September seemed to slip by far too quickly, the month caught in a whirlwind of homework and anticipation of the tournament, but equally of concern for Aurora over her Assembly vote, and of the fallout from Rita Skeeter's article.

She had received a letter from her father just two days after the article, him having clearly been directed to it by either Andromeda or Hestia. There was little unexpected in it; he said, as he had said in the past, that Rita Skeeter clearly wrote 'a load of absolute shite' to make up for her own lack of actual journalistic talent. The words were comforting to anger but offered little as a solution to her personal unease.

While it may have been her paranoia, Aurora was sure that she had heard people whispering about her in the common room. Not any of her close friends, but people like the Carrow sisters, and Edward and Tristan Bulstrode, she could tell, lowered their voices when she came near, looked at her interestedly with the sort of suspicion that she was keen to avoid. Of course, no younger student would challenge a fourth year, and to her face everyone was perfectly polite, but she saw suspicion written on other faces too, and it made her uneasy. Anything let slip at Hogwarts would inevitably make its way back to wider society, to family heads and lords, and though there was nothing legally — yet — to take from her position because of her blood status, she knew that many would take her even less seriously than they already did.

It was Leah MacMillan who, strangely, offered Aurora some quiet companionship, a sort of unspoken understanding. The MacMillans has been marked out as purebloods by the Sacred Twenty-Eight a few generations ago, but it was a rather open secret that her mother's family, the Vaiseys, had some Muggle relatives in the mix. They had been a part of the Assembly for just over a century now, but their introduction — like the introduction of the most of the 'less pure' families at the turn of the century — had been controversial and remained somewhat so.

Ever since the decision to cancel Quidditch, Aurora had been tremendously bored, seeking something else to do besides classwork and worrying about politics that felt too far out of her control. Leah seemed, to some extent, to understand her position, which was more than could be said for many of her friends. They had built up a strange acquaintanceship, helped along by mutual friendship with Gwen and Robin, and the fact that they both ran in adjacent circles, if not the same ones.

"My brother is doing my head in," Leah told her one evening, rather red in the face after coming through the common room and joining Aurora, Gwen, and Robin on the sofas by the lake window. "All he wants to talk about is our cousin's wedding, because he thinks — because Father told him so — that it's a 'promising' match." She made a low noise of annoyance. "He's a prick." Aurora pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh. "Then he's stuck on about meeting people from the other schools in the tournament and how it's such an important opportunity, as if I'm incapable of working that out for myself."

Leah shook her head and then leaned over Gwen's shoulder to peek at their Transfiguration work. "And he told me I need to pick my grades up."

"Isn't Ernie bottom of Herbology?"

Leah snorted. "From the way he goes on, you'd think he was beating all the seventh years in duels. He thinks just because he's going to be Lord MacMillan one day that means he's destined to be greater than anyone else."

"That is the mindset of most of the Assembly Lords," Aurora pointed out with a grim smile. "But don't tell anyone."

"Yes, I expect it's all another great secret that I'm not allowed to share in." Leah scowled. "He did say one interesting thing, though."

"One?" Gwen asked, grinning. "He managed to come up with one whole interesting thing?"

Leah gave her a flat look. "Apparently, Moody's duelling club's gotten the go-ahead. Cedric Diggory told him — sixth and seventh years are the only ones getting to go the first sessions apparently, but so far it seems word hasn't reached the Slytherin class."

"Funny that," Robin muttered, glancing around the common room.

"I, for one, thought we were all Moody's favourite students."

"Well, Ernie seems to think it's going to be some closed club. Naturally, he's assumed he's going to be invited."

Aurora tutted, leaning back and shuffling along the couch closer to Robin, so Leah could let out a melodramatic sigh and flop backwards. She winced, and turned around. "Merlin, I hope we get a decent champion for this tournament."

"You mean a Slytherin?"

Aurora nodded, despite all of them knowing just how unlikely it was that a Slytherin would become champion, or that said Slytherin would actually have the school's support.

