It was a relief to receive a letter from her father two days after the Hogsmeade trip and her meeting with Callidora. She was not sure at what point he had come to be comforting, but when he told her that he wanted to visit at her next weekend in the village, at the end of the month, she found herself smiling unexpectedly in the safety of her dormitory. She needed someone to talk to about what Callidora had said, about her suspicions about the ring and its magic. More than that — she wanted to tell him of her accomplishments, wanted him to be proud when she told him that she was in the top group of the fourth years' Duelling Club. It didn't matter that Potter was too, and that she had yet to beat him — she was sure that she would have the opportunity next time, as she had realised his overreliance on the same handful of spells, and that he always tried to finish things by Disarming his opponents, rather than knocking them down with an objectively stronger spell.
And she wanted to hear from him too, about Remus and the Tonkses, and her father's apparent new obsession with Muggle vehicles after he had struck up a friendship with Arthur Weasley. Dora thought it was cool — Andromeda thought Sirius was determined to frighten her to death every time he arrived to Sunday lunch.
The thought sustained her throughout February, which felt at the beginning like a remarkably dull month, aside from the upcoming Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament, due to take place on the twenty-third. Her relationship with Cassius was growing stiff and awkward, and neither quite knew what to do about it. They exhausted conversation quicker and quicker and turned to Quidditch, something which Aurora usually loved to talk about, but grew repetitive, and frustrating. She felt like she should be able to talk to a boyfriend about a broader range of topics, that they should be able to make conversation easier. They shared some things, and she trusted him, but didn't feel that she could open up to him about most of her life. He, like most of her friends, had no idea about any of her work on the ring, and only the basic idea of her conversations with Callidora. They were both most at ease together when flying or cracking jokes, but anything beyond that, Aurora kept finding herself apprehensive. It wasn't his fault. Just that the thought of opening up, the thought of what it meant to be in a relationship, to actually commit to something like that, frightened her. He tried, and she tried, but too often it didn't work, and they turned to kissing instead of conversing. Aurora didn't mind it, it was pleasant — but it wasn't really what she felt she wanted or needed. She just had no idea what she was supposed to do about that, whether to keep going and hope that something clicked that made the relationship work better, or to talk to him and break it off. But she didn't want to hurt him by doing so.
The day before the Second Task, an article appeared in the Daily Prophet which snatched Aurora's attention from any other worries.
"There's been a riot in Azkaban," Robin said when he greeted her and Gwen at breakfast, holding a borrowed copy of the paper, "Lara Jameson - that sixth year - told us. Look."
He put the paper down flat on the table, a corner dipping into Aurora's plate. She glared at him, shifting it away before leaning over and reading. Behind Robin, Theo was as pale as a ghost, wringing his hands together and refusing to look anywhere but at the floor. Apparently only a few had been involved, mostly making a lot of noise and disrupting the Dementors, but according to the Prophet, Bellatrix Lestrange had attempted to break out of her cell.
She had screamed that her target was Peter Pettigrew, but that didn't stop Aurora from feeling a fresh wave of nausea washing over her, bringing sickly flush to her cheeks. Stomach churning, she looked up at Robin, who had an expectant look on his face, as though awaiting gossip. Gwen, on the other hand, looked rather green.
"These people," she said slowly, "they're the Death Eaters, like you told me about?" Aurora nodded, saying nothing. Her friend swallowed and shoved her breakfast away. "Why're they trying to escape? Why now?"
"It doesn't technically say they're trying to escape," Theo pointed out weakly, but his voice trailed off at the end. He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than he was Gwen.
"I mean, they wouldn't exactly want to stay there, would they? It's mad, though."
"It's not mad," Aurora said, ruffled by his too-eager tone.
"No, just that it's happened. The world's gone mad, is what I mean."
"It says here Lestrange said she wanted to kill Peter Pettigrew," Gwen said, giving Aurora a questioning look. "As in..."
"Yes, the one who framed my father. Presumably he's blamed for the Dark Lord's downfall. Why this is happening now..." Honestly, she didn't want to think on why it would be happening now. "Hopefully it's a one off."
None of them looked convinced. Even Robin's expression sobered up. "Do either of you know much about Bellatrix Lestrange?" he asked, glancing between Aurora and Theo. Her stomach churned; sometimes she forgot how little she told other people and how little they knew as a result.
"Too much," Aurora admitted, "she's the worst of that lot, that's all you need to know."
Meeting Theo's eyes, a quiet understanding passed between them. His mouth was set in a grim line as he nodded to her and then sat down, taking the paper back over and folding it up. "They're all awful," he said, and Robin patted him sympathetically on the arm, with the kind of wince that betrays when someone simply has no idea what to say. "And I doubt it's a coincidence."
None of them said anything else. They didn't need to. Even if no one else wanted to admit out loud - if Robin was too uncertain, Gwen and Aurora too scared - they all could feel something brewing, the danger lurking in the air and the swirling grey clouds above the Great Hall, just waiting to break.
-*
The Second Task came the next day, a freezing cold day with a wind that scraped Aurora's cheeks. She attended the Second Task with Cassius, who made a point out of letting her borrow his spare scarf, which she thought was rather sweet. The rest of it was a regrettably dull affair — whoever thought it would be a good idea to have the three champions in a lake for an hour, in the middle of February, no less, in a tournament with spectators, was an idiot. She suspected Crouch of trying to suck all the fun out of the tournament — he sat by the lake with all the other judges, looking completely unbothered. Questions and whispers had gone round all morning about him and about Azkaban prison. As Ministry representatives, both he and Bagman were being looked at, but Crouch had far more history in the area and was generally more authoritative. He ignored any and all questions directed by the few journalists who had been allowed by the lake though. His face remained blank and impassive even when Fleur Delacour came out of the lake struggling and crying, her arms covered in angry red lines where she had been ensnared by grindylows.
Aurora sat in the freezing cold, huddling into Cassius for warmth, while the lake rippled and stilled. The champions had all apparently had someone important to them taken down to the bottom of the lake to be guarded by merpeople. She thought it was rather cruel, and was glad she didn't know any of the champions — drowning seemed like a rather awful way to go, especially during a sports tournament.
Only Cedric Diggory resurfaced within the time period, having pulled off a very successful bubble-head charm. He hauled Cho Chang out of the water with him and she held tight to him, shivering. They were only just within the limits of an hour though, and everyone watched with bated breath for Viktor Krum to return. Potter had a thunderous look when Diggory had appeared with Chang, but as time went by, he and Weasley both grew more and more anxious-looking. Granger was not with them, and judging by the choice of hostage for Diggory, it was with a rather sick feeling that Aurora realised Granger must have been taken for Krum.
