Aurora and her father joined the Tonkses for dinner that night, a rather tense affair. He had not pressed her about the contents of the letter, but that did not stop Aurora from thinking about it constantly. And there was clearly something playing on Dora's mind too; she was uncharacteristically quiet, and even clumsier than usual.

Just as they were about to start on pudding, she blurted out, "I've been speaking to Dumbledore." Andromeda's spoon clattered against the edge of her plate. Aurora cringed at the sound. "He's setting up this... Society. To fight You-Know-Who. Mad-Eye told me about it, and I want to join up. I'm going to join up," she clarified, with a fierce look at her mother, as though daring her to stop her.

"Dora," Ted started carefully, "are you sure about this?"

"As sure as I was about becoming an Auror," she said defiantly. This only seemed to disturb Andromeda further; she sank into her seat and put a hand to her head, wincing. "I want to help people. I want to fight."

"I'm all for it," said Aurora's father, sending Dora an encouraging wink. They'd discussed this already then, Aurora realised.

"Oh, don't you start," Andromeda snapped. "You and all your friends, running off to join up as soon as you left school — I'm not letting Dora end up like—"

"Like what?" Aurora's father asked, voice cool and low. Aurora's stomach turned.

Andromeda pressed her lips into a thin line. "I'm sorry, Sirius. But you cannot possibly think that it's safe—"

"Of course it isn't safe, Mum," Dora said wearily. "But soon enough, simply living as we are isn't going to be safe. Someone has to fight. I may as well be one of them. Mad-Eye thinks it's a good idea."

"There is a reason they call him mad, you know."

Dora drew herself up straight, annoyed. "I need to do this, Mum. You've told me about the first war yourself. I want to fight. Just because you didn't—"

"I didn't fight because I knew doing so was to put your father in more danger. It'd put a target on all of us. And I had you to worry about."

"Well, I don't have anyone to worry about. I have to fight. Dad thinks I should, don't you?"

Ted sighed, pushing his hair back from his forehead. "Dora, I don't think it's really a matter of should. You're not obligated to do this, just because your mentor wants you to. And I don't want you rushing into this and putting yourself in danger."

"I'm literally an Auror—"

"But," he cut her off with a frown, "it is your choice. Just..." His gaze flickered to Aurora and then to her father, who looked rather put out by the reaction to the news. "Be careful. I know you want to see the best in people, love, but Dumbledore is a strategist. You may well get hurt."

"It isn't about Dumbledore," Dora said. "Or even Mad-Eye. It's about the fight."

"Did you put her up to this?" Andromeda asked, looking at Sirius furiously.

"I — well—"

"I came to him, after Mad-Eye spoke to me. I wouldn't have if I didn't already want to join up."

"You know how dangerous it is—"

"I don't need you to remind me, Andromeda." Her father's voice was brittle and annoyed. "I've seen it for myself."

"I know you have, Sirius, but surely—"

"It's my choice," Dora reiterated. "I've already made up my mind. And I'm an adult."

Andromeda pursed her lips, but accepted defeat, knowing that there were few things that could sway Dora's will. Still, she didn't look happy about; the worry that had been ever-present in her eyes only seemed to grow stronger, and she ate little over the course of their quiet final dish. After, Aurora and Dora went to clean up in the kitchen while the adults spoke lovely in the lounge.

"You don't think I'm being stupid, do you?" Dora asked her, with a surprising clarity to her voice.

"I... I don't really think that's for me to say." She avoided Dora's gaze carefully. "It's dangerous. I don't want you to get hurt. But, like you said, you're an Auror. It's your job, it's what you do. I think Andromeda and Ted are just worried about you."

"I know they are," Dora said with a sigh. "I know it's hard for them to think of me doing this, going up against Dark wizards and Death Eaters, especially Mum."

"But it's what you feel you have to do."

"We'll all have to fight eventually," Dora said. "And I think fighting with Dumbledore, is the safest place to be, for now anyway."

Aurora bit her lip, rinsing a wine glass under the tap. "Can I tell you something?" she asked quietly. Dora nodded. "Dumbledore wants me to help the Order."

At this, Dora balked. "He what?"

"Not physically, or anything. They need a Headquarters, and we have plenty of space. So my dad suggested we help and Dumbledore likes the idea and — I want to be helpful, and do something, but I don't know what the consequences will be. I — we, me and my dad — are supposed to meet him later. To discuss it.

