Potter's hearing was set for the twelfth of August, which was due to be yet another burning hot day. The evening before, Harry and Aurora's father went to spend the night at Grimmauld Place; Arthur Weasley would be accompanying them to the Ministry, and apparently the Order wanted to make sure that Potter was prepared for the hearing, on their terms. Aurora, thankfully, was going to the Tonkses' for the night.

"Remember to look at people when you speak to them," she told Harry before she left. "Don't talk over yourself or anybody else. It should only be Amelia Bones and maybe someone else as a witness, so that'll be fine. Just don't embarrass yourself, please."

"I'm not going to embarrass myself," Potter muttered. "It's going to be fine." He didn't look like he believed it.

Aurora went to the Tonkses' in the late afternoon, in time to share dinner. Ted stared at her when she arrived in their living room armed with a bag full of books, and made a great show of staggering about from the weight of it. "Are these bricks or books?" he teased, and Aurora folded her arms with a huff.

"I need them for research."

"How much research are you going to do in one evening?"

Aurora shrugged. "I don't know. That's why I need them all."

"Of course," Ted said, grinning as he shouldered the bag for her and started to lead her up the stairs. "It's good to have you back."

"It hasn't been that long," she grumbled.

"Still nice," Ted said. "You know, Dora's cooking tonight."

"No!"

He snorted. "That's what I said, but apparently she's been learning from Molly Weasley."

"I'm not sure Molly Weasley is aware of that." Considering Molly had recently forbidden Dora from handling plates, she doubted she would want her to learn at her side and screw up the dish itself. "As long as she doesn't poison us, I suppose."

"There's always the chip shop in town." Aurora laughed. "Andy and I are committed to pretending we believe in her, though, so watch what you say."

"I'm a very good liar," she assured him. "She'll think it's the best thing I've ever tasted."

"Maybe don't go that far. She's still a realist."

Grinning, Aurora hauled her belongings back into her room. She had been back here a few times in the summer, but every time it felt stranger, more unusual; those two long summers she had spent living here felt like another world. She felt like a completely different person; remembering felt like clawing at the back of her mind, grasping for something that slipped through her fingers at every moment.

As Ted closed the door behind him and headed back downstairs, Aurora set about rearranging the books on her bedside table, putting her robes away. When she looked out the window she could still see the edge of the woods where she had first met her father in his dog-form. No matter how much time she spent here, she was now an irrevocably different person than she had been back then. That Aurora Black — who had not known the Euphemia in her middle name, who had no idea of her mother's name, who had despised her father and clung to the love of the dead — could never look out this window with these same eyes.

She supposed this was what it meant to grow up. To change. She still wasn't sure if she was entirely comfortable with that.

Once Aurora got everything sorted in the right places, she headed down to the living room with a book and a notepad Dora had gotten her — it came with its own ballpoint pen, and was a bit odd to write on, but very convenient for working in different places instead of at a desk. This book was a new one she wanted to dig into; or at least, new to her. It was actually about seventy years old, but held up pretty well.

Ted was watching the box he called television when she got downstairs. He had finally convinced Andromeda that they should get one and it had been proven unlikely to significantly interfere with any magic in the house, and certainly no more than the telephone did; it was a Muggle device, with permanently animated photos, in a form which they called 'videos'. Aurora didn't understand it, nor did she understand why they now had some massive grey plate hanging off the roof, which Ted said had been a nightmare to get someone to install. He was watching the news, which was a shame, because Aurora had been given the impression that the television offered many more exciting things than the information that a penguin at the zoo had gone missing for fifteen minutes and amused a group of American tourists.

"Andy and Dora'll be back in about a quarter of an hour," he said, glancing up at the clock with a warm smile. "Whatcha reading?"

"The Peculiarity of Early Medieval Spellcraft and its Use to the Modern Wizard."

"Any fun?"

"I don't think it was meant to be fun. But it does look interesting!"

"You're still reading up on this Hydrus Black fellow?"

"Well, I can't not." She crossed her legs, looking over at him. "It's weird. I just feel like I have to know everything before I can know anything. And right now, I can tell you that random eighth century Kentish man Ænulf cursed exactly three fingers of his brother's right hand to lose all their blood circulation, but I cannot come up with anything useful or relevant to the fact that I probably have an actual curse on me, or that the entire family might be cursed, too."

Ted digested all this with a curious look on his face. "Why did Ænulf do that?"

"Nobody knows."

"Hm. Well. What exactly are you doing, to research? I mean," he expanded, "you're reading all the time, but how do you judge beforehand if what you're reading is actually going to be useful?"

"Well, I don't. I don't know. Anything could be useful."

"But so far very little has been, right?"

Aurora nodded, a tad bit embarrassed. "I mean, I'm learning. I'm just no closer to finding any answers."

