to this?"
"I am sorry," Potter said, which was not an entirely satisfactory answer. After a moment of Aurora glaring, he clarified, "He wants us to talk. He said he talked to you, too."
She gave a withering sigh, rolling her eyes. Then she managed to stop herself and tried not to grit her teeth so much. It was an unhealthy habit anyway, she reminded herself. All this grumpiness wasn't good for her.
"I don't know really what would be best for us to discuss. It's clear neither of us like the other, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. But I want to be clear. Your attempts so far have been purely about force, trying to get me to acknowledge you and try to have fun, but that isn't who I am."
"Fun?" She glared, and he muttered, "Sorry. I'm sure you are fun in your own way."
"How kind of you, Potter." Aurora grimaced. "You're not going to be able to force me to be your friend. I don't understand you, first of all, I don't like you, and let's face it, our situations are highly incompatible." Potter gave her a disbelieving look. "I don't appreciate you assuming that we should just put the past behind us when neither of us have discussed it in any meaningful way. You never gave me a chance, from the moment I was sorted and the moment you decided you disliked Draco. I would have been content to stay away from you, quite honestly, as my aunt had warned me to."
"You didn't," Potter protested, "you were always getting involved in our business! Yeah, I don't like you, but it's not like you ever tried to make yourself likeable! And it's not 'cause you're a Slytherin, I know loads of Slytherins who I don't dislike like I dislike you—"
"But none that you'd be particularly friendly with, I bet—"
"You can't put this all on me!" He sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, alright, Black? Sorry because maybe I overreacted. Or — or misjudged you, but don't you think you misjudged me too? You think I'm this arrogant Gryffindor, you think I'm an idiot—" that she felt was absolutely true, judging by all the ridiculous situations he had gotten himself into over the years "—I never asked for you to get involved with the Philosopher's Stone! I never asked for Malfoy to bother about me or to be a bullying git." She pursed her lips but said nothing. "I want to learn to get along with you, alright, Aurora? But you can't seriously think that's easy? You can't think I don't have any reason to dislike you — you're the one who blackmailed me, remember? With Hagrid's dragon? You're the one who spied on me!"
"It was hardly spying, Potter," she drawled, "you were very obvious about everything you were up to."
He gritted his teeth and Aurora forced herself to adopt a more polite tone. It was in her opinion, a testament to just how annoying Potter was, that it was so much harder for her to be polite to him than the likes of Lord Rosier or Nott. At least, she told herself, Potter would not be so responsive to her being polite anyway.
"I apologise for... What you perceived as blackmailing, but really, you were of no help, and I wound up in detention with you anyway, so I feel like it evens out." He glared at her and she cleared her throat. Even more polite. "Do tell me what else I have done to wrong you. I'm curious."
Potter pursed his lips, folding his arms. "Look, I don't want to get into this. I'm sorry, for assuming you were a worse person than you are, and for taking it too far." It was something, at least. "I know you've not had it easy, and I misjudged you, and—"
"Not had it easy?" She arched her eyebrow, annoyance running through her — that her father had presumably used those exact words to nudge Potter into this, and that Potter was understating it so much. "Expand on that assessment."
"Well, just that — Sirius told me about your family, and everything, and I knew some of that anyway, but — I guess we're not that different. I mean, we are, but, I don't really know anyone else in this kind of situation. Who's lost their family." She blinked, surprised by his candid, his openness. It sat uncomfortably with her, uncertainty lodged in her mind. "I never meant to be the sort of person I have been around you. I chose to dislike you because... I really, really wanted to not be Slytherin. I really wanted to keep Ron, because he was my first friend, and I'd already decided I didn't like Malfoy — and I still don't, that's not changing unless he does. He's still cruel, he's still bigoted—"
"He's my cousin—"
"I know, which is why I couldn't like you. To be honest, I don't know how you put up with it, but I get that you're not the same." She didn't know if that assessment was necessarily reassuring to her or not. Aurora kept quiet, biting her lip. "I know we're not going to be friends. But I want you to know that I am sorry we weren't before."