"He's offered me an exchange, obviously. Lessons, and protection, and rent — and, I don't want anyone knowing, but the family estate really could do with the extra financial boost — and information. About the Death Eaters and about Bellatrix Lestrange, and what she might do to me. I think it might be my best shot at surviving. I just don't know if I can take that shot with him."

Dora cocked her head to the side, frowning. "How come?"

"I don't know if I trust him enough. I mean, he's meant to be the only one You-Know-Who ever feared, but he's not shown much for it. He let my mother die, and Harry's parents, and countless others."

"He is powerful," Dora said, "but that doesn't mean he's infallible, Aurora. You learn that, working with Aurors. This is war. The best we can do is try to save as many people as possible. You don't have to be part of that if you don't want to."

"I'm not a coward."

"I'm not calling you one," Dora said levelly, taking the glass from her and drying it off with a flick of her wand. "Listen, I think that having a headquarter for the Order of the Phoenix is a great thing, and it'll only help us. Whether you want that to be in your old home, is your choice, and I can't imagine it's an easy one. God knows I think the place is creepy."

She could give only a half-hearted laugh. The entire top floor she had already decided would not be disturbed. Nowhere with memories. Perhaps it was a good thing that her grandmother kept such a tight leash on her. She knew every hidden passageway and staircase and alcove, but had hardly seen inside any of the rooms. It hadn't really seen life in years, and it wasn't like the manor. She could give it up, and maybe making it new was what she needed, too. A break from the pressure of childhood and legacy. The chance to make her family home her own, re-appropriated for her purposes, and for her father and her new family, just as much a part of her as the old.

"I think I'm going to say yes," she told Dora. "I don't have many other choices."

"You do," Dora said. "But this might be the best one. Don't think of it as working for Dumbledore. Think of it as being for the greater good."

Aurora wrinkled her nose. "That sounds like something Potter or Granger might come out with. The greater good... I just don't want to die."

Dora raised her eyebrows, and bit back the criticism Aurora could see pressing at her lips. "Well, Dumbledore doesn't want you to die, either. That's the point of the Order. Minimising casualties, reducing the impact of the war when it does hit, warning people... Holding the Ministry to account."

"If people find out..."

"I could lose my job," Dora said, "my whole livelihood, my dream for the past seven years."

That gave Aurora pause. Dora was right; they all had so much to risk and to lose, either way. And how precious, she asked herself, was the ambivalence of the other lords? How safe was it to sit on the fence, when she would be pushed over the edge eventually?

The war would come for her. Bellatrix and Lucius and the rest would come for her, and they would come for the people she loved, too. Delaying — or, really, ignoring — the inevitable would only hurt her in the long run.

"I don't know what Andromeda and Ted'll say."

Dora shrugged. "Mum won't be happy. Dad'll be worried about you. More than usual. But it's your choice. If you explain, she'll try to understand. She usually does — she's just a bit shocked tonight, I think."

Aurora nodded, thinking this over, and turned to clean another plate.

-*

Dumbledore was due at ten o'clock; Aurora and her father arrived at Arbrus Hill at quarter to, and sat nervously on the sofas in the lounge, watching the clock tick down. Aurora had only recently felt like she had made her mind up, and even now, she could deny the fear she felt at having to make any decision. Any choice she made could hurt her. There was no safe way out for her.

She had to take a gamble. A risk. And that was utterly terrifying.

"I've already told Dumbledore I'm not taking any assignments away until September," her father was telling her, rambling in the quiet. "I want to be here for you and Harry."

She wanted to tell him that he didn't have to be, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. In truth, she wanted him there, she wanted to have her dad by her side especially when she was so uncertain of the world changing around her. And she knew Potter would want him around too. More than that, she knew Potter needed him around. She wasn't sure at what point she had started considering Potter's needs as important, but she did know that to be true.

So she smiled at her dad and leaned against him. "Good," she told him. "I think I'd like that, too."

The fireplace before them flared up bright green, and Aurora tensed, blinking away the surge of searing light.

A second later, Albus Dumbledore walked out of the fireplace, looking rather inconvenienced as he brushed at his violet robes.

"Good evening," he said with a false cheerfulness. He already looked more weary than the last time Aurora had seen him, and that was saying something. "I hope I'm not disturbing."