The stands were cold and quiet with tension, and Aurora pulled her scarf and cloak closed around herself. "This is a bit shit," Cassius said after five minutes waiting for Krum, "isn't it?"
"Maybe if it was in the summer it wouldn't be so bad," Aurora admitted, shivering. "But I'm fucking freezing."
Cassius chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close to his side. Along the row of seats from them, Draco glared protectively and Aurora pulled a face at him before curling further into Cassius's side. Despite her uncertainty about the future of their relationship, it was still nice to be with him, feeling warm and safe.
The end of the second task could not come quickly enough. Aurora even felt sorry for all the champions and their hostages, as they looked so dreadfully cold. It took some time for Fleur Delacour's sister to be brought up from the bottom of the lake, neither sister looking particularly pleased by the situation. It all ended with Cedric Diggory having pulled into second place, Krum in the lead and Fleur Delacour in third, due to her inability to get past Grindylows. Aurora couldn't help but feel that the whole thing had been a giant waste of time for the spectators, and went wearily down the steps of the stands towards the shore of the lake.
Hogwarts students were waving yellow banners with the school crest, cheering Cedric Diggory's name. She and Cassius tried to make conversation out of it, poking fun at over-eager Hufflepuffs singing some song about badgers and claws.
But she couldn't shake the feeling that she and Cassius just weren't fitting quite right. It was an unfortunate feeling, one which she most certainly did not want. She wanted to be happy with him. Holding his hand lightly as they headed for the castle was nice, made her feel warm and good, but that feeling was stifled by the quiet between them, the uncertainty that they had to work to break through. Yet she didn't know how to solve it without ruining the friendship which had built up between them for the last two years. It would throw the entire Slytherin Quidditch team off balance — how could she contribute as third Chaser next year if she ruined things with Cassius? How could she maintain the finally growing friendship and camaraderie she had with Graham if things didn't work out? But maybe she would ruin everything anyway if she didn't do anything. Or, things would work themselves out and everything would be perfect.
Somehow, Aurora doubted that the universe would let her life be so easy.
She was still mulling the issue of her relationship over the week after the Second Task, in Potions class with Pansy. "I just don't know what he wants," she whispered, though the chatter around the Slytherin half of the class was more than enough to disguise their voices. "I don't know how this whole relationship thing is meant to work."
"I can't believe you're asking me for boy advice," Pansy muttered as she measured out armadillo bile with a look of disgust.
"Nor can I," Aurora grumbled, "I'd rather not have to ask anyone for boy advice, but here we are. It's so confusing. I like Cassius, I like..." She could not bring herself to say kissing, though Pansy gave her a knowing look. "Being with him." Her friend snickered and Aurora grimaced, slicing a shrivelfig. "He's a good friend, and I like talking to him but I don't feel like it goes anywhere? But I also don't know if it's supposed to go anywhere yet and I don't know if I want it to because I don't really know what that means yet and I don't have anyone who can tell me in the way that I want that's it's actually okay. And it's not like I particularly want to tell Cassius any deep stuff, but I don't know if I'm supposed to feel like I can, and right now I'm not so sure that's the case. Quidditch is good when we can't find anything else to talk about, but there is only so much you can say about Quidditch."
"And this coming from you?" Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Sack him, Aurora."
"Pansy!" she said, too loudly. Snape glared in her direction, but was thankfully distracted by Granger reading something under her desk. In a hush, Aurora went on, "I can't just do that. I like Cassius. I want to be... Like this with him."
"Aurora, if you can't say the words boyfriend, girlfriend, or relationship, that probably means that's not what you're ready for."
"But who says I have to be ready for something? I think I'm ready! I want this. But I don't know... Maybe I want what I think it should be but not what it actually is."
Pansy hummed. "Maybe."
With a sigh, Aurora stirred her cauldron, watching it change to a smoother consistency. "Well, what about you and Draco? I don't need details, thank you very much," she added at Pansy's smirk, "but how is your relationship? How do you be in a relationship?"
"I don't know," Pansy said, "we can hold conversation just as much as usual, there's no issue there. The snogging's great—"
"Pansy, I said no details—"
"That's hardly detailed, Aurora."
"I still don't want to hear the word snogging in relation to my cousin," she said, disgusted.
"You're the one who asked me, mind!"
"Well then, what do you talk about? Has it changed?"
"Somewhat. Obviously we've always been close but it's like now that we know how we feel, we can talk about other stuff, too. Other feelings. Or, we can just have a laugh like normal."
"See, I have half of that. Almost, anyway. And I don't know if I should wait, and let the rest come naturally — because we've always been friends, but not as close as this, and it might just take time — or maybe I should just... Let it go. But then I'll never know if it could have been better."
"Yes, but if it isn't, do you really want to keep asking yourself the same questions over and over?" Pansy fixed her with a stern look, usually reserved for telling Gwen or Millicent of accidental fashion faux pas. "I don't know, Aurora. If you're happy with Cassius, then stay with him. If you're not..." She shrugged. "Don't."
"But—"
"You're overthinking," Pansy said, in a tone that was so gentle Aurora knew she was concerned. "And over-complicating. If you want to be with Cassius, tell him. If you don't, tell him."
"But I don't know what I want. There are too many variables that I have to take into consideration."
"Yeah, well, there's always variables." Pansy sighed. "But you just have to stop letting your head get in the way and listen to your heart."
"I'm not particularly in the business of 'listening to my heart', Pansy."
Her friend rolled her eyes. "Well, maybe you should. Really, the Warringtons are perfectly respectable, Cassius is perfectly respectful, and you're fifteen. Perfect time to listen to your heart, I say."
Aurora wrinkled her nose. "Why does that sound like something my dad would tell me?"
"Ew." Pansy pulled a face and Aurora tried not to giggle. "Is that meant to be an insult or compliment?"
"I can't decide."
"That's weird."
"Oh, I know. I don't actually know what I'd say if I tried to approach him, he seems to go between this weird laissez-faire approach, thinking I should be the rebellious person he was at my age and try to burn the school down or something, or else he's ridiculously protective."
Pansy smirked. "Sounds like you're having a great time navigating that too, then."
Aurora bumped her shoulder. "This isn't helping, you know."
"Yeah, well, at least the potion's stewing a bit more. Much like you."
"Sod off, Pans."
They both laughed, but were cut off sharply by Professor Snape's crisp voice from the other side of the classroom.
"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger," he was saying, looking down on Potter, Weasley, and Granger, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor."
Aurora rolled her eyes and exchanged an annoyed glance with Pansy, going back to her potion ingredients. She was lucky that this year she had gone back to working with Pansy or Draco most of the time and didn't attract as much of Snape's comments as the Gryffindors did — not that it stopped him from taunting her and giving scathing glares when she made one minuscule error.
