Potter annoyed Aurora for days following his second round of detentions. Apparently Weasley and Hermione were getting on his nerves more and more. He kept using the word understand, as if Aurora wanted to be the one to understand him. From what she could determine, his friends kept trying to tell him what to do, and what to tell people, and he could tell that they did not feel the same fear, the same need to act, as he did. Aurora was a quiet ear, listening just enough that he felt he was heard, but not enough that she had to reply and say something he didn't want to hear. She couldn't tell him that she had always thought Weasley was annoying and Granger an interfering busybody, though she had grown more tolerable over the past few years.

"They can't do anything but argue," Potter muttered, while sat next to Aurora in the library, as he fiddled with a quill and she tried to unravel a complex Norse saga written entirely in Runes. "Or complain, especially Ron."

"That's awful," she said blandly, trying to decide between a translation of fort or hall.

"And they want me to… Well, they're nuts. They don't know what it's like, they think it's just learning, somethig that can be taught… Everything I've escaped has been luck."

"Mhmm."

He sighed loudly. "Do you think I'm being stupid about Umbridge?"

"Yes. I thought that was obvious. But I understand what you're trying to do. You're just going about it wrong, like I said."

He glared at her, and Aurora held her hands up. "You asked, Potter. I don't like her teaching methods either, and I don't think only learning theory is going to best equip me for my exam, but you're not going to convince her by causing a stir. Listen," she lowered her voice, aware of the relative quiet around them, "I know it's frustrating. She is awful. But she doesn't need to know if you're practicing hexes and jinxes on your own in your dorm, and she can't control what books you check out of the library. Yet, anyway, I wouldn't put it past her to try. Your voice still has power, too, again, but you're not using it right. You won't even tell Dumbledore what she's doing."

"And when was the last time you used your voice?"

She looked away and did not answer. "My voice isn't the important one here."

Potter scoffed, then went quiet. A moment later, he said, "Hermione thinks we should be teaching ourselves Defense. Or, well… She and Ron want me to teach them."

"That makes sense," she agreed, shrugging. When Potter stared at her, she expanded, "You're good at it. You were top of the class last year and third year, and top in Duelling Club. Why don't you want to help?"

"They don't just want me to teach them. They want to start a club…"

Ah. That was a bit trickier, Aurora felt, not least because if — or rather when — Umbridge found it, she would certainly take it as an attack. "Are you going to?"

"I don't know. I've been thinking about it. It'd really show her, but, I don't want loads of people bothering me."

"That's a very fair concern. People are very bothersome."

"Be serious, Black." She tried not to laugh; as soon as he cottoned on, Potter scowled to disguise his own smile. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, alright. Well, I think in theory it's a good and necessary idea, but it's inevitable that it'll get you into trouble. There's a reason the Ministy doesn't want people learning to defend themselves. Making it a bigger thing is dangerous."

"Would you join?"

"Am I invited?"

Potter shrugged. "Dunno. Hermione's been telling people about it but I've not really had anything to do with it."

As Hermione had not mentioned anything of the sort to Aurora, she assumed that she was not invited. "Well, if I thought it would be allowed, perhaps. But I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"You're just scared to get into trouble."

"Yes," Aurora said honestly. "But, you do what you think is best. It's your choice, Potter. And I'll decide how I feel when things are clearer."

Potter chewed on his lip and turned to the blank piece of parchment he had been staring at all afternoon. Pleased to have some quiet, but somewhat troubled by the conversation, Aurora went back to her runes.

There was nothing more said of secret Defense Against the Dark Arts clubs, and Aurora was glad of it. It seemed designed to get them all into trouble and that was the last thing she could be doing with now.

Her birthday came in quickly at the end of September, just over a week before the first Hogsmeade trip, when her father had arranged to meet up with her.

In truth, Aurora had half-forgotten about her birthday until it was upon her, and Draco and Pansy were handing her a new pair of Quidditch gloves over the table at breakfast.

"You're getting old, Black," Robin called down the table, with an exaggerated shudder. "Sixteen!"

"And I still look better than you, Oliphant. Thank you, you two," she said, and grinned as she tried them on. They were soft leather, warm against her skin, but moulded you her so well that she was still as agile as if using her own hands.