"Not at all," Aurora told him smoothly, standing up. "Please, come through to the dining room."

A more suitable room, one which felt less comfortable and more like the sort of place she could hold court in. If Dumbledore was bothered by it, he did not seem inclined to say so, sweeping through at Aurora's direction.

She sat first, her father on her right and Dumbledore on the left, feeling nervous even though she held most of the cards. Professor Dumbledore had that sort of quietly intimidating effect which she both hated and envied, the same effect utilised by teachers to quiet a class without having to raise their voice.

Aurora began, because she felt the sooner to get this out of the way, the better, and she didn't want to give Dumbledore any more authority over the conversation than she needed to.

"You may use Grimmauld Place for your headquarters," she told him, looking him right in the eye. There was a small glimmer of triumph and she smiled slowly. "However, I do have my conditions."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I would expect no less, Lady Black. Do go on."

"The first, which I am sure you would also like to uphold, is that no one is to know of my involvement. My father has expressed his own plans to join your organisation, and I will not stop him. However, I wish to stay out of it, on a personal level. I believe I would be able to do more, in terms of forming alliances with other amenable parties, in this way. This will benefit your operations, and mine." Dumbledore nodded, eyes glimmering. "The second, is that I am kept in the know about the Order's activities, its theories, and what it believes the Dark Lord to be doing." This, he appeared more apprehensive about. But to Aurora, that information felt crucial, and she felt she deserved to have it. "It is only fair. I offer my services, you offer me protection, and that includes information. How could I know how best to defend the wards without knowing your intentions?"

She held Dumbledore's gaze, seeing his uncertainty. But his hesitation lost to her unwavering challenge. "Understandable," he said. "Though you must see, that the operations of the Order must remain confidential. We cannot have information falling to the wrong hands."

The implication of that sentence, whether he intended it to be taken as such or not, made Aurora uneasy. Even her dad frowned, verging on glaring at Dumbledore. "I'm hardly likely to turn spy," she said drily. "Nor am I likely to flaunt this, or anything else, to my peers." She tilted her head, narrowed her eyes. "You do trust me, don't you, Professor?"

His eyes glimmered. In truth, Aurora felt Dumbledore might not trust anyone very much. After all his years, she expected he would be wary, uncertain, and she also doubted that there were very many Slytherins in the Order of the Phoenix at all. Wariness — of anyone — was inconvenient for her but also entirely understandable, and she respected it:

"Of course, my girl," he said, with a faint smile. "Your conditions are not unreasonable. I find myself very much grateful. The Order, last time, had great difficulty trying to set up base and safe houses. We are already one step better prepared than we were back then."

She nodded firmly, then glanced to her father, who nodded in return. "I also want to learn from you, as we discussed. If I am to defend myself, then I want to learn from the best. I don't know who you have for Defense Professor this year, but I want you to tutor me anyway. Wandless magic, duelling skills. Alchemy." Unease flickered across Dumbledore's features and she frowned, leaning forward. "I know Alchemy is an option for N.E.W.T.s at Hogwarts, but some early experience couldn't go amiss and I know you have connections in the field, as we discussed. Everything you said you could do for me, I want it. Including the issue of rent, a small payment in exchange for using the property. It takes a lot to keep up a place like that, and it'll cost even more if we are to begin renovating and cleaning it as you expressed you want to — a project which I want clearance on. And of course, I want your assistance — including use of your memories — in learning about the curse Bellatrix Lestrange put upon me as a child, and the threat which she and it still pose to me. Those are my terms."

It was not too high a price, she felt, but Dumbledore's reaction still was hesitant. She felt it was because he did not, after all, trust her. Or perhaps he still was uncertain of her motivations, her intentions. Perhaps he was right to question them, but not her loyalty. She levelled her gaze and he seemed to understand that she was serious.

"Very well," he agreed. "We shall prepare Grimmauld Place."

"I will go alone first," she said, not looking at her father. She doubted he would want to spend any more time there than necessary anyway. "The house will respond better to me, and respond better to visitors if I prepare it."

Dumbledore nodded, but he waited for Aurora to stand before he stood, too. "Thank you, Lady Black," he said, and she smiled at the title as they shook hands.

"I hope it is worth it," she said, "Professor."