"Reading magazines under the table as well? A further ten points from Gryffindor ... but of course, Potter has to keep up with his press clippings." Aurora glanced up at that. She hadn't heard anything about any magazine about Potter, and she felt sure that someone would have mentioned it, whether Draco gloating or Potter complaining. "Harry Potter's secret heartache... dear, dear boy, whatever's ailing you now... A boy like no other, perhaps... Harry Potter's well wishers may hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate. How very touching." Snape rolled up the magazine — Aurora noticed it looked very typical of a Witch Weekly — which he had confiscated from them, while the class snickered and smiled in amusement. "Weasley, you stay here — Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson—" Pansy groaned loudly, though Aurora withheld her own grimace; she could not continue her conversation about Cassius with Granger stood next to them "—Potter, that table in front of my desk. Move. Now."
Aurora did not envy Potter his cauldron position. She offered Granger a tight smile when she put her cauldron and ingredients down beside Pansy, looking furious, hair a mess of frizzy curls. For a second, Aurora debated suggesting her usual protective potion to keep her hair from being affected by potion steam and humidity, but decided against it. Granger would probably take it as an insult, if it came from her.
She and Pansy whispered under their breath the rest of the class, though Granger seemed far too curious about the subject of their conversation. Just as Aurora was adding in her ginger roots, there was an unexpected knock at the dungeon door. She thought nothing of it, until Karkaroff stalked past her desk, cloak billowing around him, and the whole class turned to watch him.
"We need to talk," he said as he reached Snape's desk.
"I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff."
"I want to talk to you now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me."
"After the lesson," Snape snapped, and Aurora and Pansy raised their eyebrows at one another, intrigued.
Karkaroff said nothing more, but lingered for the rest of the lesson, his gaze roaming the classroom. If ever it settled on Aurora or Pansy, one of them would shiver — he was discomfiting, and whatever he had to say to Snape, she was sure that it couldn't be anything good. Aurora couldn't get out of the room soon enough, but noted that Potter had stayed behind, rather obviously pretending to clear up armadillo bile. If there was anything important, she was sure she could get him to tell her, even if was only out of annoyance. There was something deeply amiss with Karkaroff, she could feel it, just as there had been something wrong with Crouch at the Second Task.
She suspected she would have to wait for answers, though.
-*
She met her father in Hogsmeade in the Three Broomsticks at noon, the next weekend. Potter was, apparently, due to meet them later, but for at least an hour, Aurora had her father all to herself.
He was in a small booth in the back corner, so as to avoid all the people who would undoubtedly seek him out for gossip. Aurora had warned him — if Rita Skeeter was sniffing about like she had been last time, then she was sure that she would find a story, and that was the last thing Aurora wanted. When she entered the Three Broomsticks, however, there was no sign of the journalist, and she felt optimistic as Madam Rosmerta led to her to the back booth, where her father was already sat, looking around anxiously with two cold bottles of butterbeer sat on the table before him.
She paused when she got to the table, considering how to address him. She could not yet decide what to call him — Father or Sirius or Dad, all felt strange in their own ways — and so settled on clearing her throat. He looked up, startled from seemingly dark thoughts, and then broke into a broad grin, leaping to his feet and hurrying towards her.
"Aurora," he said, voice thick, and wrapped her in a tight hug. She put her arms around him, holding on tight, clinging to him. "Oh, I've missed you."
"Missed you too," she mumbled, smiling where she rested her head on his shoulder.
"You've grown," he told her, standing back assessingly, one hand still on her arm. "How've you grown?"
"That does tend to happen to teenagers."
Her father grinned, squeezing her shoulder, and they sat down. "You do like Butterbeer, don't you?" he asked. Aurora nodded, taking a sip for good measure.
"How have you been?" she asked him, looking across the table. He looked healthier than he had been even the last time that she had seen him, but that didn't mean that he felt alright. Azkaban and the Dementors no doubt still had a lingering effect on him, as well as the continued impact of the war and its end. He had tried to hide it, during the summer, but Aurora knew it still hurt him, still bothered him. Her father was not so well as he wanted her to know.
"Round at Andromeda's every Sunday," he said in a way that sounded as though he only said it to appease her. "Tonks wants to move out to London, she said to tell you. Her friend's graduated from an apothecary apprenticeship, another has a solid Ministry job, the three of them are looking for a place together."
"Penny?" Aurora asked, recalling the name of Dora's Potioneering friend, and her father nodded.
"Something like that. She got a boyfriend, did you know? They've split now though."
Aurora nodded. "She did mention something about a boy. I don't think she was too enthused with him, in all honesty."
Her father chuckled, then took on an expression which Aurora supposed was supposed to make him look serious. "This Cassius Warrington bloke..."
Aurora groaned. "I don't know. Pansy and I have gone over the subject too many times."
Her father raised his eyebrows and she flushed. "Not that! I just... Well, I can't just ask you for advice!"
"Advice? Is something wrong?"
"No! I don't know. Cassius hasn't done anything wrong, don't get that look. He's been perfectly brilliant and a gentleman. I just don't know if this is working. Not the way that I want it to. I don't know if my expectations were too high or..." She shrugged, sipping her Butterbeer to avoid continuing.
Her father said, quietly, with a hint of amusement, "You know I doubt I'm brilliant at advice. And I don't know this bloke, either. You're my daughter, and I don't want you hurt by some boy—"
"I'm not hurt," she said defensively, "it's just that I don't think a... relationship, if that's even what this is, is what I wanted it to be. And I don't know if that's what I want and it's weird but it's because I don't know what it's meant to be either. But that doesn't really matter," she said before he could reply, "I'll figure it out." She forced a smile, bracing herself. "But more importantly — I'm doing well in Duelling Club!"
Her father's face lit up and he moved the conversation on hastily. "Yeah? You said Moody was helping teach — I worked with him, a bit, during the war, taught me loads."
"Teach is perhaps a strong word for the Duelling Club," Aurora said, "we mostly pick up spells, then fling them at each other and he and Flitwick make sure we don't all end up in the Hospital Wing. Mainly Flitwick, I don't think Moody cares too much about school safety regulations. Madam Pomfrey hates him."
"I wouldn't expect him to," her father said, chuckling. "Tell me about the club, then."
"Well, it started off with a lot of us, but most of my friends dropped out. They put us through a couple of tournaments first and then we were placed into groups for our skill level. No one said, you know, who is in a 'top group' and who might be in a less skilled group, but I'm in the same group as Theo, and Harry and Hermione, Frida Selwyn, Leah MacMillan, Terry Boot, and Susan Bones — Amelia Bones's niece — and I regard them all as being some of the most capable in our year. I've yet to best Potter, but we have another meeting next week and I'm determined to do it then. He makes the same mistakes every time, it really shouldn't have taken me this long."