"How d'you research for your school essays, may I ask?" Ted said, frowning. "Things like History, Runes, especially."

"Well, I listen to my professors, first of all, unlike some people. But… I dunno, I just read about a topic. They're quite broad questions."

"That's it, then," Ted told her. "You need to narrow your search. You know, figure out what it is that you're actually trying to answer. Knowing what you know already — because I'm sure even if you're not confident in it, you do know a fair bit — what do you need to know? What do you think it could be?"

She chewed on her lip, uncertain. Aurora hated being uncertain. It didn't feel like her. "A blood curse. I know it's linked to death. At least, it's likely. Or to Hydrus Black. That's why I'm trying to read as much as I can about him, so I know."

"Is he early medieval?"

"No, but that'd be the precedent for the magic that he'd be using."

"Thing is, Hydrus Black did a lot in his lifetime, I'm sure. He was in William the Conqueror's army, you said, right?" She nodded. "He's probably cursed thousands of people. But if it's a family thing, the curse will affect his descendants. That's where you should be looking."

"But I don't understand curses enough yet."

"But you only really need to understand one curse," Ted reminded her, as the Floo sounded in the next room. "Or at least one subcategory — you have to work that out first. Or at least working backwards like that, might help. But," he added, glancing at the door and lowering his voice, "maybe don't mention this conversation to Andy. She's a bit on edge, what with Dora and whatever it is she won't explicitly tell us she's doing."

"Deal," Aurora said, hearing Andromeda and Dora's voices coming down the hall. "Thanks, Ted."

"Wotcher," Dora called as she tripped into the room, tugging her tie off and chucking it towards Aurora, who caught it deftly.

"Dora!"

"You need to improve your reflexes for Quidditch next year. Anyway, I'm starved, anyone know what's for tea?"

"You're in charge of making dinner."

"Ah, shit." She did not make any moves towards the kitchen, and instead flopped down on the couch next to Aurora, sprawled out and propping her legs up on Aurora's knees. "They made me wear a tie today. Had to give a report to Kingsley."

"What about?"

"Confirming a lack of increase in Dark magic activity in the midlands. To Kingsley, of all people. Bones reckoned we should do a check, put people's minds at ease about the whole You-Know-Who thing, just in case. Fudge said it was unnecessary, but Bones convinced some other council members it'd help prove their credibility, so." She shrugged. "What about you, munchkin? Enjoying having your godbrother back?"

"I hate him with my entire soul."

Dora clapped her on the shoulder and swung her legs back over the side of the couch. "That's the spirit! I'm off to make spaghetti bolognese."

"You don't have to prove a point," Andromeda said, wringing her hands together.

"It's gonna be great, Mum, just you wait! I'm considering a career change."

"Let's see if the kitchen's still standing first."

As it happened, Dora's food didn't give everybody food poisoning, or burn the kitchen down. This was considered a roaring success, and Dora would not stop talking about it all evening.

"I'm actually an adult now," she declared. "It's official."

"Is making spaghetti bolognese the mark of adulthood now?" Ted asked. "Not, y'know, turning seventeen? Or in your case, being twenty-two years of age?"

"It's making spaghetti bolognese," Aurora said. "My dad told me so, so it must be true."

Andromeda snorted. "And Sirius is the recognised authority on what constitutes adulthood."

"He's my hero," Dora sang, pleased with myself. "You'll tell him about my spaghetti when you see him next, right, Aurora. He needs to know. Remus, too."

"Course," Aurora said, grinning. "I'll be raving about it for at least the next six months, don't worry."

"It's what it deserves," Dora said, and all three — Aurora, Andromeda, and Ted — exchanged amused smirks that she pretended not to see.

-*

Aurora headed to Grimmauld Place in the early afternoon, having received a note from her father summoning her, to find the Weasleys doing some sort of chaotic dance around the kitchen table, cheering, "He got off, he got off, he got off!"

From the doorway, smirking, she drawled, "So, I'll have to put up with you back at Hogwarts after all, Potter?"

He turned, grinning, and yelled, "Sorry to let you down, Black! Turns out, you were right!"

"Well," she muttered, "that's some consolation. Are we having a party?"

That was certainly what it looked like. "The children are a bit excited," her father replied, though he too was beaming. "All charges were dropped, and Harry's absolutely fine. But, they tried him in front of the whole Wizengamot."

Aurora could hardly believe her ears. "They did what? That's ridiculous, why would they… Well, of course, but — they really wanted to make that much of a spectacle out of it? Anyone with a brain knows that it was never illegal."

"All part of the narrative," her father said briskly. "They brought in reporters afterwards and everything, but thankfully Harry didn't say anything to them."