"Here," Gwen told her, handing over a wicker basket filled with chocolates and books and a new violet quill. "From me, Theo, and Robin, who says he'll pretend he had nothing to do with it."

It did unnerve her to think that her friends were now giving her gifts as couples, but Aurora tried to put that thought out of her mind. "Thank you," Aurora said again, skimming over the mix of magical and Muggle titles. "Especially you, Oliphant." He gave a mocking salute and grinned.

Aurora had just laid the presents precariously together in her lap when her father and the Tonkses' owls swooped down, along with another, less familiar one, all of them bearing presents. Most were in plain brown paper, but her father of course had found the most ostentatious sparkly green wrapping paper on earth. She shook her head fondly as she took it from the owl; she had told him the trunk was plenty for a present, but he had always said he intended to spoil her enough for thirteen years and it seemed he was determined to keep to that.

Inside the box from her father was a new, deep green, soft velvet cloak, fur-lined with silver embroidery, shimmering under the light of the Great Hall's ceiling. With it was a book entitled, Dark Spirits: A Guide to the Dark Arts and the Monsters of Death, with a note that said, From Remus. Aurora wasn't sure how he knew that was exactly what she wanted to dig into reading, but she was very glad that he did. As for the cloak, it was beautiful under her fingertips, and when she held it to her chest, Aurora couldn't help but smile. The note her father had enclosed with it read: I know you've already gotten something, but I can't let you stay cold without a new cloak all the way until Christmas, and I saw you looking at this the last time we were in Diagon Alley. Happy birthday, sweetheart, I can't wait to see you next weekend.

She smiled as she folded it carefully in her lap, reaching for the hamper the Tonkses had sent over, full of her favourite foods and a creatively decorated cake by Dora. Dora also seemed to have snuck in a bottle of firewhiskey, stating it was for her next big Quidditch victory. Aurora was quick to hide that, though Gwen noted it with a sly grin. Shaking her head, Aurora placed her cloak over the hamper and then reached for the final parcel, which she was sure was a book. The cover was blank, a clean black leather with sharp, crisp corners and pressed pages. Frowning, Aurora took the card that lay on top.

Dear Aurora,

I hope you don't mind me sending this too much, or think I'm overstepping. I know you've been reluctant to get to know me, though I hope this past summer has made things easier.

First of all, I wish you a happy birthday. I think I really ought to have wished you that many times before. I know this year is difficult, but try to smile, and make sure your dad knows you're okay. He misses you a lot, and he worries.

You might have opened your present already, and wondered why I gave it to you. If not, well, spoilers, but you could really just open it. Even if this arrives early.

When I was young, my mum always made me keep a diary. When I came to Hogwarts, for our first Christmas, I gave a diary as a present to Marlene, to write something in every day. The next year, I gave one to every girl in our dorm, and Marlene quite strongly enforced that we all write every day. I think she cared more about the diaries than writing her homework, because we'd all share things we'd written, thoughts we wanted to muddle over more. When the war got worse, Marlene wrote more and more and more; her way of dealing with her emotions, she said. She wrote songs in composition books, lines in the margins of her notes, and only revealed this to any of us when I borrowed her Defense notes for the first time and noticed a lyric there.

Some of those diaries, I'm sorry to say, burned in the fire at her parents' house. There were a few which I managed to salvage after your father was sent to Azkaban. I had to fight the Ministry to even let me in the door, to let me keep safe the things that I thought you would one day need, or want to see. Back then, I'd thought that day would be a lot sooner than it was. I underestimated the power of the House of Black.

The diaries, I still have in my attic. I managed to save some of the diaries from all four of the girls in our dorm — Marlene, Lily, Mary, and Dorcas. They're all in a box together. I tried reading one once and couldn't bring myself to continue after a page. All of them died in the last war. I have always regretted that I did not fight with them, and hope one day I will have the chance to finally be brave, like they were, and to do right by the future we all believed in so badly.

If you would ever like to see the diaries, you only need to ask. Most of Marlene's belongings are now with your dad, as you know, but these I wanted to hang onto, and I asked him not to mention it to you until I was ready to have that discussion — I hope you don't mind that.