Aurora had not been expecting post on Monday morning, though was not entirely surprised to receive some. She was, however, surprised to see the wax seal on the back of the envelope, emerald green and stamped with a Black family insignia. Her first thought was that her father had gotten ahold of it, but he would never really want to associate himself with that symbol, nor would Andromeda. It was a great sense of unease that she broke the seal on the parchment, unfolding it carefully and looked immediately to the bottom of the parchment, where a name was signed in proper, cursive letters, sharp and only slightly slanted.

Callidora Black, m. Longbottom.

Aurora almost dropped the parchment in surprise. Callidora Black was a relatively distant family member, one whom she could not recall interacting with beyond the odd pleasantry, and whom she had not seen in long enough that she had assumed the woman had passed away. She was a great aunt of sorts, either three or four times removed. As far as Aurora knew, she had distanced herself rather from the family upon her marriage, and large cut ties when her sister was disowned for marrying into the Weasleys. Callidora had never attempted to contact Aurora before — not personally, anyway — but she knew she ought to read what she wanted.

To Lady Aurora Black,

You may or may not be familiar with my name, I do not know. No doubt you are confused by my writing to you, and I cannot blame you. We have had little contact, after all — but I am writing you largely on the behalves of a dear sister and a close cousin: Cedrella Black m. Weasley, and Marius Black. As you may know, both Cedrella and Marius were disowned for differing reasons — Cedrella for her unapproved marriage, Marius for being born a squib. I do not pretend to know your views on the subject, however both Cedrella and Marius have expressed interest in you to me over this summer, and I suppose you are an at age now where it may be of curiosity to you to get to know more of your family.

I believe the Legislating Assembly is due to meet early next month. If it is the case that you will be present at this meeting, I would like to take the opportunity of your presence in London to meet, should you desire it. I understand that your position at Hogwarts may restrict this, however I would be very interested to meet you at another convenient moment.

Regards,

Callidora Aquila Black m. Longbottom

Aurora's mind reeled as she read over the letter again, considering Callidora's proposal. She knew very little of her, and even less of Cedrella and Marius, but knew Callidora must be a great-aunt of some sort of Neville Longbottom — there were too many Weasleys to know what relation Cedrella might have to the four who were at Hogwarts now. Marius she knew nothing of; he had never been mentioned by anyone that she could remember, but she mentally tried to slot him into one of the scorch marks of the tapestry in Grimmauld Place. With vague recollection, she thought to herself that he was the child rarely spoken of, a cousin of Arcturus's who had died many years ago — but clearly, he could not be, and she imagined they only shared a name. She still had to organise her school absence with Dumbledore anyway — not that he could refuse it — but meeting an estranged family member... Aurora wasn't sure what the appropriate reply would be. She had no idea what their intentions might be, after all.

With a sigh, she folded the letter back up and slipped it into her pocket, deciding she would consult Andromeda before making a decision. "Something important?" Pansy asked, frowning over the table.

Aurora shook her head, gaze flicking to her cousin instead. "Maybe. I'm not sure — estranged relatives seem to be popping up all over the place."

At that, Pansy merely raised her eyebrows, but Draco turned quickly and asked incredulously, "Who?"

She debated whether or not to tell him for only a second before saying, "Callidora. She married into the Longbottoms... I believe she would be a cousin three times removed for either of us."

Draco's eyebrows knitted together thoughtfully before he said, "I think Mother mentioned her. I might have seen them at Christmas or something but I don't really remember."

"I don't either," Aurora admitted, "which is why I'm wary. I'll have to write to Andromeda".

Draco blinked. "My mother could help, too."

"Yes, but — well, it's rather sensitive to the family habit of disowning its members, and Andromeda is rather more familiar with that topic."

"Who was disowned?" Draco asked, though Aurora thought a better question might be who wasn't.

"Cedrella and Marius."

"Weasley," Draco said, nodding. "Who's Marius?"

"A squib, apparently," Aurora said, and saw his eyes widen in shock. The only Marius Black thy had heard of, they had been told, had died as a child. "I believe Andromeda may be more open to my questions than Narcissa on this one. Either way — I don't know if we'll make any further contact. It's all rather out of the blue. Suspiciously so."