-*

Aurora wound up staying over at her dad's that evening, once Dumbledore had left. Over supper — a tense affair during which neither party wanted to address the matters of the day — they danced around the topic of Regulus and the letter, and the Order and all the fears that the future held. Until they could put it off no longer, and Aurora's father finished his pudding and asked, "The letter you read from Regulus? What did it say?"

Cold, she stared down at the pool of melted ice cream in her bowl.

"It was about me," she started slowly. "He was writing to Narcissa, to tell her. He was worried about Bellatrix, her reaction, even then. He knew she would come for me, try to kill me. He wanted to stop it — stop her, and, I think, the war itself." Her father narrowed his eyes. "You can read it. I just wanted to... You know. But, he did mention you." She debated whether to expand, if it was her place to reveal to her father what his late brother had thought, but she knew that he would insist on reading the letter for himself anyway, and she couldn't wriggle out of the uncomfortable truth now. "He didn't know how to tell you, even when he wanted to leave the Dark Lord. He wanted Narcissa's help to stop Bellatrix; obviously, that never came to fruition, whether he sent another letter or not. It was a practical mission." It was odd how it stung, to have to let go of some sentimentality, an idea that her uncle saved her because he cared about her, because he did not care about her blood. There was some of that; he did express his disillusionment with the ideas of purity. But his mission was self-preservation.

"Still," she said softly, unable to meet her father's eyes. There was nothing else that she could think of to say.

"You say he knew what Bellatrix was planning?"

"I'm not sure planning is the right word. But he knew what she intended, for me, yes."

"And he didn't say — didn't tell me!"

"Perhaps he couldn't. Perhaps he thought it was—"

"He should have told me!"

"Would it have helped? You must have known it was a possibility — what if he thought you'd tear off after her? Or what if he wasn't able to speak freely? He tried to save me — he did save—"

"He could've done more." Her father's expression had twisted into a rather ugly scowl. "He could've left Voldemort, couldn't fought—"

"And died two months earlier than he already did? Clearly he did try to do something of use."

His mouth drew back into a thin, annoyed line. "He wrote to Narcissa... As if she'd ever cared about anything more than her looks and her marriage."

Aurora's face snapped up to stare at him, surprised. "That's not true," she said softly. "You're angry."

"Of course I'm angry!" His voice came out as a shout, and she flinched; he sounded like Grandmother when he was angry, tone going up a clip, his accent posher and higher and sharper.

"Narcissa cares about me. Or, she did. She's not good at showing it, especially now, but, I don't think she's entirely self-absorbed. She cares about family — whether family still includes me or not, I don't know." Her stomach churned to think about it, to acknowledge out loud her slipping status and loss of affection. "I'm not trying to defend them, their inaction, or their views. But I don't think you see them as truly as you could. Which I understand. You hate them."

"I don't hate—"

"Don't lie," she said, and he fell silent. Her stomach squirmed. "I don't know what this letter means, if it's any use at all. Perhaps Narcissa knows what he did to save me, though she might not help me or answer were I to ask — if I could even find a safe time or way to ask. But, I did read the Will. He's left his personal library to me, at Grimmauld Place. I think that's where I need to start. And, you may want to know... He made sure nothing of his inheritance went to Bellatrix, and little to his parents. I didn't realise, but almost everything of his reverted to Arcturus, and near everything Arcturus had is now mine."

"You think that qualifies as rebellion?"

"No. I'm not saying it does and I don't think it needs to be. I'm just saying, he did it. He had some change since you knew him, Dad. That I'm alive is testament to that. We just have to understand why. And see if Narcissa was the same."

To see, she felt though she could not admit, if Narcissa might be saved in her mind, too.

"Alright," her father said. "I get it."

"Do you?"

"You want proof that they weren't as terrible as I or history might make them seem. I understand. No one wants to think badly of the people who raised them. Just, don't expect to learn about them and learn what will make you happy."

He clasped his hands and learned forward slightly. "Aurora, I feel like I need to talk to you. About your plans for school this year, and society this summer. Especially since you'll see Narcissa, and all the rest."

"I shall dazzle society."

"Be serious."

"That's my line."