Anyway, I think Marlene would have wanted you to continue the diaries, and even if not, I think it is something that might help you as it helped all of us. I know you are a reader by nature, but writing can be therapeutic, when you don't know where else to turn. It can be used for anything, not just to document your day but your thoughts, your hopes, your emotions, the random ideas for spells or essays that come to you but that you don't want to commit to working out fully just yet. Or, you don't have to use it at all, if you don't want to. I just think it might be good for you.

This diary is enchanted so that it will only open at your touch. Give you a bit of privacy.

I hope you use it well, for whatever purpose. Have a good day, as good as you can manage. I might see you at Christmas, if you'd like that.

Yours,

Hestia Jones

A diary. Aurora had never kept a diary before, had never dared to write down the thoughts that she was not yet ready to commit to. Nobody had ever suggested it to her, for who in her family would see the need to spill out their innermost thoughts and fears and emotions? Her mother had done it. It had helped her.

Writing lyrics, Hestia had said. Scribbling in the margins. It was something that felt so desperately human, and alive, that Aurora for a moment did not know how to reconcile that with her mother, and the thought became so overwhelming that she forgot everybody was watching her to see what this last gift was.

Draco cleared his throat and Aurora blinked, heart steadying. "A diary," she said quickly. "From, um, a family friend. Nothing special."

She wrapped the paper back around it and stowed it and the card safely in the Tonkses' hamper, before quickly eating the last of her breakfast and standing up. "I'd better get this to our room before classes start; I'm not sure Professor Vector will be too pleased with me if I bring it into Arithmancy with me."

"I'll come with you," Gwen said, clearly thinking of the firewhiskey. Aurora flashed her a smile, thanked and hugged everybody again, and headed back down to the dungeons.

"Firewhiskey?" Gwen asked once there was nobody around. "Get in!"

"For special occasions," Aurora said primly. "And I really don't think I'm meant to have it, so don't tell anyone." Gwen grinned. "There's plenty in there, though. I'm thinking we go all out Friday night, maybe ask Pansy and Leah round for a little after-dinner party?"

"Sounds scandalous," Gwen whispered. "Secret parties!"

"I think we're well overdue," Aurora said with a laugh. "As long as you're not opposed?"

"I saw that cake," Gwen reminded her giddily. "I am absolutely in."

They hid the hamper under Aurora's bed, placed the rest of the gifts on the shelves beside it, and hung the cloak up in her wardrobe. Aurora held onto the diary, running her hand over its smooth pages. There was something alluring about the idea of just spilling one's thoughts onto a blank page and suffering no repercussions, feeling utterly free to say whatever she wanted.

She wondered, too, what her mother's diaries had said. She had yet to decide how she felt about Hestia having them all these years, yet, who else could have held onto them?

The diary lay in her bag all day, nestled between textbooks and dragon hide gloves. She took it out that night, stared at the white pages with little idea of what she could write. Anything, and yet, nothing came to mind. Where could she even begin?

Nobody asked about it, of course, not even on Friday night when the girls came in and sat with her, passing round food and drink and gossiping about everybody they knew, complaining about the most annoying new first years, talking about the newest Witch Weekly beauty tips, the boys they thought were cute and would never admit to it. At one point, Aurora teasingly told Leah that her brother Ernie wasn't too bad looking, and Pansy shrieked as Leah pretended to gag.

"Oh, but he is," Pansy said, "even though he's a Hufflepuff."

"You two are disgusting!"

"Yeah, you two, God, imagine fancying a Hufflepuff."

"We don't fancy him," Aurora laughed, giving Leah an assuring look. "Promise."

"It's disgusting. I might have to leave, I feel so sick at the thought."

"At least he's better than Felix Vaisey," Gwen quipped, and Leah swatted her arm. "Oi!"

"You fancy Felix Vaisey?"

"No! My father wants me to let him court me, but I'm trying desperately to talk him out of it."

"He seems nice. My family aren't close with the Vaiseys, but we don't mind them."

"He is alright," Aurora put in, having gotten to know him a bit through Quidditch training. "Needs to work on his aim with a Beater bat, but all men have their flaws."