Aurora shook her head. "One day soon, they're going to cross a line."

"Black!" Mad-Eye Moody's voice called from the other side of the room. "We've got some stuff here for you. Cleared out the drawing room the other day."

"That was a great day," Fred Weasley said in her ear, making her jump. "Filled with Doxies."

She eyed the box Moody was holding with suspicion. "He hasn't got Doxies in that, has he?"

"Only one way to find out. If they bite you, can we get the venom?"

"No," she said shortly, and went over to Moody with a sigh.

The box was filled with small items salvaged from the rather disused drawing room, which included a music box, a sparklingly clean quillpot of what appeared to be blood, and a strange, ornate locket.

There was something wrong with it, Aurora could tell immediately. Around her neck, her own snake necklace felt tighter and Julius coiled up in silence, stiff and cold. "That thing's definitely cursed," she told Moody, her head spinning slightly. "I don't know what…" There was a shadow around it, creeping. Like Death, but not; grey instead of black, curling into cloudy white. "I'll move this to the Manor with Dora before we head home tonight. Unless you have any really pressing concerns?"

Moody shrugged and peered into the box. "Music box should be avoided, but the quillpot'll be fine so long as you don't open it. I could tell there's something enchanted about the locket, but nothing I've dealt with, and it doesn't seem to be doing any harm to anyone. You good with curses?"

"We couldn't open the locket," Molly said. "It had us all puzzled."

"Probably just old. Nothing in it, far as I can see — and I can see pretty well. Still, if Black thinks there's something wrong?"

"No," she said hurriedly, "I'm sure it's fine. I can sometimes tell if there's Dark magic around something, but it could have been exposed to anything. Still…" She didn't want it around. Didn't want it anywhere near her. Looking at it made her feel like her body had been flipped inside out, her heart had beaten its way through her ribs, her blood was rushing so quickly it was tearing against her skin. "Best to get it out of here. Away from humans. I'll pop it in the study for now and bring the box to the Manor with me later." She made to leave, then remembered herself; she turned back with a force smile and said, "Thank you for this, Molly, cleaning up this place and looking after it."

It felt like a ridiculous thing to say; as soon as she had spoken, Aurora felt uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly on the spot.

"Oh." Molly looked surprised. Aurora's nerves tumbled through her. Then, she smiled. "Thank you, dear. We've all got to do our bit, for the Order, and this is mine."

She didn't want to tell Molly you're welcome, because she wasn't. But at least giving her a compliment seemed to warm the woman again. And at least this one was warranted; she was, on this occasion, respecting Aurora's boundaries more than she had anticipated, and she wanted — needed — that to continue. Aurora nodded stiffly and Molly hurried over to scold her children for being too loud.

"Buttering up Mrs Weasley then?" Moody asked when she was out of earshot.

"I'm trying to get along with people, sir," she told him in response. "My dad calls it conflict resolution. He's been reading about it in a book Andromeda gave him."

"Good man," Moody grunted. "Always has been."

"Mhmm." Aurora placed the box down on top of a cabinet, trying not to remind Moody that he had said nothing about her father being a 'good man' when he was captured by Aurors and sent to prison. "Everything alright, Professor?"

"Not really your professor anymore," he reminded her, watching her closely. Aurora still couldn't feel comfortable with his roving bright-blue eye. Like he could see straight through her. "You ever wondered if you've got an affinity for curses, darker magic?"

It seemed like a trap the moment he asked, though his face was unreadable. "I… I haven't necessarily considered it an option. But I suppose my family, generally, does, so it's likely I do too. But I haven't used any, if that's what you're asking."

"A lot of us have used magic considered dark at some point. There are different shades of dark — bit more nuanced than just the Unforgivables."

"I know," she said a bit defensively, "there are many tiers of moral intent and effect—"

"I already gave you an O on your exam, Black, you don't have to tell me again. It was a good exam — practical could have used a bit work, though. You're a strong duellist, but a confused one. I can often tell where a student's proclivities are, for the sort of magic they want to use. You never seemed sure." He nodded to the box. "You could tell it was cursed, just by looking at it?"

"I could feel it. It's just… It feels wrong. But I can't just do that normally, and if I have it's usually for a family heirloom or something like that. It's probably more likely that I can just sense family magic, which is often Dark magic or curses because… Well. You know."

He nodded, wrinkling his nose, then shrugged. "If you say so. Something to look out for, though. The Aurors are always looking for people with a knack for detecting Dark magic."

"I don't really see myself as an Auror," Aurora said. "But, thank you?"

Moody shrugged. His magic eye still whirred, staring at her, and the feeling of its scrutinous gaze had Aurora rooted to the spot. Seconds ticked passed, frozen in time, as the Weasleys kept on cheering and Potter kept on laughing. "Just make sure you mind and take that back with you. And that Auror Tonks doesn't drop it."