She swallowed tightly. "Thank you."
He raised his eyebrows, then sighed. "You really still hate me, don't you?"
"What do you mean, still? One conversation with my father wouldn't change my entire perception of you. You're not as bad as I perhaps assumed — but I suppose." She winced. "I don't entirely hate you."
"Yes, you do."
It was, admittedly, hard to argue with that. Though she had to admit, she hadn't expected this self-awareness, even if that wasn't very much. Her expectations for Potter were, as a general rule, very low. But whatever her father had said seemed to have mellowed him somewhat. He had an ease in his words that still wasn't cockiness.
He still didn't deserve her friendship, or her father's appreciation, but she admitted to herself, very grudgingly, that he was better than she had thought of him. Not by much, but still. She hadn't expected him to speak with any sincerity or make an actual attempt at understanding the situation, and while she still resented said situation, and his place in it, that understanding wasn't entirely unwelcome.
"It would be pointless to be friends anyway," she told him though, not wanting to dwell, "we have nothing in common, apart from Quidditch, and that doesn't count because I will always play against you. Unless you're a Holyhead Harpies fan?"
Potter blinked, seemingly surprised by the change in topic — but Aurora felt the conversation was getting far too repetitive and useless, and she didn't like how close it got to feelings and opinions. "Ron likes the Chudley Cannons," he said with a shrug.
She gave him an assessing look. Surely someone as good at Quidditch as he was — and she could only reluctantly bring herself to admit his skill — would have a team, an interest outside of his own participation. Or perhaps he was just self-obsessed. She liked the affirmation of that perception.
"Well," she said stiffly, trying to soften her voice again. If she could simper to Rosier and Nott and Abraxas, she reasoned, she could speak to Potter in a somewhat civil tone. "I suppose we'll have to educate you on decent Quidditch teams. You'll never be happy if you're a Cannons fan."
"Aw," Potter said, smirking, "you worry about my happiness?"
She snorted. "You're slightly more tolerable in a good mood. Also, anyone who seriously supports the Cannons needs help. And my greatest sympathies, too."
With a rather disconcerting grin, Potter said, "Are we okay?"
She rolled her eyes. "No, Potter. We're never okay. However, I do respect your apology." Potter didn't look pleased with this, but he nodded grudgingly.
"I'm sorry — really sorry," he said, "if me being here makes you feel out of place. I don't know, I guess — I'm used to being on the other side. My cousin's always the favourite, and I'm..." Some colour came into his cheeks and he looked down.
"Your family are awful?" Aurora guessed and he nodded. "I know. Listen, I know that. Which is why you're still here, Potter." He blinked, surprised. "Honestly. It's important to my father that you're safe, and frankly, I don't like those Muggles one bit. I know it's none of my business, but it's the truth.
"But I've — I've been all over the place, Potter. When I was two, and my father sent to prison, my grandmother took me in. It took a long while for her to actually like me, and even now, her portrait and memory — they aren't particularly nice. And then she died, Potter. And then I lived with my great-grandfather, the late Lord Arcturus, and then he died too and I had to go to Hogwarts and I had to be in Slytherin. I had to stick to what I was taught because there was no other way. And then my aunt and uncle died and I had to live with Andromeda, whom I had never met before, and now finally I have some more stability, I'm not hated for who my father is and you — you want to take that from me."
"No," he said, blinking, "I don't want to — to take anything from you, Black. I want your dad to like me, I want my godfather, but... I'm not trying to take your dad from you. Believe me, even if I hated you a hundred times more than I do, I wouldn't. I — I always wanted my dad."
Those words more than anything seemed to solidify their understanding. Aurora tried hard not to glare at him, hating that there was any sort of understanding there between them. She both resented and had to grudgingly appreciate the sincerity that lingered in his tone.
"Well," she said stiffly, inclining her head, "thank you, Potter. Though words are not really enough."
He frowned. "Well, I don't exactly know what else to say. This isn't easy for me either, you know. I've never... Known... How to do this whole—" He made a wide gesture to the kitchen. "Thing."