"Careful," Pansy said with a mocking gasp, "if he's on the Quidditch team now, Aurora might start trying to steal your man."

"I've only dated one Quidditch player!"

"You thought Krum was hot last year," Gwen pointed out.

"So did everyone with eyes!"

"You have a type," Pansy said, rolling her eyes and exchanging smirks with Gwen.

"I don't. And anyway, you're dating a Quidditch player, so… You can't talk."

"You haven't mentioned your opinion of Bletchley yet."

"Well, obviously I have a deep attraction to him that will surface around Christmas, right before I turn around and snog Crabbe and Goyle."

Leah tossed her head back, laughing, and Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Alright, that's a bit far."

"I do not have a type. And, I'm professional. I've never dated a Quidditch player while on the team with them, technically."

"Only because no one could play last year."

"I think it still counts," Pansy said thoughtfully. "It wasn't going to affect the team at the time, because there wasn't really a team."

"That's ridiculous," Gwen refuted, folding her arms. "They're still on the team."

"We didn't have a captain, to make that decision, and most teams change between captains. Therefore, none of us knew if we were on the team or going to be later."

"Yes, you did."

"Not completely."

"Sorry," Leah broke in, "but can we get back to picturing Felix Vaisey with a Beater's bat? In between Crabbe and Goyle?"

Aurora burst out laughing again at the memory of the three boys squished together on the bench at training the night before, Vaisey eyeing up the much stronger boys with their Beaters bats on either side of him. "It's as silly as you imagine. He does keep up though."

"Good enough to thump Gryffindor?"

"Oh, always," Aurora said, aghast that anyone could suggest otherwise. "They're going to be absolutely decimated. Me, Cass, and Graham have never been stronger together, Draco's been training non-stop, Bletchley's an absolute genius in goal, and Vincent and Greg can whack the Bludgers into the bloody sun!" Excited by the prospect of talking about Quidditch, she sat up straight, grinning and not noticing the fondly exasperated looks her friends exchanged. "We're the strongest we've been and we're going to be brilliant, I just know it. Gryffindor are a decent side, yes, but Graham's got us working on these really clever new manouveurs he picked up from his friend in Ireland — you know he's already in talks with the Pride of Portree, too, to play for them next year — and Gryffindor won't know how to counter it." She sat back, pleased with herself. "It's going to be great. This is the year we win the Cup back, I just know it."

Amused, Pansy said, "I'm glad you're feeling optimistic, Aurora."

"We should all be feeling optimistic. This is Slytherin's year, and there is nothing that can stop our team."

-*

On the first Saturday in October, Aurora made her way down to Hogsmeade village alone. Potter was apparently too busy to meet her and her father at first, though said he would try and meet them after he did whatever it was he and Granger and Weasley were getting up to. Aurora wasn't complaining; there had been a lack of decent time spent with her father at the end of the holidays, and on the way down to the village she came up with a great number of things that she felt were suddenly pressing topics of conversation to bring up with him. She was wearing her new green cloak, even though it was a tad too warm for it, but she knew he would appreciate it.

They were to meet at the Three Broomsticks at eleven o'clock. In a predictable fashion, Aurora was there five minutes to the hour, and her father five minutes past, looking slightly harried as he came down the road from the direction of the Hog's Head Inn.

"Sorry, sorry," he said quickly, hugging her tight and kissing her on each cheek as he arrived. "Got held up at home, you know how it is — that's your new cloak? You look like you're boiling!"

Flushing, Aurora said, "I thought you'd like it if I wore it!"

This only prompted him to laugh and bring her into a tight hug. "You're a cute kid, you know that?"

"I'm not cute," she muttered in protest. "It's called being polite. I really like it and I wanted to show you I'm grateful."

"I know," he said, chuckling against her hair. "I've missed you, sweetheart. Let's get inside and you can tell me all about term, yeah? I expect a full debrief of the Slytherin Quidditch team."

"Only if you promise not to leak anything to Harry," Aurora said, as her father ushered her into the pub. "I take team secrets very seriously."