"You can't exactly be surprised," Lucille said from nearby, "can you?" When Aurora looked at her, she elaborated, "I mean, obviously everyone wants to know where your loyalties lie."

"I had worked that out for myself, Lucille."

"I wouldn't be surprised if people start to pop up all over the place, claiming to be relations. I mean, the Blacks were rather known for... Sowing their seed, weren't they? Well, before they went to seed anyway."

Draco choked on his pumpkin juice and Aurora regarded Lucille coolly, feeling a slight flare of annoyance at what she had insinuated. "No more than most houses, I'm sure," she said, stirring her tea. "And Callidora is a certified member of the family. I don't need your opinion."

Lucille merely shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, before turning back to Daphne and Millicent.

"What — sowing their seed?" Draco stuttered, and Aurora sighed.

"Don't look so scandalised. I certainly won't be asking your mother about any family bastards." This only seem to mortify Draco further, as he went pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. "And I doubt there are many, anyway. But I do need to deal with Callidora — I'll let you know if there are any major developments, shall I?"

Draco nodded, though his voice was somewhat strained as he said, "Please."

On Friday afternoon, the extra-curricular notices were put up on the board in the Slytherin Common Room, advertising everything from Professor Flitwick's Frog Choir to the Inter-House Gobstones Club. Draco and Aurora considered the notice board, unamused.

"I still don't know why they had to cancel Quidditch," Aurora grumbled, looking at the advertisement for recruits to the newly-formed Hogwarts Bird Watching Club. "It's entirely unfair."

Draco nodded, moving aside a leaflet for extra Music classes. "We don't even get to be in the tournament. It's ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Completely," she agreed, but sighed as she took a notice for the school dance club and for the Frog Choir. "If this happens again, I will leave."

Her cousin chuckled. "Do you think Gobstones is easy to pick up? Mother said it was too messy to practice at home."

"I wouldn't know," Aurora said, "but you could try chess."

"What, and be surrounded by Ravenclaws all the time?" Draco scoffed. "No thanks."

Aurora hummed lightly. "Suit yourself," she said, pocketing her own notices: auditions for Frog Choir were on Monday evening, and the dance club began on Tuesday. Checking her watch, she realised it was nearing four o'clock — the time she had arranged with the Headmaster to discuss her and Potter's need to attend the Ministry in a fortnight's time.

"I have to get going," she told Draco, flattening down the leaflets they had disrupted on the board. "Save me a seat at dinner, won't you?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're not going to talk to Potter again, are you?"

"All necessary conversation, I assure you." She smirked at him. "I can include you, if you want. I know how much you like Harry."

Draco just glared at her, predictably. "I don't know how you put up with it," he grumbled.

"Nor do I, Draco — nor do I."

When Aurora got up to the Headmaster's office, she found Potter was already there, chatting away quite amicably and stroking Dumbledore's pet phoenix. "Ah, Aurora," said the Headmaster, greeting her with a smile. "Harry has already given me the details of your proposed trip."

"Has he, now?" Aurora shot Potter a flat, unimpressed look, before taking her seat daintily. "I hope you see it is necessary travel."

"Certainly." His eyes twinkled. "I am always glad to see students engaging in politics." Aurora wasn't quite certain that was true, but at least he saw — as she had assumed he would — that there were no grounds to prevent them from fulfilling their duties. "Though I was not aware Harry had taken up his Assembly seat." One of the nearby portraits stirred in its frame.

"I didn't know I had one," Potter said, and his voice was unusually cool. "No one told me."

Dumbledore have a strained sort of smile and nodded. "Forgive me. I had assumed you would know." Aurora didn't believe that, either. "Nevertheless — you know now, and all is well and for the better. Am I to make arrangements for the eighth of October only?"

"Unless the process lasts longer," Aurora said, "which it may well do, given the subject matter. We will both, of course, pick up the required work we may have missed from any classes." They both were thankful, she was sure, that they didn't have Potions on either Monday or Tuesday. "I may," she thought to add, "also have another appointment on one of those days — though if that is too far, I can arrange for my contact to meet me in Hogsmeade."