Her father's lips quirked into a smile. "Oh, really?"
"Yes. I have beaten Theodore a few times, I'd say I'm most evenly matched with him and Susan."
"Theodore Nott, yes?" She nodded and her father looked thoughtful, frowning at the table. "Harry's last letter mentioned him, too."
"Really?" Aurora asked, frowning. She hoped that it had been nothing negative, but it seemed Potter rarely considered most Slytherins — often including herself — as anything but negative.
"Only to mention the club. He said he wasn't as annoying as Malfoy, though."
Aurora scowled. "Well I'm sure Draco has plenty of choice words to say about Potter, too." She let out a sigh. "You should have seen them that day when Potter let me know you were visiting back in November. They were both just glaring at each other, it was so frustrating." Her father chuckled with a knowing glimmer in his eye. "They were both doing my head in. At least Draco's cooled off a bit now, after I told him to — though did you see the article about Professor Hagrid?"
Nodding, her father took another sip of his drink. "Yes, I was rather unimpressed. Nothing wrong with being part-giant."
Aurora wasn't entirely convinced of that point, but she let it go. "Well, I was rather furious that Draco had spoken to Skeeter, and I told him so. We didn't fight, not really, but he was rather funny with me for a while after. We're fine now though," she insisted hastily, "and he hasn't said anything since. I think maybe I've gotten through to him a bit."
This did seem to disconcert her father, and he didn't seem at all believing of her, but he changed his expression when Aurora gave him a hard, unimpressed look. She could feel whatever she wanted about Draco, but the thought of her father not liking him, or thinking of him negatively at all, simply did not sit right. She hoped that they could meet one another, properly, some day soon, but somehow she doubted it. Or that such a meeting would be in any way positive.
"I saw Callidora last time, too," she said quietly, before she could forget. "About the ring that I told you about."
"The cursed one?"
She nodded. "She said that she didn't think — that she couldn't sense any curse around it. It seemed perfectly fine to her, it didn't reject her like it rejected me, but she also said it didn't call to her, the way it whispers to me. I don't understand why. I thought perhaps, some form of blood... Purity, magic." The words were difficult to get out. It was hard to give a voice to her frustration and insecurity, to acknowledge that which set her apart from the society she so desperately wanted — even needed — to be a part of. "But I don't know how such a curse would be able to recognise blood purity."
"It wouldn't," her father said flatly, "no matter what Callidora might have suggested to you. Blood purity's all a construct, really. It hardly means anything to magic in its deeper forms. Callidora had no right to make you feel ashamed of anything."
"I don't think that was her intention," Aurora said quickly, "nor am I ashamed."
"Blood purity, in truth, has no real weight to it. You're just as magical as I am, and you're just as magical as Hermione Granger is."
"I know that."
"What else did she say to you?" her father asked, a hint of agitation to his voice.
She debated how much to say while she drank her Butterbeer. He would not be impressed by what Callidora said, or rather, how it made Aurora feel, but she did not know whether he would agree with what Callidora had told her about Arcturus, and how willing he might be to voice such an agreement. "She told me that — that Arcturus had tried to arrange a betrothal for me, when I was a child. To a Carrow — she didn't know beyond that. But that they didn't want me because of my... questionable heritage."
"And did he?"
"I don't know. I don't think I believe it, but I — well, I was a child. If it didn't come to anything, then why would I know? I don't want it to get in my head, because I know the childhood that I had, and I know Arcturus valued me and loved me. But it was like she wanted to worry me, make me question it, and him, and everything, and that's hardly fair! Why should she get to — to try and tarnish my memory of him? It doesn't change me, right? He made sure I knew I was worthy, and he didn't — I won't say he didn't care about my parentage, because I'm sure he did, I know he did, but he didn't hold it against me. He knew I was still a Black, and he made sure that I knew it. And it isn't fair of Callidora to suddenly get in touch with me after so many years with two disowned family members in tow and start trying to tell me how to remember my own life."
She hadn't realised quite how angry and confused it had made her until she started talking, until she couldn't stop herself from telling her father everything that she thought and was questioning, all while he sat there, a pensive look on his face — but listening. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I didn't meant to say all of that."
"Don't apologise, sweetheart," he told her, voice gentle, "you said what you needed to say, didn't you?"
Aurora nodded, twisting her family ring on her left hand, taking comfort from the familiar feeling of its imprint. "Is it bad that I don't want to know... If Arcturus did try to arrange a betrothal? I mean, I don't know when, and after he always said... It's my decision. My life. I want to remember that. It shouldn't matter what Callidora wants to tell me."
"No," her father agreed, "but I think it's okay to recognise that... People aren't always what we think they are, or what we hope they can be. Especially the people we've always been taught to look up to. It's a truth everyone has to learn for themselves, and I know how painful it can be, Aurora. Challenging how you've always thought about the family, and your place in it, it doesn't necessarily make you any less loving. It isn't wrong of you. It was wrong of Callidora to talk to you about it the way she did, I think. You were a child. You still are. Your feelings about everyone and everything — family or not — are always going to get more complicated at the age you are now. People have a tendency to disappoint.
"I know this might not be what you want to hear, and I hope you trust me enough by now to know that I'm not saying it to hurt you, or to score some arbitrary points against our family's memory. But the Black family has rarely tolerated those outwith the bounds of the term pureblood. You know that. It's why I was so insistent you live with anyone but my mother, if I couldn't care for you, not merely because of my own hatred for her but because I feared she would kill you." The words were so blunt it was painful and yet Aurora knew, in the most wretched and suppressed part of her, that he wasn't exaggerating. Thatbhe wasn't saying that to hurt her, he wasn't saying it merely out of anger. He was saying it because it was the truth. And it was one that now, she truly needed to understand. She kept silent, bile rising in her throat.
"People are complicated and they change, but sometimes, at our core... Not everyone can shake off the way they were raised. Perhaps they can look past some parts of us, and love us, but if ever they were to look, to see us as we truly are... I'm sorry, I'm saying this horribly, sweetheart."
"It's alright," she said, though a lump was forming in her throat.
"It's not. What I'm trying to say is this. You should never be made to feel lesser for your family, for your blood, on either side. But I think it's important to acknowledge — now more than ever, perhaps, with everything that seems to be going on — that those we love don't always think the way we do. Sometimes they aren't as good as we imagine them to be. And sometimes that hurts. Sometimes a lot.