Aurora chuckled. "I'll keep a tight grip of it."

A momentary silence, before Aurora headed back towards her father, who was talking with Remus and Harry. "What's the story, then?" she asked, slipping into a seat between them.

"Malfoy was at the Ministry," Harry said, throwing her a dark glance.

"Abraxas?"

"No, Lucius."

"Oh. Well, he does have business there—"

"No, you don't understand, he was outside my courtroom, talking to Fudge. And he was taunting us, he knew everything, I'm sure."

Aurora frowned. "That is odd. Did you hear much of what they were saying?" Potter shook his head.

"They went up to Fudge's office. We've let Dumbledore know. I wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy's controlling Fudge."

"Fudge has always been controlled by money," Aurora said lightly, to Harry's surprise. "But yes, you're right, this is a worry."

Potter opened his mouth to speak, then winced, clapping a hand to his forehead. Aurora frowned at him; it wasn't the first time he had responded like that recently. It was getting worse, she knew it was. But she didn't think even Potter yet understood why.

-*

Aurora was in the midst of her Charms homework, two days later, when the letter arrived with the Nott family seal on the back, shimmering deep blue wax. She tore it open there at her bedroom desk, already somehow knowing what it would say, deep in her chest.

Dear Lady Black,

My mother passed away two days ago. We brought her back home, so she was at least comfortable when she passed. I was with her.

The funeral will be held this Sunday. I know you may not feel comfortable coming, given some of the other guests, but I assure you it will be safe, and people will be in attendance from across political allegiances. It would really mean a lot to me if you would be there, but I understand if you cannot be.

Regards,

Theodore Nott, Jr.

He had been there; had he held his mother's hand like she had held Arcturus's, had he watched her still and come to a stop, had he heard her last words and held his breath until they sank in and were imprinted on his heart?

The reply was a simple answer. She would be there, however she managed it. She had cried and grieved alone, feeling as if nobody in the world understood her; she would not let her friend do the same, if she could help it.

It took some convincing of her father over dinner that evening. "Theodore is one of my closest friends," she told him. "You've met him, last year, when Pansy was over and he turned up with Draco."

Potter made a scornful noise and she whipped around to glare at him. "Don't make such noises. He isn't like… Theo's a really good person. And he's my friend and I hate that he has to go through this, and if he wants me to be there, then I will. End of. I know it might be difficult to make it work safely, but we will make it work. The MacMillans are going, and the Abbotts. And no one's going to hurt me at a funeral."

"I wouldn't take such things for granted."

"I'm going! It's really important to me, Dad, please. You… Someone can come with me if you really insist, even though it'd be uncomfortable — and to be honest I think I'd be less of a target alone, not that anyone would target me at this event anyway — but I'm going."

Her father tilted his head, frowning. "This means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

"Theodore is my friend. And I'm the only one of our group who has gone through something similar like this. He needs me. Robin Oliphant will be going, he's Theodore's best friend, I can stick with him and his parents if need be. They're not at all political."

Her father chewed on his lip, considering this before he said, "I want to talk to Andromeda and Ted about this."

She sighed. "Fine."

"I'm not saying no. I completely understand why you feel you need to go. We just need to make sure you'll be safe."

"But I can go?" He nodded, and she sighed in relief. "Thank you. I've already told Theo I'll be there."

"Of course you have." He gestures to her still full plate. "Eat up, Aurora."

-*

She took the Floo from the Manor to Nott Hall, in the hopes that by doing so — and keeping up the Manor's tight Floo restrictions — she would not expose either her father or the order's location. It would throw anyone who was looking for them, off the scent, if they had any suspicions about Aurora hiding the order, though she currently had nothing to suggest that they were.

Aurora had heard seven times that morning the appropriate course of action if anything went wrong, or if she was put in danger. It was now impossible for her to forget it, which was the point, but she did not like to feel coddled. Even if her father and Dora's concern was completely understandable.

The Notts' Floo had been fully opened that day; their front hall was filled with people when Aurora arrived, so much so that her arrival was noted only by a couple of stray glances thrown in her direction. It was better that way, she felt. She did not want to draw attention to herself, only to find Theo and her friends and make sure he had everyone he needed there to support him.

She slipped through the crowd with gentle murmurs of, "Excuse me," until she spied Robin Oliphant standing with his mother, both of them looking uncomfortable and nervous. Robin noticed her and waved, hailing her over. Near them, she spied Daphne Greengrass with her sister and Flora and Hestia Carrow, all dressed in matching sets of ruffled black robes. Daphne caught her eye and smiled faintly, then looked away.

"Aurora," Robin said with surprising warmth, giving her a quick hug as she approached. "Mum, this is Lady Aurora Black."