Potter stared at her, and Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Might I enquire as to who this appointment would be this?"

She debated it, but Dumbledore's eyes were unsettling — and without knowing what Callidora wanted, she didn't want to publicise their communication. "A family member," she said, "though not close. A member of the house may be a more accurate descriptor. Regardless, I thought I might as well do both at the same time, if possible."

This seemed to unsettle Dumbledore somewhat, and Potter gave Aurora a curious look which bordered on suspicion. "I also request the afternoon of Friday the thirtieth of September for the vote about dragon importation — I suspect it will be much shorter, of course."

At this, Dumbledore's expression looked caught somewhere between amused and perplexed. "You are politically invested in matters of dragon importation?"

"No," she admitted breezily, "but I would like to show my face. Now that the wrongs of the past have been righted, the Black seat must be put to use as effectively as possible."

"A-ha!" Aurora startled at the sound from one of the nearby portraits — the one which had just moved earlier. She located it quickly, staring at the portrait of a too-familiar man with dark hair and over-pronounced silver eyes. "So you are my descendant. Lady Aurora, is it? The half-blood lady — never thought I'd see the day."

Aurora replied stiffly, "You must be Lord Phineas."

He sniffed, though Aurora didn't know what business he thought he had acting so superior when he had gone down in history as the least popular Headmaster in Hogwarts history. Still, he was an ancestor. "Well, at least you've been educated. Arcturus, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she said in a tight voice. "Arcturus raised me, which I'm sure you must know. Didn't you linger on the... Second floor at Grimmauld, if I recall correctly." Second floor was almost as bad a dismissal for a portrait as being relegated to the dust-bound attic. "And I remember you from the Manor's portrait gallery."

Phineas merely sighed, waved a hand and said, "Let the girl do what she wants, Dumbledore. Since she is an heir of this school's most esteemed headmaster."

The current Headmaster's eyes crinkled in amusement while Potter looked in confusion between the three of them, as though failing to understand the significance of the portrait. Aurora supposed he had no reason to understand its significance, though. "I'll give my permission only if you can obtain that same permission from your class teachers for the time away. I believe you have Professor Snape's Potions class?"

She withheld her grimace. This was what she had dreaded Dumbledore might say — but he was being generous as it was. Still, it wasn't as important as the other vote, merely convenient to ease the impact on her profile if the vote didn't go her way. "I'll ask him, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled. "I am glad to hear it. Now, how is your father holding up?"

"Well enough as could be expected, after having been wrongfully convicted and kept in Azkaban for twelve years," she said, as was often her answer to such foolish questions. It was, after all, largely down to Dumbledore that he had not received trial. She put on a smile of faux pleasantry and stood, gesturing for Potter to do the same. "I'm sure if we are to miss class then we both ought to get on with some of our work."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and Aurora hated that he seemed, ahead of anything, amused by her. "As you wish, Aurora, Harry. Enjoy your weekends."

"And you," Aurora said, before turning quickly and leaving, Potter quick to follow at her heels.

"Who was that man?" he asked immediately, "the one in the portrait?"

"Lord Phineas Nigellus Black," Aurora replied simply, descending the spiral staircase, "former Headmaster of Hogwarts — the only Slytherin Headmaster in the school's history, if we discount Salazar himself — and my great-great-great-grandfather."

For a second, Potter spared her the annoyance of having to deal with his endless questions, and then asked, "What's Grimmauld?"

"My family home."

"How many houses do you have?"

"Nine."

"Nine?"

"That is often the case when you are the last of your name and half your family turned out to be infertile. What else do you have to ask me?"

He mumbled something that sounded like stick up your arse, but before Aurora could turn to hex him he said, "Who are you meeting? It isn't Sirius? You'd have said if it was, right?"