Nodding, Aurora took in a sigh. She sipped on the remainder of her tea, though it was cooling now. "Please," she said, "understand that I need to have my own space, if this is to work at all. I l— really do care about my dad."
Potter nodded quickly. "But you — I know you don't like me and that's fine because I don't really like you—"
"You're so kind, Harry—"
"But can we just... Try and get along better. If I'm really being unbearable to you, tell me, and then if you're pissing me off, I'll tell you."
"Oh," Aurora drawled, "I can't wait for that."
He shot her a flat, unimpressed look. She grinned in response. "Stay out of my way," she told him, "and don't interfere in my relationship with my father. Then, perhaps, we can try and avoid having issues."
"Fine," he agreed, "but you need to accept that I'm not going to like you if you keep acting like the way you do now."
"I accepted that rather a long time ago," Aurora said. "I'm sure I'll survive."
By the time her father came back, they had lapsed into silence again. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but Aurora didn't feel so much of the prickling nervous energy that she usually felt when she had Potter around, like she was being kept on her toes, like his presence was grating beneath her very skin, annoying every inch of her.
Her father noted the uneasy truce, but there was a glimmer of a smile on his face. Aurora sniffed haughtily and flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Breakfast?" she asked cheerfully.
"Pancakes," her father said, and she grinned. And if Potter smiled, too, she chose to ignore it in favour of her own personal cheerfulness.
She was glad to meet her dad's eyes too, to see the encouraging pride in them. That was what she needed, what she always wanted. To feel the pride of someone in her family, even if said pride was for something she didn't in particular care about.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked her quietly as they made their way through to the dining room. Aurora nodded, silent. "I love you, sweetheart."
"I know," she mumbled.
"More than anything," he said, but she didn't miss the way he lowered his voice. He didn't want Potter to hear, which she understood, but it still grated. Let Potter hear, she thought. Let him know that she still stood on top. "Is there anything you want to do today? Or that you need to do?"
She shrugged. "I supposed I would just read, explore the library a little. I have to brush up on my French, I've been really neglecting language studies."
He raised his eyebrows, but nodded along. "I'll help if you want," he offered, which made Aurora laugh. "I was half-decent at French, actually. Rusty now, of course, but those lessons still stuck. It helped that Uncle Alphard taught me."
"Why am I not surprised?" she mumbled, but when she met his eyes realised what he meant to do by bringing up Alphard. Rarely did he mention his childhood, especially as it pertained to specific members of the family — with the exception of Andromeda — but this was somewhat neutral ground. Alphard had been disowned, of course, but so had Sirius and Andromeda and Aurora had a hard time truly holding it against him, after everything.
"We'll see if I've still got it in me," he said with a wink. "If I can remember English, I'm sure I can remember French."
The thought of memory — specifically the loss of it — lingered with Aurora for a moment, but her father, seeming to notice the lull and change of tone, to the more personal sort of concern, breezed past the issue entirely and moved the conversation on. It struck Aurora, that act, because she recognised it in herself, too.
"Anyway, even if I can't remember my French, I bet you'd be better at it than me anyway."
"Really?" She raised her eyebrows at the cliched compliment.
"Oh, totally. I mean, I could barely bother to read books in English of my own volition, but you? You're a right little bookworm, aren't you?"
She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not a worm."
Her father blinked, then laughed. She pretended not to notice Potter's snort behind her. "It's just a saying, sweetheart. It means you like books a lot. It's a bit of a Muggle thing." To her delight, he shot Potter what appeared to be a chastising look. She smiled, with a sense of superiority.
"Potter wouldn't know anything about it then," she sang, "I'm not sure he's ever set foot in the library unless it's with the intention of causing trouble."
"I never mean to cause trouble!" Potter prorated from behind her, scurrying along to catch up. "It just happens! Hermione's the one who always drags me in there."
"See," Aurora's dad said, "I always meant to cause trouble."
She rolled her eyes. "So we agree, Gryffindors are intolerable in their troublemaking? It must be an inherent trait, mustn't it? You have to break the rules for initiation — but you're all about getting caught."