"I'd never dream of doing such a thing," her father assured her. "Gryffindor may trump Slytherin, but I can make an exception when my daughter's the star player."

"I'm not sure I'd say that."

"From what I've seen, I would."

"You have to say that, you're my dad. It'd just be rather cruel if you said that you thought I was crap."

He laughed, conceding the point, before spying an empty booth near the quiet back of the pub and heading to sit down there.

"So," he said, once he had ordered and brought back two pints of Butterbeer, "how's your first month back been? What's that new teacher Umbridge like?"

Aurora rolled her eyes, and checked that Umbridge wasn't anywhere near them — not that she could very readily envision her in the Three Broomsticks — before saying, "I don't particularly like her. She seems a big fan of theory-based teaching, if you can even call it teaching, given all she does is get us to read, memorise and summarise, and hardly engaged with any of the material herself. I think having a theory grounding is important for O.W.L.s, but I'm not convinced that only relying on theory is the best way. Nor do I think Umbridge is really concerned about our exams."

"I heard Harry got detention with her."

"Two and a half weeks, last I heard." She shook her head. "He's been rather temperamental, which is understandable, but, he did get a bit too heated. It was clear she wouldn't listen to whatever any of us said."

Her father shook his head, leaning back with a lazy grin on his face. "Well, someone had to tell that old hag what's what."

"He did it the wrong way."

"That's as may be, but you know Harry's going through a lot."

"Yes. I know why he acted the way he did. It just didn't achieve anything and I think it is obvious why. But I don't want to talk about Potter."

She bit her lip, slightly nervous, but her father seemed so relaxed about the detentions that she couldn't imagine Potter had told him what had happened. "What exactly did Harry tell you?" she asked slowly. "About his detentions?"

"Just that she's given him loads for no good reason. Why?" His brow furrowed. "Is there something else I should know?"

"Well... I don't think Potter would really want me to tell you." But when had that ever stopped her? "Umbridge had a blood quill."

Her father's face went white; his left arm tensed. I'm a hushed voice, he asked her, "Has she used it?"

Aurora nodded. "I don't know if she uses it on others, but she did on Potter, yeah. He wouldn't tell Dumbledore."

"That's not on," her father said, knee jerking to rattle the table. "That's illegal! Why wouldn't Harry..." He winced, as though drawn back into his own memories; he got that strange look, halfway between fury and simply being lost. "I'll speak to Dumbledore. If Harry isn't comfortable telling him, someone should. How long have you known about this?"

The question was sharper than she had expected, and Aurora drew back slightly. "A couple of weeks. He told me not to say anything to Dumbledore!"

Her father took in a long sigh, mouth in a firm line. "Right. Okay. Aurora, you do realise that's literally torture, what Umbridge is doing to him?"

"I know," she said quickly, feeling her cheeks heat in shame at the feeling that she was being told off, "that's why I'm telling you."

"But not Dumbledore? You have lessons with him every week, don't you?"

"Yes, but Potter told me not too, and he never likes me much anyway, and it wasn't worth—"

"Wasn't worth the trouble?" Her father's gaze was sharp and angry.

Aurora took in a deep breath and sank down further in her seat. "I didn't know what to do. I don't even know what Dumbledore can do."

"Maybe, but he's in the best position to do something. Umbridge and the Ministry can't get away with this." He sighed, shaking his head. "I wish you'd told me sooner."

"Harry didn't want me to."

"Well, perhaps he needed you to."

Aurora rankled at the idea that she owed Potter anything, but she kept quiet. Truth was, she didn't know what Dumbledore had scope to do officially in this situation, now Umbridge was effectively elevated above him. But he could do more than nothing, and so much more than she could. And Potter should have said something, she felt, but he was alike her in one awful way; his pride.

"I'm sorry."

Her father smiled thinly. "I know. And you shouldn't be in a position where this is happening at your school, anyway. But if something else like that happens, to you or Harry or anybody else that you know of, promise me you'll tell someone?"

"I will," she said quickly, looking down. "I'm sorry, Dad."

He let out a long sigh, then said. "Enough about that. I'll talk to Dumbledore later. And Harry, if I can get ahold of him. But, other than that. Has term been alright? Ancient Runes keeping you busy?"