He did not smile. She did not feel like smiling either; it was a stupid joke, an attempt to relieve the tension crushing her chest. "I know you trust your friends. I know you want to trust Narcissa. I'm not trying to stop you from being friends with them, or talking to Narcissa, even if I don't think it's the best idea. But some of your friends' parents will encourage them to break ties with you. Whether because of your blood status or because they believe you could end up opposing Voldemort, and more than likely both. You need to be prepared for that eventuality.

"Back in the first war, leaving Hogwarts was like diving into Hell. Friends you'd known for seven years suddenly turned, thrust into the roles their families had demanded of them. We saw it already in our later years."

"I know things are going to be different," she told him irritably. "I'm not stupid, Dad!"

"I'm not saying you are," he said in a clipped, annoyed voice. "Would you just listen to me?"

Pursing her lips in annoyance, Aurora glared at him and nodded. She didn't need coddled by him, or warned of things which were obvious. "Thank you." That tone made her want to snap at him again, but Aurora held her tongue. "What I'm saying is, the people you trust, you may not be able to trust them with everything."

Aurora scoffed. "I don't trust anyone with everything, Father."

"People like Draco. I know he's your best friend, but we both know what side his father will be on."

"Draco is not his father," she said, aggravation prickling at her, as did doubt. His words from the Hogwarts Express nagged at her in the back of her mind. "I'm hardly going to invite him to an Order meeting, but I know he wouldn't hurt me."

"He may not have a choice," her father said gently. "And he may not make the choice you want or expect him to."

Annoyed, she scraped her chair back, glaring. "You've barely even met him!" she snapped at her dad. "How would you know what choices he's going to make?"

"I don't. But I need to prepare you for the eventuality that you and the people you care about may end up on the opposite sides of this war, whether by choice or not. They may not hurt you, but would they hurt people you care about?"

It depended on who she defined as someone she cared about, Aurora felt.

"I know things are going to change," she said, getting to her feet. "I'm not stupid. Don't treat me like a child."

"I'm not, Aurora, I'm trying to warn you that there are some people you can trust more than others. Some people you might prefer to keep closer to this year—"

"What?" she asked with a breathy laugh, incredulous. "Like who? Potter? Yes, making friends with Precious Potter, that'll keep me safe in the Slytherin common room, won't it?"

"Harry needs you too—"

"I don't give a shit what Harry needs," she snarled, anger rushing up through her, "and I doubt he needs me. I can take care of myself, and so can he."

"I'm not saying you can't."

"Well, that certainly seems to be what you're implying!"

"What I'm trying to say," her father said through gritted teeth, closing his eyes in annoyance, "is that I know you understand that things are going to be different. I need you to know, that I'm here for you, and that even if things change with your Slytherin friends, you won't be alone. Reach out to Harry, or Hermione, or Ron."

Making a face of disgust, Aurora said, "I'm not 'reaching out' to Weasley, thank you very much. And I doubt they'd want me to.

"I get what you're trying to say," she admitted, much as she hated to, "but I'm not going to suddenly turn on my friends because of their parents."

"I'm not asking you to," her father told her gently. "I know you're defensive of them—"

"I'm not defensive!"

His lips quirked up. "You are, very defensive of your friends. I think you take it off of me." She rolled her eyes. "I never would have imagined that Peter would betray any of us. And I don't want you to get hurt by putting your trust in the wrong people, either."

"This is not the same situation," she said shrilly.

"I know," he said. "But it's the same principle. Make sure the people you surround yourself with are as loyal to you as you are to them."

"Again, if you're suggesting Potter and his cronies are in any way loyal to me—"

"They are at least loyal to the same cause." Her father sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. Aurora swallowed, not daring to say anything. She didn't want to admit that she felt that, if it came to it, Draco would go to the Dark Lord and take his father's side. If her life was endangered by it, she liked to think that he wouldn't, for her. But she had also thought that he had cut down on his taunting of Potter, on his espousing of blood supremacy, and he hadn't. He had only hidden it from her. And she could never ask him to choose between her and his parents either, because that was entirely unfair, and if he was told to go to the Dark Lord's service, refusal would not be easy. Refusal could get him and his parents killed.

Aurora knew already that she could not ask him to make that choice or that sacrifice. Not least because she was afraid of the answer, too.

"Harry wouldn't hurt you."

"Draco wouldn't hurt me either," she spat back. "I know where you're coming from but... I want to hold onto my friends. I'm not going to push them away just because you say so, just because you think it's dangerous. You don't get a say in that. Draco and his family have certainly been there for me for longer than you have."