"Not an initiation," her dad said with a shrug, "it was just fun."
"What rules have you broken then?" Potter asked her with an eager, goading smile. "Other than, you know, trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone."
"I was trying to study it," she said primly. "Not steal it. And you were sneaking about then too, and might I add that you were given house points because you got us caught."
"Saving the school!"
She waved a dismissive hand, trying not to smile at his look ofindignation. Even when they weren't outright arguing, even when they weren't trying to bait or annoy one another, in any direct hostilities, he was so amazingly easy to rile up.
"I wouldn't tell you about any rules I had broken," she said, "you'd either copy me, with spectacular failure and no doubt to a grand old lecture from Hermione Granger, or you would turn me in."
"A marauder never turns another marauder in," her dad quipped suddenly, causing both her and Potter to start, and stare at him. "What?"
"We're not marauders," Potter pointed out, but he had an excited little grin.
"You're as good as," her dad said with a laugh. "Honorary marauders, that's what we always said."
"We can't both be, though."
"That just won't work."
"I don't want to be a marauder if he's a marauder."
"I don't want to be a marauder if she's a marauder."
"And anyway, I think I deserve the marauder prize for pranking Remus. That definitely makes me top marauder — hypothetically, of course."
"Is it a prank if you did it to break the law?"
"Shut up, Potter, you've broken like, fifty laws and every school rule there is. And you got caught." She grinned, flicked her hair, and stalked into the dining room, whirling around to face them when she reached a chair. She smirked at the confused look on Potter's face. "There." Her gaze snapped to her father's. "I win?"
He chuckled softly and grinned as he slipped into a seat opposite her. "You win. Unless you make me conjugate verbs."
"You're really going to help me with French?"
"Of course." He shrugged. "I said I would, didn't I?"
She tried to hide it, but the promise made a warm smile creep over her face, and it was treacherously difficult to put away.
Especially when her father proved horrible at French, and Aurora had to teach him, and only later considered that maybe that was the point, because if there was one thing she was entirely comfortable talking about, it was academics.
And he'd been smirking, the sly bastard.
She appreciated it anyway.
-*
Pansy arrived two days later, the afternoon before Potter was due to leave Arbrus Hill to join the Weasley family and attend the Quidditch World Cup. Her invitation to Draco had been predictably met with a response that his father said it was not possible that day, and that he had to go on business with Lucius to see his grandfather and Lord Nott. At least, she thought, he might see Theodore, whom, last she had heard, was not having a good time of it, his mother being unwell and his grandfather in denial.
Aurora waited nervously for her friend to arrive through the fireplace. Potter was frowning over his summer homework in a corner, paying her little mind — just the way she liked it — while she tapped her foot up and down nervously. Everything had to go perfectly. She could tell Pansy's parents had been apprehensive about this, too, but Rosebelle seemed to have been the one to talk Pansy's father, Julian, into agreement. Aurora's own father appeared nervous too, wringing his hands together.
"Pansy isn't going to bite you, you know," she told him, "I don't know why you're nervous."
"It's just..." He seemed to struggle for a good word, and Aurora raised her eyebrows impatiently. "Odd, is all. But I'm excited to meet your friend, at last. I didn't know her father really, only in passing, but her mother, you said she was a Selwyn?" Aurora nodded. "Rosebelle Selwyn... She was only a few years older than me. Quiet, I suppose. The sort to do as she was told."
"That isn't a bad thing," Aurora said primly and he nodded hastily.
"Not at all! No, that's just how I remember her. Merlin, I don't even know if she'll remember me."
Aurora laughed. "Rosebelle remembers everything."
That seemed to make him nervous. "I hope she doesn't remember when we put frog spawn soap in all the dungeon lavatories."
"She will," Aurora said flatly, wrinkling her nose, "and you really were disgusting."
At that moment, as her father laughed and brought an odd, reassured warmth to her, the fireplace flared with green Floo flames. Aurora hurried to stand up, seeing two silhouettes appear in the firelight.