"Between that and Arithmancy I'm hardly thinking with proper letters anymore." He laughed, and Aurora grinned proudly at the sound. "The teachers are all really piling up our workloads, and grading us more harshly, but it's all worth it if I do well in my exams. I don't think Snape's given anybody an Outstanding yet this term, but he gave me an E on my most recent paper and didn't even glare at me when he handed it back. And, I'm still consistently getting Os in Transfiguration and Arithmancy, which is something only Hermione's also keeping up with. We're moving onto a historical focus next week, about the role of Arithmancy in making and breaking curses, and we're apparently going to have a guest speaker in from Gringotts to talk about their role with us, which is going to be really fun."

"And your meetings with Dumbledore?"

"Really good," Aurora said enthusiastically, "we've really just been looking at Alchemy so far, but it's fascinating. He's fascinating, much as it pains me to admit it. Everything I could think to ask, he knows the answer, but he always lets me discuss it with him, and I'm learning loads. I had no idea Astrology was so important to Alchemy, but we've been looking at the magical forces that unite the two, earthly and celestial, and im really starting to see connections to Transfiguration, which of course makes everything make a lot more sense to me. He's going to show me the distilling process on Monday, too, and really see it in action, and if it goes well I might get to try it myself, once I've got a handle on the materials. It's a sort of… It's confusing, and somehow both less and more precise than I had anticipated, but everything seems so much clearer. The way that we talk about spirit and soul and body, it's both physical and metaphysical; just like to enchant any object we have to imbue it with power and will, we have to transfer the properties, the imagined force of those aspects, into any Alchemical process or spell. You have to see it and hold it and want the change to happen, but you have to negotiate it, too…" Realising she was rambling, Aurora closed her mouth, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"What're you sorry for? I asked you, remember?"

"Just going on about it. But I haven't really gotten to speak to anyone about it, because my Slytherin friends would feel weird and suspicious about it and Potter'd get angry and Hermione jealous, and Gwen and Robin aren't really interested in Alchemy much."

"All the more reason to talk to me then. You were saying, about… Negotiating with Alchemical aspects?"

"Yes, well." She hesitated slightly, then launched back into an explanation of her most recent lesson with Dumbledore where she learned how to draw out her own sense of spirit and connect it to that which was inherent in the metal of mercury. "…Of course, that meant that anything that required transformation or change would be reliant on a relationship to the planetary aspect of mercury, which was representative of the properties of the metal itself. So the next step is to understand the interlocking of the three primes; where mercury is transient and dangerous, sulfur is connective and poisonous, but salt is everywhere, essential, the base matter of alchemy. You start to see patterns, right, obviously a lot of magic utilises the number three, but then if you think about the symbolic properties of the Alchemical primes they can also be applied readily to Potions and Arithmancy and especially to Healing. Transfiguration, too; say you're turning a dormouse into a pincushion, the dormouse is the salt, the base which you are transforming but which it just similar enough to a pincushion that it assist the transformation. Even though you can theoretically transfigure anything into a pincushion, like objects work better. So, you have the salt; then, you have the spirit, which is effectively your spirit, your magic, the changeable force which enables transformation, which means that no matter how hard a Muggle may try, for example, if they don't have the right spirit which enables magic, they can't perform it. And then, sulfur, connecting the end result and the change to the salt. That's the spell, words, vision and will, which has corrupting potential and if gone wrong can be explosive. Does that make sense?"

Her father was grinning at her, his eyes bright. "Partially — but at least a it sounds like it made sense to you. You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Well, yes. Any opportunity to learn from a master such as Dumbledore is amazing. And I've always been interested in Alchemy."

Grin widening, he said, "Sounds like you're going to be an Alchemist."

Aurora shrugged. "As much as I could ever be anything other than Lady Black, I suppose. I just enjoy learning, even though every time I have a lesson with Dumbledore I leave with even more questions."

"Very Ravenclaw of you." There was a tinge of sadness around her father's eyes.

"Good. I told you Elise is a Ravenclaw, didn't I?"

"Multiple times," he laughed. "She's getting on well?"