"It's like Arcturus told you. This is your life, and it is your decisions that matter. You can come to your own conclusions. Just... Know that you may be disappointed, in the way he acted. In the way any of the family acted. But don't simply let Callidora make you unhappy. She has no right to try and tell you these things, it's not her place. If I ever do see her again, I'll tell her so myself."
A faint smile crossed her face at that. "Please don't. I'm sure she got the message that I was ticked off with her anyway. I just think... Well, I don't know what I think. And I think part of it is because I don't know how Arcturus or Lucretia or Grandmother truly thought of me. I was too young to ask, or to realise. And I was too alone to ever have a chance of recognising if — if it was odd. If my childhood was different than it should have been." Her cheeks were burning now, but all these confusing thoughts were starting to pour from her, everything that had been building under the surface for the last few years. "I love them. I love my family and I miss them and I miss what I could have had and what I could have known and what I could have asked?" Her father simply nodded along, silent, but his eyes were bright and silver, and the familiarity gave her strength. "I know what I believe. I know it's different from what most of our family has believed, and I know that the likes of Draco..." She quietened, feeling she had said too much. She hated to criticise her cousin, at least to other people. It felt like a betrayal. Anything said could — and should — be said only between them. "But I don't know what, by the end of his life, Arcturus really believed. I'll never know."
"Then you have to come to terms with that. And know that, whatever legacy you think the Black family ought to have? That's your legacy, now. You get to define it. You have the power to make change, Aurora. You are Lady Black because you recognised the power you could have and you grasped it. You've proven that so much this year, even limited by your age. You're Lady Black because you are Aurora. Not in spite of your blood but because of everything that has created and shaped you, everyone that has ever loved you and who you love too."
She admitted, softly, "I'm not sure everyone would agree."
"Everyone should," he told her firmly, and despite herself, Aurora smiled.
"Thank you." It felt odd to say, and Aurora couldn't quite look at her father when she said it, but she knew he was smiling. "I know you're right." She winced and he laughed softly. "I know that I don't fit the mold that our family typically has confirmed to. I can see it every time I talk to the pureblood lord's — Malfoy and Travers and Nott and Carrow — and I know it's not my world. Not like it should be. And I think for a long time I really wanted to fit that. Except I can't and everyone knows it, and I also know now that those people aren't the people I want to conform to. I don't want to be filled with hatred like they are. And I don't want to be ashamed of my blood. I know now that I shouldn't be."
There was a flicker of pride in her father's eyes when she glanced up and saw his bittersweet smile across the table. "Good," he told her. "You are brilliant, Aurora."
"I know," she said flippantly and laughed in a desperate attempt to ease the atmosphere. Her cheeks were still burning. Admitting such things, such buried thoughts, aloud, still felt wrong, but there was a catharsis in it too, and now she felt somewhat lighter. "And speaking of my brilliance—" Her father grinned "—something decent did come out of meeting Callidora. She recommended me some books which I'm going to look into, which might help me figure out what's cursed in the ring, and why it responds to me the way that it does. She wanted to go to the manor to pick them out herself from the library, but I said no."
"Why?" Her father tilted his head, curious.
"I just didn't like the idea of her being there. Someone I hardly know. It's... I've only been back a handful of times since Arcturus died. Everything's as I left it. I don't want to let someone else intrude."
He nodded in understanding. "I think that's fair enough."
"You do?" She breathed a sigh of relief. "I worried it was unfair of me. Or rude."
He shrugged, and said, "Who cares if it's rude?" which wasn't exactly reassuring.
"I do have a responsibility."
"Yeah, but you also have the right to choose who gets to go inside your home. Because it is your home. And let's face it, Callidora has had years to get in contact with you, and only chose now, because I'm free and she probably thought she could take advantage."
"I don't know if that's the case. She seemed genuine, even if it was genuinely harsh. Marius and Cedrella I think were genuinely just curious to meet a younger family member, at any rate. Marius is nice, too, he's been writing to me. His grandson is the same age as me, actually, and the granddaughter, they're now near certain she is a witch. I might meet her in Easter, but I'm not sure. It depends how things go."
"Regardless," her father told her, voice oddly stern, "you don't have to feel guilty. For any of your emotions, no matter how confused they might be at any point."
"I don't!" Aurora insisted.
"Good. Your feelings are important, Aurora, just as important as duty or responsibility or whatever else you're worrying about."
"Duty and responsibility are important. To me at least. Someone had to be head of the family."
"I never said they're not important, sweetheart." His voice had tensed and Aurora felt a twinge of guilt.
"I know. Sorry. I know you're just trying to help."
"And you shouldn't have to shoulder all of the responsibility. I know you're so, so capable, but you've a life, an education to worry about. More than that — you're a teenager. You've got your happiness to think about. Don't force yourself to do something that'll make you unhappy."
"I won't. I just... I think with Marius most of all, I owe it to him to welcome his granddaughter, if she is a witch. After everything. It's not just my duty as head of the family, it's more than that?"
She didn't need to say aloud that she felt guilty, respectively and perhaps irrationally, that Marius had been disowned merely for being a squib. She didn't have to admit to her father that it twisted her stomach, and that it scared her to wonder how different her own life could have turned out, had her family made different — perhaps easier — choices regarding her. Because he already knew. He, like Andromeda, had felt that guilt, too.
"I know," her father said, though he didn't need to. She could see the understanding shining in his eyes. "But, to my point, Andy and I have been talking. You might think you're being subtle when you mention paperwork, and all the letters you have to reply to, and the admin for the estates and so on and so forth, but you're not. We can both see right through it." She flushed. It was true that ever since her Assembly debut she had been receiving more and more correspondence from her fellow peers about different petitions or acts of legislation, or from constituents asking about local regulations which she knew nothing about and had to research in the library between bouts of homework. But she was managing. She always managed, because she was Lady Black, and she had to.
"You forget, I was raised to inherit, too, Aurora. I'll admit I've no mind for politics and frankly I hate the entire system. Up until I ran away, my parents held out hope I might reform, take up the mantle, as it were. If it gets too much — if you want someone you trust to look over the admin, the estates, the details of inquiries — you know you can ask?"
"I've managed fine on my own til now."
"I know. But, Aurora, you've exams coming up soon, and O.W.L.s next year. You're a great student and you're great at what you do managing everything for the family. But you shouldn't have to do both. Especially at your age. I should have been there to help. Frankly, I think Andromeda should have said something."
"I'd have told her no."
"I suspect she knows that. Listen, I'm not saying you have to delegate anything. I'm just saying, consider it's an option? Consider that you deserve to be a normal teenager, alright? And that that's what we're for. To help you in any way that you need, for your future, yes, but also for your happiness right now. So if you need to take the load off — especially when it comes up to your exams — I'll be there. I'll do it."