A second later, Pansy's face became clear and she leapt out of the fireplace, hurrying to hug Aurora tightly while squealing, "Hello!"
Aurora squeezed her back, laughing, and said, "You're two minutes early!"
"Mother likes to be punctual," Pansy whispered in a needless conspiratorial tone. "And nosy."
Aurora laughed, drawing away and turning to see her father and Pansy's mother regarding one another with a wary sort of suspicion, postures stiff and rehearsed, like dogs sniffing one another out.
Pansy nudged Aurora softly and nodded her head in the direction of Potter, who was looking at them both curiously. "What's he like?"
"Annoying," Aurora muttered, "but I'm trying this new thing called being nice."
Pansy snorted. "Is it working?"
She pretended to think awhile before replying, "I'll get back to you on that one."
Pansy laughed, and linked her arm through Aurora's. "Come on," she said, "show me your room? Have you done much with it?"
"Not really," Aurora said stiffly, thinking of the bare walls and few Quidditch posters. "Come on up, though. Afternoon, Mrs Parkinson!"
"Afternoon, Aurora, dear," Rosebelle said, breaking her contact from Aurora's father. "Have you been alright?"
"Yes," she lied, but gave Pansy a significant look. Her friend squeezed her arm in return. "Father, this is Rosebelle Parkinson. Rosebelle, this is my father."
"I had gathered," Rosebelle said with a wry smile.
Aurora grinned, and then seeing her father nod in the direction of Potter, added, "And this is Harry Potter. Potter, Pansy and Rosebelle Parkinson."
"Yeah." Potter was looking at Pansy like she had suddenly sprouted three heads. "Hi."
Pansy raised her eyebrows but said in a perfectly polite voice — one which Aurora was admittedly jealous of her for achieving in relation to Potter, "Good afternoon, Mister Potter. It's lovely to see you again."
Aurora had to fight to stifle her laughter at Potte's startled, wide-eyed response. "Uh, thanks," he said, and she bit her lip. When she glanced up, she was glad to see her father smiling in amusement, too. "You — you too, Parkinson."
Pansy smirked. "Mother, you can leave now. I'll be back at six o'clock before supper."
"I've only just arrived," Rosebelle said, sighing, "let me socialise, Pansy."
Her father really did not seem to want to socialise, nor did he look like he knew how, but Aurora shrugged. "We'll be down again soon, Rosebelle, I just want to show Pansy around my room. I have new nail polishes."
Pansy squealed. "Oh, let me see! I'll be down soon, Mum, bye!"
And they hurried up the stairs, only letting out their giggles when they got to the top.
"Is he always so awkward?" Pansy asked, and Aurora was uncertain whether she meant her father or Potter.
"Potter doesn't know how to interact like a normal person. I also think he was surprised that I have friends."
"Ah, yes," Pansy drawled, rolling her eyes, "because you're so detestable."
"To a Gyffindor like him? Absolutely." She shook her head. "He'll come up to bother us at some point. But, we are trying to get along."
Pansy raised her eyebrows. "I bet that's going brilliantly."
"This morning, he burnt his toast and I couldn't even call him an idiot. It's torture, Pans! And my dad wants us to get along and I think we do sort of understand each other a bit better, but that really isn't saying much. He seems to get now that I'd rather have space than him getting in my face trying to act all cheerful, you know? Andnhe apologised for being an idiot."
"How long'd that take?"
"He took a while to get to his point, but we got there." She rolled her eyes. "I apologised too, again."
"Never apologise to a Gryffindor, Aurora."
"I know, but, it felt polite. I don't have to mean it, but if my apologising keeps him from being so infuriating, all the better. I can't stand my father thinking he's nicer than I am."
Pansy wrinkled her nose, as Aurora drew her into her bedroom and closed the door. "He said that?"
"Not in those words, but I understood it. And I know, I know I'm not always super nice, but Potter's hardly an angel, and that's what I was trying to get across. My father just thinks he is, and it's really frustrating when he acts like he is and just confirms the lie!"