"You've never called me lady in my life," she said, giving him a sharp look.

"Well, it's… Formal. Anyway, this is my mum."

"Elspeth," Mrs Oliphant said, shaking Aurora's hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Aurora," she said, forcing a smile. "Robin, have you seen Theo anywhere yet?"

He shook his head. "I think he's somewhere with Malfoy and Zabini. Daphne Greengrass said something about a parlour, but he doesn't want to see anyone. I didn't know whether to go find him or not, but, I think the two of them have it covered."

Aurora wasn't convinced, but there was nothing she could do. "Alright. I'll go and say hello to Daphne, but I'll be back in a moment. Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Oliphant."

She smiled and then made her way over to the knot of girls in their matching robes, feeling abnormally uncomfortable. Daphne, seeing Aurora, caught her arm and tugged her into their group, a hint of surprise in her gaze as she whispered in Aurora's ear, "I didn't think you would come."

She drew back, blinking at her in that same surprise. "Of course I did. Theo asked me to."

Flora's eyes narrowed, and Aurora tried to ignore it. Daphne gave her an appraising look, then said in a quiet voice, "Good. Well, I'm glad. Pansy and Lucille are with their families still and there's no sign of Millie, but the boys went with Theo and, if you ask me, he needs everyone here who can be."

She gave a sad smile, looking around for their friend. Daphne's gaze was trained intently upon her, as though trying to decipher something. It was uncomfortable, really, but Aurora forced herself to push past it and ask, "You don't think we should go and find him, then?"

Daphne exchanged looks with her cousin. "I think it might be better to hang on. I haven't seen the others yet."

But as she said it, Aurora spied Draco coming through the doors with Pansy and Blaise at his side. Lucille seemed to have noticed them too; she appeared behind Aurora like a ghost, making her jump, just as her cousin came to her shoulder.

"How is he, then?" Lucille asked, straight to the point of the matter.

"He's alright," Draco said with a shrug. "I mean, he's not great, but. He'll manage."

"Where is he?" Aurora asked, frowning.

"Gone to find his siblings. They have to lead in front of the coffin and everything. His sister's upset, so he's dealing with that, too."

Blaise sighed and added, "I think he'd manage better if he didn't have to deal with so many people."

"Mhm." Lucille pursed her lips, looking around. "I do hate funerals."

"I don't think they're meant to be fun," Aurora drawled, earning a sharp look.

"Hello," came Millie's voice before Lucille could retort. "Gosh, I've been trying to find you lot — I take it someone's seen Theodore?" She turned and blinked as she noticed Aurora. "I didn't think you'd come."

"I've gotten that a lot today." She tried to make her voice sound nonchalant, but the annoyance cut through. "Theo invited me."

"I think we assumed it wasn't his grandfather," Blaise drawled, and Aurora glared at him.

"No matter — I'm trying not to draw attention so if we could avoid making a big deal out of it, that'd be grand."

She met Pansy's eyes, pleading, and her friend nodded. "It's a good turnout," Pansy went on, "which is nice. My mother's been awfully upset about the whole thing; she and Mrs Nott were closer when they were younger of course, before all that happened with her family. She'll be glad we're all here for Theodore; she did ask if Aurora would be coming, but she's missed you all." Aurora decided now was not the time to mention that, whether Rosebelle Parkinson missed her daughter's best friend or not, she had not seen fit to invite her to their family's annual gala last week. "Matilda must have been awfully lonely, dying here."

This house, with its million rooms and winding corridors and high ceilings, so empty and so quiet. Today was likely the busiest it had been in years. The Notts rarely hosted anything; Arcturus and Lucretia both had thought Lord Albert rather miserable. And for them to think someone else miserable for a lack of parties, was quite a statement.

"My mother wanted to visit, too," Draco admitted. "But the last she saw Mrs Nott was Merlin's Day, I think." Everyone else nodded their agreement, whispered about Matilda Nott's confinement and privacy and how awful it must be, and Aurora stood and was quiet because she realised she had nothing to contribute other than her own memory of the woman.

The procession starting up might have been a relief, if she had known where to start. Her friends all filtered off to their respective families, but she had lost sight of the Oliphants, and for a moment she stood, stranded, until Draco tugged her by the arm and took her to stand with Narcissa, Lucius, and Abraxas. Narcissa looked somewhat relieved to see her, but the other two were anything but. Lucius raised his eyebrows in that cold and haughty way, as though he would rather see right through her to the ground beneath; Abraxas wrinkled his nose, but made no sound except a light tut. It was not a time to make a scene, at least.

She kept close to Draco, though Narcissa murmured, "Afternoon, Aurora," and she smiled faintly.