"And here I thought you hated all of that stuff."
He chuckled lowly. "My love for you definitely outweighs my dislike for admin. I mean it," he added when she looked down.
"I know," she said quietly. "I'll think about it."
But how could she? When she had always thought she would have to do it alone, grown used to that, when the very last person she would have thought to ask for help would have been her father. Even a year ago, she would never have considered entrusting him with anything pertaining to her duties as Lady Black. And placing that trust in him was something that, even if she felt bad about it, she wasn't sure that she was ready to do yet. She wanted to be able to, but held herself back. It would also have been the last thing that Arcturus or Lucretia or her grandmother would have wanted, so how could she bring herself to do it? But then after everything they'd said, everything she was slowly coming to realise, it was her future to define.
"So," her father said after a few moments of stifled silence, bringing her out of her anxious musing, "on another note, because I don't want to pressure you — Remus was over on Thursday. He told me about your class on Hinkypunks last year."
"Oh, no," Aurora said, stomach dropping. "I was tired, and it was dark, and everyone struggled. I didn't know I was going to end up standing right in front of it or that it would singe my hair off!"
Throwing back his head, her father laughed, a smile stretching wide across his face. "Remus told me you screamed so high-pitched it sounded like a whistle!"
"So would you if your hair was being singed off! I had to go to Madam Pomfrey and everything. And aren't professors meant to keep those sorts of things confidential?"
"I'm fairly certain there's no rules against telling me about that. I thought it was funny."
She grumbled, "Of course you did," but secretly found herself smiling again, glad that her father found something to truly laugh about. "And I managed to subdue it eventually once I'd realised where it was. I did fine in the exam."
"I know you did," he laughed. "You did brilliantly."
The laughter faded, and Aurora watched her father closely as his features tensed again. "How have you been faring?" she asked carefully. "You've told me everyone you've seen, but not how that's helped you."
"You don't have to worry about me, Aurora."
"Well, it seems that I do, so answer the question."
A faint smile traced his features as he took in a deep breath, trying to phrase his reply. "I suppose, better than I had been. Getting to be around other people helps. It doesn't fix everything. When I'm with Remus or Hestia, it reminds me of Marlene and James and Lily, and I — I still don't know how to get over them. Other things make me think of Azkaban, of the war and everything that happened. Not just losing them, but all of the battles. The terror of not knowing..." He cut himself off, taking a deep breath. "You don't have to listen to this, sweetheart. I don't want to worry you—"
"You've worried me already," Aurora said bluntly, "I'd rather know what's going on than you try to protect my feelings. I'm not so sensitive, you know. I can hear whatever it is you have to say."
"I know," he said, "but that doesn't mean I want you to. And I am okay, day to day. I'm here, aren't I?" The ghost of a smile passed over his features. The way he phrased it bothered her, too. "I don't think Azkaban is going to leave me for a long time, not truly, maybe not ever. Nor will the war. But I'm going to be better. I'm determined to be better. I miss you, though." His face fell into a sad sort of smile. "Will you be home at Easter?"
"I don't know," Aurora admitted, not knowing quite where 'home' was, anyway. "If you want me to be."
His smile was broad. "I most definitely do."
"Just us?" Aurora asked, seeing that the time on the clock was approaching one o'clock. "I mean, obviously we'll see Andromeda and Dora and Ted, but..."
It didn't seem to please her father, the unspoken question, of who she was leaving out, but he nodded. "Just us, sweetheart. Since I didn't get you for Christmas."
"Next year," she said quickly, and meant it. "I promise."
"Sirius!" Aurora turned sharply at the sound of Potter's voice, just as she had started to smile, and now closed her mouth tightly, withholding a glare.
Her father, however, broke into a wide grin as he rushed up to greet his godson, engulfing him in a hug. It was stupid of her, but Aurora almost felt jealous, possessive, even — that was her father, and she didn't like that he smiled at Potter the same way that he smiled at her.
"Sorry I'm a bit late," Potter said breathlessly, "Ron got stuck by a joke mousetrap thing in Zonko's, he and Hermione are sat just over there, they'll come and say hello once they've stopped arguing about Viktor Krum. Hi, Aurora."
She offered him a curt nod in response. "Afternoon, Po — Harry."
"I'll go get more drinks," her father said quickly, looking between them. "Butterbeer, Harry?" Potter nodded enthusiastically. "Same for you, Aurora?"
She shrugged. "Might as well. Thank you."
"I'll get some chips too, you haven't had lunch yet."
"I'm sure I'll manage—"
"I'm getting chips," he said decisively, and then hurried towards the bar, leaving Aurora and Potter in a stifled silence.
Bottles and glasses clinked against one another, people laughed and the volume of conversation ebbed and flowed around them, the small bubble of their booth, until Potter said awkwardly, "So, Duelling Club?"
She glared at him. "Don't gloat, Potter. It is unbecoming of you."
"What?" He frowned, and then it cleared. "Oh — I wasn't trying to gloat! Just... Well, we should probably talk about something."
"How about your dreadful sense of tact?"
"How about your awful sense of will."
"Excuse me?"
"When you're duelling," Potter clarified. "You never seem to be certain enough of what you're doing." He shrugged. "And you don't adjust your grip often enough. You're good at magic, but not in a duel."
Her mouth fell open in surprise. "I'm in the top group!"
"Yeah," Potter said, with a cocky grin, "but you haven't beaten me, have you?"
"Oh, and are you the gold standard of Duelling Club now?" she sneered.
Potter shrugged. "Just saying."
"Well, don't say." Though, when she thought about it, perhaps Potter had a point. She could use his feedback, no matter how annoying it was that it came from him. "I'm sure your attitude could use some adjustment."
Shaking his head, Potter tapped his fingers against the side of the table. "I didn't mean to say it like that, if you were insulted." Aurora huffed. "You are good."
"Thank you, Potter. I'm sure your criticism was really a tremendous peace offering, but I won't inflate your horrific ego by telling you what I think of your Duelling skill."
He laughed, and said, "Thanks, Black."
She almost smiled, but didn't, thinking of something. "You stayed back after Potions the other day," she reminded him, "when Karkaroff came in. What happened?"
Potter frowned at the memory. "It was weird. I hid under a desk."
"Lovely."
"Karkaroff was definitely worried about something. I mean, that was obvious anyway, you noticed that, it's why I stayed behind."
"What's this?" Sirius asked, returning with a tray of three Butterbeer bottles. "Rosmerta's coming over with the chips when they're ready — what's happened to Karkaroff?"