She let out a groan, as Pansy smiled knowingly. "He's driving you mad, then?"
"Completely. Not so much now he's learned to shut up, but it's still... I don't know. I need my father to be on my side and I'm getting there but I shouldn't have to suck up to Potter for that to happen, especially when Potter's the one pissing me off. We've not really resolved anything except deciding to stay out of each other's way, and those really awkward apologies which I'm not certain either of us meant — I'm just glad I got it out of him. And I get why my dad wants him around and wants us to get along, but it's, well, it's really frustrating." She slumped, putting her head on Pansy's shoulder. "He's leaving tomorrow though, at least, and he seems to be staying with the Weasleys for at least a week even if the final doesn't go on too long."
"I hope for your sake it goes on forever." Aurora cracked a grin and tilted her head back as she sat down on the edge of her bed.
"I'm tired of him anyway. But, I've learned a lot. He has no idea about the Potter lordship."
Pansy's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Mhmm." Aurora nodded slowly. "He's completely clueless and if I liked him at all then I would be outraged. I mean, he must have a fortune to inherit, and Dumbledore never told him."
Pansy wrinkled her nose. "I knew something was up with Dumbledore. I wouldn't trust that man as far as I could throw him."
"Me neither," Aurora agreed, "I don't know if he simply assumed Potter knew or deliberately declined to mention it, but regardless, it is interesting, isn't it?"
Pansy nodded, then frowned, thinking. "You know," she said slowly, "I managed to hear more of what my father was discussing with his allies the other day. He had Shafiq and Greengrass and Fawley all over, which was a strange mix. I mean, Greengrass and Fawkey sort of make sense, he's just never been all that interested in them personally before, but Shafiq was a surprise. They usually run more moderate, but Father was discussing the Assembly with him and I heard them mention werewolves."
Cold crept over Aurora's skin. "What about werewolves?"
"Some sort of legislation about them. Probably to restrain them more, after what happened to Professor Lupin." Her stomach twisted with nerves at what her friend was about to say. If such a bill was on the table, she should have been informed, as a part of the Legislating Assembly. "It was weird that he was working with them, though. And he's hardly spoken to Lord Malfoy, or to Draco's father — you haven't heard anything, have you?" Aurora shook her head, wordless, and Pansy huffed. "Do you know what's going on?"
"I'm not particularly close to politics at the moment," Aurora admitted, annoyed at herself for that fact. "Not as close as I should be. Your cousin, Cecil, told me that his father was considering an Abbott or MacMillan as a match for him, which was odd, remember?"
Pansy's mouth twisted into a worried, tight line. "I wish people would tell us things. Fathers aren't the only intelligent people in the world."
"Agreed." Aurora smirked. "Sometimes they aren't even that intelligent to begin with."
Pansy snorted, batting Aurora's arm as she sank into the edge of the bed beside her. "Okay, so, my mother is totally going to interrogate him, and she thinks she's doing it on your behalf — and also Narcissa's, I think, which also means Draco's, because if she thinks he's alright then Draco might be allowed to visit, but that is a pretty big if — but is it alright? Potter isn't hassling you?"
"He is, but not like he was. He wants to be friends, but I've told him that's not going to happen. My dad prefers him, though. He's all, oh, just give Potter a chance but it's like? I'm giving him a chance just by letting him be hers." She huffed. "Sometimes I think Potter's trying more than my dad is because at least he listened when I explained what was going on. My dad just doesn't understand. He's trying to, but I'm not sure he really wants to, because he doesn't want to have to think about my family.
"He's trying more though. He lets me talk about them — not that he ever stopped me, but I could tell he didn't want me to, you know?"
"But he's favouring Potter?" Pansy scoffed. "Well, that simply does not make sense." Aurora laughed, Pansy's words assuring her somewhat.
"I think my dad just needs to realise I'm not the child he thought he was going to raise. But he's taking his bloody time about it."
At that, Pansy laughed. "Well, I think you're better than Potter. And I think your dad needs to get his shit together."
Aurora spluttered. "Pansy!"