"I'm sorry about Mrs Nott," she told her elder cousin, "I know you were good friends."

Narcissa looked away but Aurora was sure she could see the glimmer of some tears in her eyes. "We were. It seems I am running out of those, in recent years."

Low pipe music started up as the doors were thrown open to the garden. Aurora was too short to see over everyone's heads, but she knew Theo would be at the front, and as they began to move and turn she caught sight of him, for just a moment, and wished she could do anything to make this less than the hell she knew it was going to be.

It was, at least, a lovely service. The Nott family had a small private burial plot outside a ring of trees, in the furthest edges of their land. There were only a few graves there — Aurora supposed they had another plot somewhere nearby, or at one of their other properties — and the most recent was Irina, Theo's late grandmother. A space was laid between her and Matilda's grave, which had already had flowers laid at its head, two crossed sprigs of white gladiolus.

The vicar said the usual things and pipe music was played, and then Theo stepped forward, shaking, and Aurora's heart broke for him as he read the eulogy. His voice stumbled on every sentence, but he kept on, kept staring at the coffin laid next to the open grave, like the sight of it was the only thing tethering him to this place. Up there, his light hair shining in the sunlight and his pale eyes glimmering with tears, he seemed almost a mirage, not fully present.

He was crying as they lowered the coffin — he and his grandfather and brothers, and two of his uncles, both of whom were on the Nott side of the family — yet when his grandfather clapped him on the shoulder, Aurora could see him forcing himself to stop. Perhaps those were the words his grandfather whispered in his ear, while everyone else's heads were bowed. Words so like those which Aurora had grown up hearing — which they all had, really — but which she suddenly couldn't stand to imagine being used against someone else she cared about. Especially not now. Especially not Theo. Don't cry.

They held the wake in the garden, in sunlight and the dappled shade of ancient oak trees. Aurora clung to her friends alternatively, but mainly Blaise, whose mother didn't mind the presence of a half-blood likely to be on the opposing side of their brewing war. The Zabinis would keep out of the conflict and claw their way to the top of whatever new food chain emerged at the end. Robin and his mother joined them; Elspeth got on well with Estelle, strangely; they chatted away while Aurora, Robin, and Blaise lurked in the shade from a tree.

She was fairly certain Blaise had wine in his glass, but decided it was not her business to find out. She sipped on her own pumpkin juice — which was, admittedly, growing rather boring — as Blaise inundated her with questions about her summer and demonstrated a policy of ignorance towards the purpose of their being here, and the purpose of her being stuck with him after escaping the Malfoys' sharp eyes.

"I do think the sun has done your complexion some good," Blaise told her, and she gave a wry smile in response.

"You're too kind, Zabini."

"But this drought is simply unholy, and the heat — well, I hate sweating. I imagine you're used to it with Quidditch, but I cannot stand it."

"Invest in a fan?"

"Oh, but then that would be yet another inconvenience, to get rid of a convenience which everyone is always excited to discuss."

"I'm not."

Blaise sighed, and Aurora let the silence linger as he decided on a new topic of conversation. "Lady Avery's shoes?" he suggested, and she hummed, gaze honing in on the stiletto atrocities halfway across the garden, their owner in deep conversation with Lady Caradas, who looked rather displeased at the situation.

"They are a little ostentatious." They were black, but glittery, and had bows on them. "And for a funeral."

"Lady Avery didn't know Mrs Nott very well," Blaise said as though that both explained and justified the choice of footwear.

"Clearly she doesn't know any good stylists, either."

Blaise snorted, but then something caught his eye and he sobered. "Theo's on his own."

Aurora turned sharply, following his gaze to a bench under a solitary tree at the edge of the garden, far from anyone, where a figure could just be seen sitting in the shadows. "Should we go talk to him?" she asked, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Robin looked distinctly uncomfortable. "What do we say? He — his letter told me basically nothing. I don't think he wants to talk about it. And we're not exactly… Sentimental, the two of us."

Aurora rolled her eyes. "He's your best friend, Oliphant. You should talk to him."

Blaise shook his head. "To be honest, Draco and I weren't great at helping earlier. I think he just wanted away from us." Aurora rolled her eyes and shook her head. "He'll be better off alone."

But she couldn't leave him, and she didn't believe Blaise was right. "I could go."

Blaise weighed this for a moment, and Aurora scanned the garden to see if anyone else was making moves towards the eldest Nott boy, if anyone had even noticed his pain amongst everything else in the garden. Eventually, Blaise shrugged. "Rather you than me, but I doubt it'll do much to help."

Well, she thought, maybe not, but she could not stay here and not try. With another roll of her eyes, she handed her drink to Blaise and made off over the garden, towards Theo's forlorn figure under the tree.