"Top of her Charms class," Aurora informed him proudly. "And already angling for a spot on the Quidditch team next year."

"Which you of course had nothing to do with."

Aurora laughed and had another sip of her Butterbeer, relaxing. "I've offered to help her practice her flying, which she seems pretty excited about. Then again, she's excited about near enough everything."

"I'm sure it'll wear off once she sits an exam."

"Don't remind me about exams. Every teacher brings it up at least once a week."

"Are you nervous already?"

"I'm always nervous about being tested on something. But like I said, I'm doing well so far. It's just all very intense."

"I never worried much about my exams."

"Yeah, 'cause you were a stupid genius," Aurora muttered. "I, on the other hand, need to study to maintain top grades."

"You're certainly more dedicated than I ever was."

"I hope so." Aurora folded her arms crossly, then softened, frowning. Her father was having more of his drink, a silence had fallen, and a question stuck in her throat.

"Dad?" He glanced up. "I, um, did Hestia tell you about the gift she gave me for my birthday?"

"She did," he said slowly. "Have you used it yet?"

She shook her head. "I didn't really know what to write. I always feel a bit silly when I sit down with it, which I know I shouldn't. But, her card that came with it said that she has a lot of my mother's old diaries, still, and that if I wanted, she would send them on to me, to read, and I don't know how I feel about it."

"About Hestia having the diaries, or passing them on to you?"

Sighing, Aurora fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. "Both, I suppose. What do you think?"

"I'm very glad Hestia managed to salvage Marlene's diaries, and all the other girls'. I haven't read any of them, it would feel… I don't know. Marlene showed me some entries herself, when we were younger, but I wouldn't like to read them myself. Hestia told me about it last year, but I thought it'd feel like an intrusion on my part, especially knowing she's written about me, things that she didn't intend for me to read. I've no use of them, and keeping all of them together I think has been really important to Hestia. It means she still has a bit of her friends, and it's something that they all shared.

"But," he continued as she went to open her mouth, "I know that Marley would have wanted to share them with you, if she could. She certainly would have liked to have continued the tradition with you." Tradition. The thought was appealing, settled within her. She liked traditions. "It's all your choice, of course, but if you're curious and Hestia's offered… I think she would like for you to know who she was, in her own words."

That called to her, too, the idea that she could pull away the stories and the fantasies and the opinions everyone in her life had had of her mother and get to know her, her thoughts and ambitions, rather than the endlessly variable portraits that had been drawn for her throughout the years. "You don't think it'd be weird? Or that Hestia might only be offering but not really mean it?"

"I don't think it'd be weird, no. Not if it's you. And I don't think Hestia would offer if she didn't mean it. Those diaries are important to her, but you were the most important thing in the world to Marlene. She knows that."

Aurora digested this slowly, nodding. "I might say yes. Might. I don't know how I'll feel, actually sitting down to read them."

"There's no way you could know. But you know you don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with, alright?" He reached over the table and squeezed her hands, with a soft smile. "Do what you want to, not what you think someone wants you to do."

"I know," she said, feeling a tight lump in her throat.

The idea of her mother becoming more of a real figure to her was both terrifying and appealing. Marlene McKinnon was a smiling figure in photographs, silent but loving; she was screaming in Aurora's nightmares; she was a figure of hatred for so many in her family who were now gone, too. But she wanted to know the real Marlene. Not because of any sentimental value, she told herself, but because she was curious, she had to know and understand. The past fascinated her, and her own past was such an enigma in so many ways. "I'll think about it."

"Good." She could see the effort her father put in to meet her eyes, see the shimmering tears behind them.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to—"

"No," he said softly, "I don't want to read them. I remember Marlene as I knew her, and that's what I want to keep with me. Besides, I'm sure she'll have plenty criticisms of my technique on the Quidditch field and I'm not sure my ego can take reliving that."

They both laughed, but it was forced and half-hearted. Aurora, desperate to change the subject, asked him about Dora's latest exploits in the kitchen, and they both tried to forget the conversation they had been on the brink of sharing.

When she returned to the castle that afternoon, subdued even through the shopping trip she joined her friends for, Aurora took out parchment and quill and inked a letter to Hestia Jones.