It was a low blow and Aurora wasn't even certain she could believe what she said anyway. Her father looked stricken, but the momentary rush of catharsis was not worth the swelling, nauseous guilt that came after it. She sank back into her chair.

"I didn't mean that. His family — Draco's my oldest friend."

Her father didn't meet her eyes. His shoulders were trembling. "I understand that."

"But his parents... Well, Narcissa's alright, she was always there, but Lucius—"

"Aurora," he said firmly, cutting her off. There was an edge to his voice which she didn't like. "I don't want to hear about Lucius Malfoy."

Bitter words came to the tip of her tongue, that if he hated it so much then maybe he should have thought of that fourteen years ago. But it wasn't fair, and she didn't want to use her words to hurt her father. And besides, she had never truly liked Lucius. Never truly been comfortable around him, anyway.

"I know," she said in a small voice, feeling cold. "I'm sorry. I just meant that... This is all pretty fucked up, right?"

"Trust me," her father said, though he still stared at the table, "I understand. Better than you probably want to think that I do."

Aurora considered that for a moment. At what point had her father decided to choose his Hogwarts friends over his blood family? At what did the war truly become real to him, did he have to start considering his choices and who he wanted to be?

But he had a clearer choice, she told himself. He had people he no longer felt cared for him on one side, and the morally righteous who he felt loved him.

Draco was the most important person in her life, but he would not be able to be on the same side of this conflict as she was. But Ted, Dora, Andromeda, her father — they all were people she knew would be targeted, and she herself could be a target, too.

Still, he had had to make a choice, too. It was one he rarely spoke of, not explicitly anyway, not concerning anything deeper than the core facts of the situation.

But Aurora considered him now and frowned. "You never like speaking about it," she started slowly, "which is understandable, and I know you don't really like to discuss the war in general. But... What did happen? How did you decide, and how did you bring yourself to — to give up on your blood family?"

He sighed. It was a long, tense moment before he spoke, into a silence only penetrated by the steady ticking of a grandfather clock.

"I've already told you about my mother. There was a time, when I was young, before Hogwarts, when I really looked up to her. All I wanted to do was to please her, until I realised that nothing I did could please her. Until I realised that I didn't agree with her views, or what she and my father said about Voldemort. And I definitely didn't..." He paused, taking in a sharp breath. "One of the catalysts, for me, back then, was Bellatrix."

Aurora blinked, surprised. "In what way?"

"She never wanted to marry. They forced her — her parents, I mean, but my own were very on board, and Arcturus agreed they could have the final say — to marry Rodolphus Lestrange. When she said she didn't want to, her parents — well, I don't know exactly what happened — but they hurt her. Forced her hand, literally. She came to my parents seeking help, and they called her own parents there and stopped her from leaving. They said that her only role was to marry Rodolphus, and if she didn't, she would be disinherited. The betrothal has been in the works for too long for them to back out.

"I remember the screaming and everything she said, about how he treated her, how they were confining her to a life of being a servant wife. Now, we know what ended up happening to her. Now, I have no affection for Bellatrix. But back then I was ten years old, I was distressed because my cousin was upset and hurt, and I did the only thing I could do, which was try and interrupt and stop them. Naturally, it made everything worse.

"Bellatrix got married a week later. She was never a good person. She was always a blood supremacist, always agreed with what our family said unless it undermined her, and this doesn't excuse what she wound up doing.

"But I grew to question my family. Even if she never spoke about it, I remembered it, and I resented what was happening, and the fact that I realised one day I would have to marry too, that my parents wouldn't give me a choice either. I didn't like not having a choice, and so when the Sorting Hat finally let me choose if I was going to be in Gryffindor or Slytherin..."

"You chose," she said quietly. "Surely you knew the impact it would have?"

"Oh, certainly." He scoffed. "I suppose part of me naively thought they could get over it, but they didn't. As the war got worse I realised more and more that I didn't agree with my family, that their views actively endangered other people. I was furious that Bellatrix joined Voldemort and furious that everyone congratulated her, and furious that Regulus said he wanted to do the same one day.

"I don't know when I made a choice, to stay with my family and fight on their side, or to leave. I suppose I'd decided my stance on the war long before I actually made the decision to run away from home.