She gritted her teeth, nearing the bottom of the staircase. Never had she met such an annoying person. He was almost better when he hated her — or perhaps he still hated her, and had simply adopted a new and more effective way to get on her nerves. "It's a family member, as I said, and I don't even know if I am meeting them. Such matters are sensitive, and though my father may have welcomed you into his family, that does not entitle you to any information about mine, do you understand?"

Potter's footsteps slowed behind her but Aurora kept on. "Sorry," he mumbled, once they caught up at the exit of the tower. "I'll stop asking questions then." There was something bitter, but also slightly mocking, in his tone.

"Please do," Aurora said shortly, turning to him. "I'll be in the library on Sunday afternoon if you need to discuss the political situation, and if you can keep yourself from your incessant questioning." His cheeks flushed, but to Aurora's surprise, he took the demand for less questions on board very quickly. "I expect you to have a better grasp on the world than you did last we spoke, or else I may have to tear my own hair out."

With that, she turned on her heel and went back to the common room, feeling that any shaky alliance with Potter would surely, at this rate, crumble if he didn't learn to keep his mouth shut. Or, admittedly, if she didn't learn to keep her annoyance down.

To her delight — and gratitude to Hermione Granger — Potter had managed to retain a decent amount of information about the Legislating Assembly and its various factions. "And," he said, "I found out the Potter seat controls Somerset, right? And the Black seat controls Cornwall?"

"Control is a very strong word, Potter," she said, "I would advise against it." He nodded — on this, if nothing else, he seemed to take her as an authority, and it was not only amusing but greatly useful. "The Potter family act as representatives of the seat of Somerset as well as caretakers of the land and people. Somerset actually has a relatively small wizarding population — parts of Wales, Cornwall, the Scottish Isles, and the borderlands tend to have the highest densities nowadays — and Somerset has around two hundred wizards and witches, I believe. Cornwall's more like five hundred — a combination of proximity to the sea, and relative isolation from major industrial centres. Wales has a high population for obvious reasons.

"Your constituents do pay a proportion of taxes to the Ministry which distributes it to representatives — but I digress. Have you familiarised yourself with your elected counterpart?"

"Er, I know her name? And I know she's a Progressive."

It was better than nothing. "You have to work in tandem with your shire's elected official too, at least in representing explicit wishes. The two positions are intended to balance one another out. You may have noted the Cornwall elected is a Direct Democrat?"

Potter coughed. "Er, yeah."

"I need to make myself more popular with my people. And, apparently, the possibility of opening up to the international dragon trade may also open doors for Cornish pixie breeders into the market."

Potter's eyebrows lifted. "Oh."

She half-smiled at him before returning her gaze to the desk. "Familiarise yourself with your elected counterpart. No doubt you're a lot more popular than me just by virtue of being Harry Potter, but anyway. Have a look at the political map of the elected and hereditary representatives of the counties, kingdoms and shires. Look at the demographics — oh and if you want to give Hermione an fun trivia question, take a look at the official title of the Lord of Fife. Any questions pertaining directly to the werewolf vote?"

"Christ," Potter muttered, rolling his eyes, "you give me more homework than McGonagall." She raised an eyebrow, awaiting an answer. "Um, Hermione looked into it too — she's starting to get into all sorts of creature rights now, ever since I told her about the vote, Ron reckons she's going to move onto house elves soon — but anyway, she thought I should ask... Is there, like a Wizarding U.N.?" Aurora stared at him blankly. "The United Nations? Basically, it's where most countries all work together and do... Things, I guess. They try to stop war and like, help people out."

What a coherent explanation, Aurora thought drily, unimpressed.

"I suppose there is the International Confederation of Wizards," Aurora said slowly, "but I'm not sure what this has to do with werewolves."

"Well, the U.N. has the Declaration of Universal Human Rights. It says everyone should be free from discrimination, have rights to shelter, food, education, stuff like that. Not everything works — I think it also says freedom from war, and Muggles still have wars, and discrimination — but you can't really put in laws that go directly against it unless you want everyone to get mad at you. Most countries stick to it, and it's pretty important."