"What? You say that all the time!"
"You don't swear!"
"Well." Her cheeks went pink. "It needed to be said. Desperate times call for strong language."
Trying not to laugh at her again, Aurora shook her head, crossing her ankles. "I can't say I think you're wrong. But enough about my dad and Potter. I need to show you this nail polish — and did you see the part on our school lists about requiring dress robes?"
Pansy nodded seriously. "Mother hinted there might be a Yule Ball this year. She said I wouldn't be attending the one the Carrows always hold at Christmas anyway, and we usually do attend. She said I'd get a better offer."
Savouring the information, Aurora nodded. "Well, we must need some new robes then? All my dress robes are summery, though I suppose they could be re-used." Pansy shook her head in horror and Aurora laughed. "Alright, maybe not. We could go shopping in Hogsmeade this time, maybe, once we know what we actually need them for. And if not we can send from home."
"I just hope it's a house exclusive event," Pansy said, "I don't want to dance with Gryffindors. Have you ever noticed, they all seem to have sticky hands?"
"How would you even have noticed that?"
"Well, they just look gross."
"Are you sure you're not projecting?"
"Absolutely not!" Pansy looked indignant at the thought. "Anyway, I'm not touching a Gryffindor."
"That's fair enough," Aurora agreed, "though most boys our age are rather gross anyway."
Pansy shrugged. "I'll go with Draco," she said, and Aurora laughed. "I'm sure he has lovely hands."
"I think I'll let you be the judge of that," Aurora told her in a solemn voice, making her friend laugh, as they joined hands. "Paint my nails?"
"Lady Black," Pansy mocked, grinning giddily, "I thought you'd never ask."
By the time they went downstairs twenty minutes later, nail polish drying in hues of deep violet and pale pink, it was to find Sirius and Rosebelle hosting an almost civil — if rather stilted — tea. Potter seemed greatly relieved when he saw them, and at his tilted head, Aurora grudgingly took the seats beside him.
"They've been talking in circles," he whispered, "your mum talks like my aunt, Parkinson."
Pansy glowered at him but said nothing.
"That's Pansy for shut up," Aurora whispered back, with an identical glare, and he backed off. She sighed. "Anything exciting?"
"Not really. Apparently Mrs Parkinson really does remember the frogspawn incident."
"Oh, yes," Pansy said drily, "it lives in Slytherin legend."
Aurora smirked, as Potter frowned, trying to size Pansy up. "None must ever forget those who slighted the house. Especially not a loathsome Gryffindor."
"Loathsome is a bit harsh."
"Perhaps, but it does come with the territory of being a Gryffindor, doesn't it?"
Aurora couldn't find it in her to argue, only smirked and shot Potter a wink which he did not reciprocate, nor appear amused by.
When at last Mrs Parkinson agreed that Pansy could be left alone in Sirius's company, and Flooed home to the manor with strict instructions for her daughter to return at five o'clock precisely — and for Aurora to remind her, because Pansy was awful at keeping time — both girls sighed in relief, then grinned at one another for the same movement.
"So," Pansy asked, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially in Aurora's ear, "are we going to avoid or annoy today?"
Aurora glanced over at Potter, who was having a rather quiet chat with her father, still ever so slightly out of sorts and most definitely wary of Pansy, whom he had not encountered so often, and likely knew little about, other than her connection to Aurora. And, she thought, to Draco.
"I'm sure I still annoy him just by breathing," Aurora said. "However. I think we can freak him out by both trying to have a civil conversation? He doesn't understand girls and he also doesn't understand me being nice. He always seems to think it's a trap. Which is fair."
"That'll work?"
She nodded. "It's the only thing to bother him and please my father." A smirk came over her face, but it was one that more anticipated amusement than heralded cruelty. "Let's see what he might believe about Slytherin girls, eh?"
And her friend's resulting grin, she decided, was reason enough to believe that regardless of what Potter thought of her, she was not a person to be defined by her relationship only to one other, and that having Pansy here was absolutely the thing to make her time at Arbrus Hill just that bit brighter.