"Nothing," Potter said, brow furrowing as he and Aurora picked up their Butterbeers, "I don't think. But he came into our Potions class the other day." Her father's eyebrows shot up. "He wanted to talk to Snape, said it was urgent and that Snape had been avoiding him, but Snape wouldn't talk to him until after class. I stayed back, pretended I had to mop up some armadillo bile—"
"Lovely," Aurora's father said in the same tone she had used, and Aurora couldn't help but smile.
"—and he showed Snape something on his arm. He said it was getting clearer, but I don't know what it is, Snape caught me."
Her father frowned, sipping his Butterbeer. "Something on his arm? Well, I don't know what that could be. But if Karkaroff's genuinely worried about something, and he's going to Snape for answers..." He raked a hand through his hair.
"There was the Yule Ball as well," Aurora contributed. "I overheard them in the grounds."
"Yeah!" Potter said quickly. "He and Snape were arguing. Karkaroff said the same thing, about something getting clearer. Snape said he'd make his excuses if Karkaroff fled, but, he's still here, isn't he?"
"You both heard this?" her father asked, with a curious frown. "You were in the grounds together?"
"No," they both said quickly, at the same time.
"I was just walking with Ron. Getting away from Percy. Aurora was..."
Potter floundered, a slight flush to his cheeks. Aurora glared at him, the obviousness of his awkwardness. "I was with Cassius," she said in a low voice, feeling her cheeks burn.
Her father raised his eyebrows. "I see."
"Yeah," Potter said, "I was surprised Snape didn't find you two when he started blasting those rose bushes apart and you were so obviously—"
"Shut up," she told him urgently, and Potter grinned.
"You were what?"
Annoyed, Aurora turned to her father. "Nothing."
"Didn't look like nothing."
"Were you spying on me, Potter?"
"Didn't have to. It was pretty obvious, your lipstick was all over—"
"Stop talking!" she said, cheeks flaring hot.
Potter grinned, seemingly amused by her embarrassment. Her father cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure we don't need to hear anything more detailed than that. I'm more concerned about Karkaroff at any rate." Though before moving on, he did give Aurora a pointed look as if to say that this was not the last of it, and he would no doubt continue to tease her about Cassius, which was incredibly annoying to think about. Then, his face turned serious again. "Especially after that riot in Azkaban last week. I've been in there. It takes a lot of strength, a lot of hoped to be able to fight back. On that scale shows they managed to organise. They didn't do that alone. And they have hope. For the first time in thirteeen years, Voldemort's followers think they have something they can fight for. Even if it is only because they want to kill Pettigrew, now he's in reach." A disconcerting shadow crossed his face and his eyes glinted steely as he looked down at the table. "I don't like it one bit. And strange things have been happening all over. Bertha Jorkins, that Ministry witch, never came back from Albania. And people have been speculating about Barty Crouch, that he hasn't been well, has taken loads of sick days — and he never takes sick days."
"He did look ill," Potter said thoughtfully. "He spoke to me after the Second Task. He wanted to know how our Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were going. Apparently he's interested in it, used to be a part of Law Enforcement. I mean, I knew that anyway, because of..."
"My trial," Aurora's father said wryly, "or lack thereof."
"He didn't seem odd, just... Not well."
"Millie mentioned last year," Aurora said, remembering with sudden clarity, "Millicent Bulstrode, that is — before we all went home, her parents wanted to know if anyone had heard any gossip from parents in the Ministry, because apparently he had been unwell."
Her father shrugged. "Can't say I care for him personally. But I wouldn't be surprised if this is the first time Crouch has ever been off sick in his life."
"He was the same at the Yule Ball," Potter said, "but sometimes I swear I see him here during the days, which doesn't make sense because Ron says Mrs Weasley told him Percy's been working overtime trying to keep up with the work Crouch has had to offload on him."
"Perhaps," Aurora said. Something deeply unsettled her about all this.
"How much do you know about Crouch, Harry?" Sirius asked. "Other than his involvement with me, and whatever Percy Weasley's told you."
"Er, not much," Potter admitted sheepishly.
"Don't feel bad," her father said breezily. "It's not like he parades his past around, after all. Aurora — you know about his son, don't you?"
She smiled tightly. "Arrested for Death Eaters activities, the torture and use of the Cruciatus Curse on the — on two prominent Aurors," she caught herself, refraining from mentioning the Longbottoms, feeling that it was not her place to reveal the story of Neville's parents to Potter, "with accomplices Rabastan, Rodolphus, and... Bellatrix, Lestrange." She hated the name in her mouth, knowing what the woman had done not only to Neville's parents but to her own mother, and to Aurora herself. And she was her own flesh and blood.
"What?" Potter asked loudly. "His son was arrested?"
Aurora's father nodded.
"Not so loudly," Aurora hissed, glaring, before nodding for her father to go on.
"During the war, Crouch was Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Tipped as the next Minister for Magic. He is a great wizard, Barty Crouch, but power hungry — never a Voldemort supporter," he added hastily, seeing the look on Potter's face, "but even so, that didn't mean he was a good person. He was very outspoken against the Dark Arts and the Dark side, but... You wouldn't understand," he said, and Aurora bristled.
"Don't you dare say we're too young," she told him before Potter could.
He grinned, for a split second, but it faded as he wrung his hands together and sipped Butterbeer anxiously, considering. "Imagine Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who to trust, who is on whose side, who might change sides. You know that Voldemort can make people do terrible things without them being able to control themselves. You're scared for yourself, your family, your friends. Every day there are more deaths reported, the Ministry's in chaos, nothing seems to be getting any better. They're trying to keep it from the Muggles, but the Muggles keep dying too.
"Times like that, they bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Maybe Crouch's intentions were good in the beginning, but he started to rise in the Ministry very quickly. He gave the Aurors new powers to use Unforgivables, he was very harsh on Voldemort's supporters. He became as ruthless and cruel as many Death Eaters. That's not to say he didn't have supporters — he had plenty, and once the war ended, there were apparently a lot of people who wanted him to take over as Minister for Magic — but needless to say, once his son was discovered with a group of Death Eaters, trying to resurrect Voldemort, and everything came out, Crouch was ruined.
"I don't know if his son was a Death Eater or not — he came into Azkaban while I was there, most of what I know I picked up in the last year and a bit — but Crouch sent him to Azkaban anyway."
"His own son?"
"He couldn't show favouritism," Aurora's father said. "Ruthless, like I said. At least his son got something of a trial. He came in later, screamed for days... Then he went quiet." A strange, haunted look came over him then. "They all did, eventually."
He fell silent, and Aurora and Potter exchanged a nervous glance, neither knowing what to do or say. "Dad?" Aurora said quietly, and that seemed to break him from his thoughts.
"Yes? Sorry." He winced.
"Is Crouch's son still in Azkaban, then?" Potter asked tactlessly — Aurora had been about to try and steer them away from the topic.