"I do know that I still worried about my brother. And, for a time, about Narcissa. But I knew that the loyalty I felt for them was not reciprocated."

"How could you know that?" Aurora challenged, frowning at him. "Regulus visited us later, that required some courage I imagine. More than simply fleeing the country from the Dark Lord. Narcissa cared for me."

"Perhaps," her father said, "but she did so under very different circumstances than the ones we were thrust into during wartime — that is what I want you to understand. The Narcissa you knew and the Narcissa I knew may be different, but that does not mean that the Narcissa I knew does not still exist, and may not hurt you. Ultimately, it came down to the fact that they were willing — at least initially, in Regulus's case — to participate in the murder of innocent people for their own benefit. I was not."

Aurora nodded, but still felt unsettled. She wanted to ask about guilt, about how he could possibly have known what was to come, what was to be gained by leaving.

"I wish I didn't have to have this conversation with you, Aurora. I'm not saying that you ever will have to make that choice, between standing up for what you know in your heart is right, and standing by people you care about. I do know that if you do, it will be incredibly difficult."

Yet he spoke like he already knew what choice she would make. And Aurora wasn't entirely sure if she could make the choice he clearly wanted her to. She would never join Voldemort, but could she ever truly stand against Draco, or Pansy, or anyone else who might be called to his service?

"I just want to prepare you."

"You've said that already," Aurora muttered.

He smiled weakly and reached for her hands, squeezing them gently. "I can't promise it's going to be okay. And I don't think you'd let me say it without contradicting me anyway." Despite herself, Aurora did give a small snort of laughter. Her father winked, seemingly relieved by the reaction, and then cleared his throat. "But it's the first night of the holidays."

"Technically, it's the fourth."

"Well, it's the first night of the holidays with me. And I think we can find something more fun to do than discuss... This."

She avoided the prickly question which came to her lips of how exactly he would define 'this' and instead asked, "You aren't going to try and get me to ride a motorcycle again, are you?"

Her dad laughed. "I still think you'd like it if you gave it a chance and learned to trust it. But, no. I do have plans for tomorrow, though."

"What?" she asked, eyes narrowed, and he grinned before waving his wand and summoning, to her surprise, two slips of paper in bright violet and gold. Aurora's eyes widened. "Are those what I think they are?"

"If you think they're tickets to tomorrow's Harpies game against Pride of Portree, then yes. Originally I was going to spring it on you at Andy's at breakfast, but I figure I might as well tell you now."

Aurora beamed, and some of her mood lifted. "I haven't been to a Harpies game... Well, ever!" When she was younger, she had only ever been allowed to listen to the commentary on the radio in the study, and few opportunities had come up for her to go and witness an actual game.

"Really?" Her father blinked, appearing genuinely surprised. "You said they're your favourite team!"

"They are!" she assured him hastily. "I just didn't really get to go out much when I was younger. But it's going to be so good!"

Smirking, her father asked, "How d'you know they're your favourite team if you've never seen them play?"

"I listened to the radio, obviously." She huffed, though grinning. "Plus, they're all women! I thought that was amazing when I was little."

The almost contemplative frown on her father's face was slightly unsettling, and Aurora's smile faded slightly. "What?"

"Nothing." He shook himself back into a smile, and tucked the tickets away in his pocket. "I'm just even more excited to take you to a game now."

Aurora grinned, leaning back. "Good. But what are we doing tonight? To be honest, Dad, I'm more in the mood for just reading or something in the lounge. I'm a bit tired."

He looked slightly disappointed, but shrugged, putting on a smile. "Then that's what we'll do."

She tilted her head. "What did you want to do?"

Her dad cleared his throat. "Doesn't matter. It's a surprise," he clarified when she frowned, "we can do it tomorrow."

But she knew he had the sort of restless energy she did, except she contained it better. She could curl up with a book and be quite content but she knew that her dad needed to be doing something, needed to be moving. It was a need she had inherited, but been taught out of.

And she wondered, as they went through to the lounge and she searched their bookshelves, exactly what that restlessness would mean. It certainly, she felt, fueled a part of his need to get involved with the Order, which was understandable in any case and certainly not wholly reliant on that. But she did worry. She didn't really know him that well, after all, and sometimes she got the feeling that her father was still getting to know himself again.