He was staring into space, and barely seemed to notice her approaching. The only signs that he did were the slight nod of his head, and the shift to the side so there was space for her to sit. When Aurora did sit, sweeping her robes beneath her, she knew nothing of what to say. Perhaps, she thought, she should put her arm around him, then worried that was too affectionate, and then worried that simply sitting here saying and doing nothing was worse than anything she could say or do, and so she opted to put her hand on his shoulder, and let it rest there for a second.

"Do you want to talk?" she asked. "Or would you rather be alone right now?"

Theo shook his head. "I don't know what I can say, to be honest. I think I've run out of words. But," he added, as Aurora moved slightly, worrying she had made the wrong decision in coming over, "I'd rather you… Stayed?"

"Of course," Aurora told him, squeezing his shoulder. "I imagine you need someone to scare away anyone else who comes to bother you, right?"

"Exactly." Theo didn't manage a smile, but that was alright. He wanted her here, and if her presence brought him even a little comfort, here she would be. "You've a great glare, Lady Black."

"I like to think so," she said lightly, and they lapsed into silence, as Theo leaned ever closer to her, slouching as though exhausted. As their shoulders brushed together, she felt a tremble go through her, the urge to do something else, something more; to help him.

They stared across the garden, their gazes following the lightly rippling breeze in the grass. When Aurora felt Theo's tears fall, she said nothing, but moved her arm to sit around him, in what she hoped was a comforting manoeuvre. He sagged against her, and let out a light, but pained, sob.

"This was her favourite spot," he said. "No one here knows that. She used to — to sit out here and read to me, when I was little. I'd get her to read Babbity Rabbity over and over again." Aurora nodded, humming as if she knew Babbity Rabbity at all. Theo paused for a moment, silent, and then curled in on himself a bit. Rather, he curled closer to Aurora, and she held onto him tighter. She was sure someone must have noticed them by now, but didn't care what Albert Nott or any other lord thought right now. None of them had come to comfort Theo, none of them cared. If Lord Nott wasn't going to show a speck of decency to his grandson, Aurora would make sure he had the best support she could give.

"It was a lovely service, you know," she told Theo, and he laughed.

"I've heard that fifty times."

"I know," she said, "but still. You, um… You did really well, giving the eulogy. I couldn't."

"I messed it up. I missed out lines I just…"

"No one noticed. And I'm sure she knows it all, anyway."

Theo gave that little light hum again, gaze roaming over the crowded garden. There was silence, for a moment, punctuated by a laugh from his grandfather which pierced the chatter and made Theo flinch.

He asked, rather suddenly, "Are you afraid of death?"

It was such an odd question and yet made perfect sense to be asked. "I don't know," was her honest answer. "I think I'm afraid more of the people I love dying than of death itself. Maybe I'd be more afraid if I didn't know there was something beyond this life, but…"

Theo took a long moment to respond. Aurora let him work through his thoughts in their quiet bubble. "She was scared, I think. She pretended not to be, but I knew." Aurora nodded. "I miss her," he said, and as another sob wrenched its way out of him, Aurora tugged him closer, held him in a tight hug. It may have made him cry more, but he clung to her in a way that suggested he needed it, and she was determined to keep him like this, holding onto whatever he needed to hold onto, until he was ready. "It all hit me, when we were in France. That I just don't know how to live without my mum. That I'm going to have so much I want to tell her and never be able to; I won't get to see her smile or laugh at whatever I've said, or hear her advice. I'll never know what she thinks of my future."

"I know," Aurora whispered, for all it was all she could manage to say. "And it's going to hurt, Theo, I won't lie. It's going to hurt so much until you, somehow, impossibly, get used to it; and then that fact is going to hurt, too."

He shook his head, bumping her chin as he did so. He was shaking again, crying, and so Aurora held him tighter, as though by force of will she could hold him together and shield him from everything that was to come.

"I don't think I can keep talking," Theo admitted in the quiet, whispered against her shoulder.

"That's alright," Aurora assured him. "Would you like me to talk? Or have some quiet?"

"Quiet'll make me cry again."

"You're allowed to cry, Theodore."

"I know. But — I don't know. I'm not really sure what to do," he admitted. "With my siblings. Wilfred refuses to acknowledge it and the other two can't do anything but think about it and neither can I."

"Everyone has their ways of coping."

"I know. I know, I just…"

She merely nodded as he trailed off, feeling that endless reign of uncertainty inside herself too. Coping with grief was not something that one merely did; it was a constant balancing act, between life and death and memory, the past and present and future all at war in the mind. He turned back to her, with a light frown. "How did you do it? Manage it, when the whole world is just, wrong?"