Aurora crosses her legs, considering this. "I really don't think any such legislation exists," she admitted. "The Confederation is fragmented at best, mainly devoted to upkeeping the Statute of Secrecy. And even if there were direct laws on human rights — I don't think werewolves would be regarded as human."

Potter's face fell. "Right."

"Nothing is certain about this legislation. Honestly, Potter, I don't think we should take front and centre roles. You can, if you feel very strongly — we're here to vote. I believe Mr. Bratt — Carrick Bratt, Cornwall's elected representative — is intending to vote against the bill, too."

"Why?"

"Because it is indicative of the oppressive hierarchies of power and status entrenched in wizarding society," she said, quoting from the Wizard's Spectator interview he had given a few days ago. "It fits into the ideology."

Potter looked rather thoughtful about this for a moment, and then asked, "Have wizards always hated werewolves? And Muggleborns and — I suppose house elves, and centaurs, and everything else?"

"Well, always is also a strong word," Aurora said. "But yes, prejudices have always existed. They come and go — we were relatively well-integrated for much of the Middle Ages, though there were always people who thought of Muggleborns as lesser wizards, they weren't viewed in quite the same way."

"That doesn't sound much better."

"No, not really. But until the witch trials really came out in force and such, our worlds did co-exist. Still do, to certain extents. Merlin knows we aren't large enough as a community for the necessary agricultural production — we're reliant on Muggles for a lot of food and such. Some of us are just more isolated than others. But regardless — werewolves were always feared and ostracised, yes. Centaurs were once held in higher regard than they are now, while being viewed as separate entities... It's the structure of society, I suppose, that's changes that... And the attitude to house elves."

"How?" Potter asked. "What did the attitude to house elves used to be like?"

"Well, there was always a distinction between humans and non-humans, obviously. But house elves were viewed as magical creatures in their own right. Their bonds with humans were of friendship and loyalty, it was a very different dynamic to the one enforced by a lot of people nowadays. It's been suggested that wizarding magic was used to bind elves, long ago, and against their will. Elves are loyal, but then wizards figured out how to force ownership, rather than to co-exist. They like the power, and they disrespect the morals of magic. Some believe themselves superior, entitled to ownership, because they believe themselves masters of magic, rather than its subjects and equals."

Potter pulled a face. "And people like — well, people, think they can treat them horribly and get away with it because they own them."

Aurora nodded, then blinked — she had quite forgotten what they were meant to have been discussing. "What were we talking about?"

His brow furrows, then Potter said, "Human rights."

"Ah, yes. There are very vague protections, mainly around voting rights, education rights, but no real codified declaration like your Muggles seem to have." She shook her head. "Perhaps that's a matter for another day. The vote could really go either way, and the Wizengamot upholds the bill — essentially, they don't regard it as massively overturning or violating any existing laws, in which case the bill would either have to be revised or receive a higher majority — so who knows?"

"I'd still rather do more than just vote," Potter said fiercely. "Loads of people would vouch for Lupin!"

"And have you asked him how he would feel about being dragged into the trial?"

"No, but I could! And anyway, I want to say something!"

"And you can," Aurora said placidly. "Debate the bill all you want, Potter, and see where you go. You may be successful — that is your decision to make." She shrugged her shoulders, tightened the end of her long plait, and cleared her books away. "Anything else?" Her voice seemed to have been pointed and vicious enough to quell Potter's further questions, and Aurora was satisfied with his silence. "Good evening, then."

Dear Aurora,

I only vaguely remember Callidora from when I was a child, as she was a cousin of Grandfather Pollux, but I don't believe they were close. I know she had a couple of children but we haven't been in contact. The last time I remember having any contact with her was just shortly after I left the family and announced I was marrying Ted; she offered her congratulations, and so did Cedrella. Perhaps they were trying to start a club.

I've no idea what her intentions might be. I don't think there's a reason not to meet with her, but it will no doubt be a strange meeting. You don't have to say yes, but we could arrange something where I'm there too, if you'd be more comfortable (though it's your call). Callidora also might be angling to meet or find out more about your father, which I'm sure you've already considered given the timing. I wish I could give you some better advice but I honestly don't know much about Callidora or her situation. I can do some snooping though — and if you're in the Ministry in October, you ought to look in on Ted and Dora too, I know they'll want to see you, and Dora is very curious to hear about Mad-Eye's lessons from you in person.