"Oh, no. No, he died about a year after he was brought in. Happens to most," he added, at the horrified look on Potter's face. "They go mad, or lose the will to eat. Then they lose the will to live. His parents were allowed a deathbed visit. Last time I saw Barty Crouch, he was carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself not long after — grief.
"And so Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made. Apparently had a big drop in popularity, not that that's surprising. Fudge became Minister for Magic, and he was shafted into International Co-Operation."
He went quiet again and Aurora sipped at her Butterbeer, just as Rosmerta came by to drop off the plate of chips. Aurora smiled tightly up at her and murmured thanks, before taking one and eating it, while her father and Potter thought things over.
"So, Crouch," her father said at last, clearing his throat. "Not a nice fellow at all, but he's always been very strict about his work. Relentless, even, ruthless. Maybe he's getting old, maybe he's struggling considering the complete fuck up of my case. Either way, it doesn't look good for him. But I wouldn't be surprised if someone had it out for him, too."
"There's always a tension, I've noticed," Aurora said, "between him, Moody, and Karkaroff. They all seem to hate each other. Moody and Karkaroff most of all, but, there's definitely something off about it."
"Moody's always been fairer. Always tried to bring people in alive if he could. Always tried to get justice, never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. He's a bit odd, you'll know that by now, but I'd take him over Crouch any day. As for Karkaroff... Well, I wouldn't trust him at all."
She and Potter nodded at one another. "We thought as much," he said, and Aurora wondered when he had decided he could speak for her. "He's a creep. Especially since he knows Snape, that makes everything about him even worse." Aurora and her father both cracked smiles at that.
"Crouch gives me the creeps too," she put in. "And Theodore."
"Nott?" Potter asked, surprised. "Does he know him?"
Aurora shifted uncomfortably and exchanged a glance with her father, who nodded slowly. She didn't know quite how much he knew, and assumed Potter knew nothing about Albert Nott, Theodore's father. "Like we said. He sent a lot of people to Azkaban."
Realisation dawned on Potter's face, curdled by sudden disgust. "You mean to tell me, Nott's dad—"
"Has nothing to do with Theodore," Aurora cut him off before he could say anything that would anger her further. "Theodore rejects everything he and his grandfather stand for. He is a far better person than them, and you will not hold their actions against him."
Potter blinked in surprise at her defensive outburst. She had surprised herself, too, but it was true. Though her situation now was different, she had once been judged by the crimes of her father — sometimes was still judged for them, or for any of his other choices — and she would not let Potter think of her friend in that way, regardless of whether or not Theodore knew about his opinion. "I wasn't going to," he said quietly.
"Good." She huffed, as they fell into silence once more and took more chips.
Weasley and Granger came over a few minutes later, seeming excited to see Sirius, as Granger badgered him for his opinion of house elf liberation and some new society she was founding, before Weasley mentioned Crouch and the conversation yet again veered in that direction. It quite slipped her mind the incident in Snape's classroom, with Granger being sent to sit with her and Pansy, but when her father and the boys started talking about pranks her dad and his friends had once pulled, she turned to Hermione, slightly nervous.
Granger caught her stare and frowned. "What?"
"I just wondered," she said quietly, "last Friday, in Potions, what Snape was saying and that magazine. What was that all about?"
Instantly, Granger's cheeks took on a furious red flush. "As if you don't know!"
She blinked, confused. "I really don't?"
Granger looked for a second like she didn't believe her, then softened and leaned closer. "It was Rita Skeeter," she admitted, voice cold. "She wrote an article about me."
"About you?"
"She essentially said I was leading Harry and Victor on and said all this horrible stuff about Harry that really was none of anyone's business. It was so ridiculous, but other people from school had obviously spoken to her anonymously because she had some quotes and they... Well they weren't very nice about me."
"Anyone who speaks to Skeeter isn't worth your worries," Aurora told her sharply, seeing the downcast look in Granger's eyes and feeling a twang of sympathy, of solidarity with her. "She's no right publishing anything about you. You're a private citizen."
"I'm sure she'd argue it was about Harry and Viktor, really. How they're getting their hearts broken by my—" She broke off, frustrated tears growing in her eyes. Aurora resisted the urge to reach out to her.
"Don't listen to Skeeter," she told her instead, softer than her usual tone.
"I don't. But other people do." Granger scowled.
"I don't," Aurora reminded her and grinned. "And frankly Granger, I couldn't give a shit how many guys you're allegedly leading on. I'm far more interested in which of us got the highest mark in that Arithmancy test."
Granger scoffed, but Aurora caught the glimmer of a smile on her face. "Is that your way of being nice, Black?"
"Haven't you figured that out yet?"
Granger laughed, and met her eyes with an honest smile. "You hate her too, don't you?" Aurora nodded, rolling her eyes. "Then I suppose we'll both just have to get our own back on her."
The prospect, however lightly said, made her grin.
A moment later, the conversation turned back to Duelling Club and they were both drawn in, recounting their most recent duels, and Professor Moody's strange mannerisms and habit of shouting random advice that sounded more like insults, something that patently hadn't changed in the fifteen years her father had known him. They were ready to leave by three o'clock, and her father walked herself and Potter out to the edge of the village while Weasley and Granger went tactfully on ahead.
"Keep an eye out for Karkaroff," he warned, not for the first time, as they came to a halt. "And Snape, though I know you both hate him anyway."
"We will," Aurora said.
"And Harry," he added, "you will tell me if you have anymore strange feelings, or your scar hurts."
Potter shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah," he said, "alright. But I don't know what you can do about it."
"I will find something," her father promised. "I'll find a way to help you. In the meantime, you can talk to Dumbledore about it too."
Potter nodded, and then Aurora's father pulled him into a quick hug. "Be careful," he told him before releasing Potter.
Then he opened his arms to Aurora, holding her close to him. She relaxed, hugging him back. "You too, sweetheart. I'll see you soon." He kissed her forehead gently. "I love you."
"I know," Aurora said softly, letting him hold on just a moment longer, before she stepped back. "I'll see you soon. I'll tell you everything about Duelling Club, I promise!"
"I'll hold you to that," her father said, squeezing her shoulder. He seemed reluctant, as if there was something more that he longed to say, but he refrained. "Get back to school safe, sweetheart. And don't get up to anything with that Cassius Warrington!"
"Dad!" she protested in embarrassment, the title slipping from her as he laughed and ruffled her hair in much the same way as Dora always did.
"I'm only teasing, sweetheart. On you go."
Aurora's cheeks were flushed but she smiled, waving goodbye. Her father watched them go as she and Potter made their way back up to school, and the sun lowered behind the clouds and hills on the horizon.