"I didn't. Not as well as I thought, anyway. When Arcturus died, I didn't really have anyone except Lucretia and Ignatius anyway, but I still lashed out, at the Malfoys — that didn't go well. Then I had to force myself to get on with it, but I wasn't alright, not really. I think I was angry for a very long time, and didn't want to acknowledge it as such. And when Lucretia and Ignatius died, I pulled away from everyone. Lashed out again. Forced myself to fixate on other things so I could ignore the fact that I didn't know how to exist on my own. I was a little monster for a while, to be honest."

Theo let out a watery laugh. "You scared me a bit, back then."

"Did I? Well, I suppose I was a bit… Out of my own control, for a while, I think. It got easier when Andromeda and Ted took me in. I knew I had somewhere to belong, but even then, not really for a while.

"But grief, Theo, it's not something you can think your way out of feeling, no matter how much you want to. And whatever you're feeling, Theo, you are more than allowed to feel that. Anger and all."

"Yeah." His laugh was hollow. "Definitely anger. My grandfather just — he let it happen. And I think, maybe I should have stayed home from school, maybe I should have done more, said fuck it when he refused to bring in the Healers and done it anyway. I should have been better. She would have done anything for me and I couldn't save her."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I know that! But I still could have done something. I just keep thinking of all the what ifs. If I'd only convinced my grandfather, or snuck her out to St. Mungo's, or come home from Hogwarts and looked after her when he wouldn't. But I — I know he… He didn't care. He hated her."

He looked up, and for the first time seemed to truly look at his grandfather, eyes blazing. "I hate him for what he's done."

"You don't—"

"I do," he said, hands curling into fists. "He's a monster." She didn't know what to say to that.

"I sometimes think my mum's the only reason I have any good in me at all. I certainly don't get it from my father's side of the family. I don't know who I'm going to be now. And I don't know how I'm going to do all this, today, talking to everyone there, people I don't know of only barely know, how I'm going to find anything to say to anyone."

"You're going to be Theodore," Aurora said. She couldn't help but wonder what was easier; dealing with hundreds of people at a funeral, or dealing with hardly any as she had for her family. Perhaps they were both equally as difficult in their own ways. "As for this, today... You say thank you," she said softly, "and you listen and you — you try to force yourself through it. And I know that's not what you want to hear, but there's no way to say the right things. Funerals are pleasantries and they're meant to be soothing, but I've never really felt that they are. I'm probably the wrong person to give advice, to be honest." She wished he had asked Daphne, or Draco or Blaise or anyone, wished he could be with someone who said the right things, who was capable of pleasantries and soft words. Her stomach turned as Theo regarded her, confused. "I'm sorry. That sounded harsh, didn't it? I didn't mean—"

"I don't know how to just run on instinct," Theo told her, "my instinct's always to say the wrong thing."

"I don't think that's true."

"And this isn't about me. There are people grieving and people who have expectations for my grief. But you're right — there are no proper words. What's right for me is wrong for everyone else. No one wants to know how I'm really feeling."

"I do," she said, swiftly. "And Robin and Draco and Blaise and Pansy and Daphne, we all do. Your brothers and sister do. Just, sometimes, it's easier to go through the motions until you find the people you can let them go with. I mean, it isn't easy, none of it's easy… I'm sorry," she said again, "I'm no good at this."

"Thank you," Theo said, before she could apologise again for the twisting of her gut and the heat of guilty embarrassment flaring through her. She should be able to do more, but she didn't know how. "No one else is ever honest about it. They're too nice."

Too nice. Aurora's stomach twisted. Was she not nice? She had never cared much for being nice, and supposed she wasn't always, but she wanted to be now. She wanted to be whatever Theo needed her to be. "I'm—"

"Kinder," Theo cut her off. "By being honest. A lot more helpful." Yet, she felt, nothing could really help. "So." He shook his head, swallowing. "Thank you."

They sat in silence a moment longer, the heat of the day stifling even in the shade. "I'm sorry," was all Aurora could manage to say. "About all of this. I know you'll have heard so a million times but… I am. I understand."

"I know," Theo said, straightening up. "I should check in on my siblings, then make the rounds. Mrs Malfoy wants to speak to me, Draco was quite anxious about it."

"Okay," she said quietly, getting to her feet. "Would you like me to join you, will you be alright?"

"No, I — I think I'd better go round alone. But thank you, Aurora. For everything."

"Of course," she said. "Are you sure you'll be alright?

All Theo could do was shrug. "I'll have to try to be, won't I?"

It was all anyone could ever do, until they were. As she watched him go, Aurora was reminded of that day four years ago at Arcturus' funeral, when she had lost control of her own emotions and yelled at Lucius Malfoy to leave her alone. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment to remember it now. To go through that sort of heartbreak again, she wasn't sure she could bear it. And yet she knew, it might soon be an inevitability. For all of them.