Be safe, and write soon. We want to know all the details about the Triwizard Tournament, now that you've all been told (I'd say sorry for hiding it from you for so long, but it was quite fun to watch you so frustrated).

Love,

Andromeda

She hadn't expected Andromeda to be especially helpful about Callidora, given that she had near enough entirely shut off communication with the family decades ago, but the lack of information was disheartening. Going into any form of contact without an understanding of what the other end expected was unnerving enough. But Andromeda was right — they didn't know if Callidora did have bad intentions, and though the timing had an obvious reasoning behind it, Aurora couldn't find a reason to turn her down blank.

She drafted a careful reply to Callidora then, suggesting that they meet in Hogsmeade village in November — it felt more like Aurora's territory than London did — and that she looked forward to their correspondence. She didn't really, but she had to admit she was very curious about Callidora, and Cedrella and Marius. Aurora told Andromeda as much, and then relayed the details again to her father, even though she knew Andromeda would fill him in anyway.

When she reached the Owlery, it was to her great amusement that she saw Potter trying to talk to Cho Chang. He had that distinct look of a boy who fancied a girl and had no idea how to behave around her, and it would have been sweet if it wasn't Potter. Since it was, Aurora kept herself hidden on the stairs until the pained conversation was over and Chang came down, then cornered Potter just as he was about to attach a letter to his snowy owl's leg.

"Cho Chang, eh?" she asked breezily, causing him to jump. "Should have known you'd fancy her."

"Were you spying on me, Black?" Potter asked, outraged.

"Not intentionally. You're still not interesting enough — but I didn't want to interrupt such a sweet conversation." She nodded to the letter he was holding in his hand. "That isn't for my father by any chance?"

"Oh." Potter blinked. "Well, yeah, it is actually — don't spy on me and Cho!"

"Not spying," she reminded him with a grin. "It's quite funny, actually. I think Draco fancied her too for a bit, he was so distracted in our last match against Ravenclaw." Potter's face hardened at the mention of Draco's name — they so far hadn't had any major altercations this year, but neither of them were really trying to be civil either — and Aurora quickly changed the subject back again. "Would you mind if I send one of my letters on with you? There's another for Andromeda, too, see, and one for someone else."

Potter narrowed his eyes, even though he did take the offered envelope with her father's name on it. "Who else are you writing to?"

"Family business, Potter," she said breezily, calling over a large tawny owl. "Nothing exciting either."

He didn't look like he believed her, but then, he never did. Aurora sent the two letters off with a feeling of trepidation. "Is it the same person you're meeting after the vote?" Potter asked, once they were done. "This mystery person you're writing to?"

"It may be," she said, smirking just to annoy him. "But I promise it's nothing nefarious. Just... delicate."

"Right." Potter started off down the stairs and Aurora followed, surprised by the quasi-amicable tone they had managed to keep up so far. "I tried to find out more about the Potters. I — you probably don't care, actually, but that's what I was writing to Sirius about. I've some great uncle called Reginald, who might be alive, but seems to have stopped talking to everyone during the war. And I spoke to Hermione about the werewolf thing, she thinks it's all a total injustice. She wants to start a campaign."

Aurora smiled faintly. "Good for Granger. I always thought she was the more tolerable of you three."

Potter didn't even look offended. "I think McGonagall said that too, once. Well, it was more like, at least Miss Granger has her head on straight."

"Well, that is also a fair observation," Aurora told him. "She, unlike you and Weasley, actually appears to have a work ethic."

The scowl Potter returned that statement with was half-hearted at best. They came to the bottom of the stairs, and Aurora tightened the end of her pleat. "Good day then," she said in a bid goodbye.

Potter echoed her faintly — he headed down towards Professor Hagrid's hut at the edge of the forest, and Aurora headed to the castle, hoping she was making the right call about Callidora.