"Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four," Aurora read off from the notice board in the Entrance Hall, around which a considerable crowd had formed before breakfast. "All student groups and clubs are hereby disbanded. Unless we get permission from Umbridge."

Curse him, she thought immediately. This was surely Potter's doing. Planning an illicit Defense club, behind her back, sneaking off in Hogsmeade just yesterday, that was surely what he had been doing. "Quidditch'll be fine," Draco said cheerfully, clapping her on the shoulder. "My dad's good friends with Professor Umbridge, remember, he'll swing it for us. And I think she likes you."

"She doesn't," Aurora assured him, rolling her eyes, "we just have a professional understanding. But, by all means, use your father. We need to re-form as soon as possible to train for the match next month."

Draco grinned. "Let Montague know, and save me a seat. I shan't be long."

He turned and hurried off up the stairs, towards Professor Umbridge's office. Aurora sighed, running a hand through her hair. At least Quidditch would be alright, but dance club could be more difficult to vet. And there was no chance of Potter's club going ahead now. It was a shame; she had almost started to consider it.

"Do you think we can keep chess club?" Daphne asked Theodore, who frowned at her.

"Well, it is mostly inoffensive, but if you keep calling Bernard Torran a bastard when you lose to him, we could be on the ropes."

Daphne elbowed him in the side. "This is serious!"

"Not for chess club, though, I'm sure. It'll get sorted quickly." He turned and caught Aurora's eye, raising his eyebrows. "Quidditch alright?"

"Draco's on it. I should probably go find Graham and let him know before he works himself into a tizzy. Coming?"

"Sure," Daphne said, tugging Theodore over to Aurora and following her into the hall. "You're in dance club, too, right? Do you think that'll be alright?"

"We're not doing anything wrong," she said. "It's likely more so that Umbridge can do a sweep of every club and make sure they're all up to scratch and following appropriate rules, before they can re-form. Much like she's inspecting teachers. Don't worry about it."

On the way over to the Slytherin Table, she caught sight of Harry Potter about to be swarmed by a group of people, and tried not to shake her head. They hadn't done anything against the rules yet, technically, but how none of them saw this coming she didn't know.

"Black!" She twisted sharply at the sound of her name, seeing Graham and Cassius marching towards her, Miles Bletchley trailing them. "Have you seen the news?"

"It's fine!" she called back, hurrying to the boys as Daphne and Theo went to grab seats. When she was closer, she said, "Draco reckons Umbridge is friends with his father and he can talk her into approving our application quickly. Don't worry, Montague. She was a Slytherin too, and she clearly supports the team."

"It's ridiculous," Cassius said, frowning. "We need to train! She can't do this now, a month from the opening of the season."

"And yet she has," Aurora said, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. Bletchley scoffed. "It'll be fine, I'm sure. And technically there's nothing to stop us from practicing one on one, so we can still sort out Bletchley's sloppy diving."

"I can't decide if that's pessimism or optimism," came Bletchley's reply.

Aurora shrugged. "Me neither. Listen, Draco's gone to Umbridge's office now, if you want to go join him, as Captain. Personally, I'm going to eat some pancakes before they're all gone."

Graham muttered somethig under his breath and sloped off. Cassius, still scowling, followed, and Bletchley cast Aurora a slight frown before going to join a group of the sixth year boys. Aurora sat across from Daphne and Theo, a seat spare next to her for Draco, giving her a perfect eyeline of the buzz around the Gryffindor table. MacMillan and Abbott had been shooed away in their attempts to talk to Potter, but he was deep in frustrated conversation with Granger and the Weasleys.

"Sorted," Draco said fifteen minutes later, beaming as he slipped into the seat beside her. "Slytherin Team officially has permission to re-form."

"Nice one."

"Told you I could sweet-talk her. My father's been giving so generously to the Ministry and St. Mungo's of late — I told you, he's been visiting the hospital all the time, Fudge thinks he's brilliant. They could hardly deny someone so important to the community." His grin widened. "Potter's going to explode in Defense again today, I just know it."

Aurora sighed. "Do you have to wind him up? I can't stand another class of him fruitlessly arguing with Umbridge."

And, she didn't want him suffering again. She didn't know what her father had said to Dumbledore, if he'd even been able to talk to him yet, but nothing so far seemed to have come of it. And she worried, if the Ministry were cracking down on Hogwarts and using Umbridge to do it, if Fudge would even listen to Dumbledore anyway. The Headmaster didn't have the power to dismiss Umbridge unless he had a replacement approved; all he could to was to stop her from using the quill, or get Fudge to agree to her dismissal. Right now, that didn't seem too likely, unless they had hard evidence. Hopefully, Potter would be able to give them it.

"Winding Potter up's fun," Draco said, and Aurora sighed. It had lost its appeal to her lately.

"It's distracting," she muttered, stabbing at a pancake.

"You've just lost your sense of humour."

"I have not!"

"Yeah? You used to think it was a great laugh, winding Potter up in class. Now you're…"

"What? I'm what, Draco?"

He stared at her for a moment, bit his lip, then looked down again. "Just pass me some tea, would you?"

"Fine," Aurora huffed, grabbing the teapot and plunking it down in front of him. Their friends around the table pointedly avoided looking at either of them.

Their partnership was pained in Herbology. It had barely been a fight and yet they still had that awful, stiff tension pulled taut between them. It was so stupid, she thought, how their relationship could fluctuate so quickly and easily.

After a catch up with Elise — who was distraught by the idea of the Gobstones Club being disbanded — over break, Aurora was one of the last to reach the Potions classroom for their next class with Snape, at almost the exact same time as Potter, Granger, and Weasley, all of whom regarded her with a degree of suspicion. She gave them a flat glare and said, in a bored tone, "Whatever problem you've devised between us, just spit it out."

All eyes went to Potter, who seemed to debate it for a moment, before shaking his head. "Never mind. I'll talk to you later."

"Oh, will you?"

"Stop being difficult, Black," he muttered, heading down the steps to the dungeons. Aurora followed, with a sinking feeling as she heard Draco's voice.

"Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning." He caught sight of them coming down the stairs and smirked. "Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry. It'll be interesting to see if Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won't it?"

Aurora braced herself, heading to stand with Gwen, Robin and Theo, who were thankfully not in Draco's little bragging circle.

"I mean," Draco said, raising his voice for Potter's benefit, "if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance. From what my father says, they've been looking for an opportunity to sack Arthur Weasley for years… and as for Potter, my father says it's only a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo's." Aurora's gut twisted as she caught sight of Neville, who turned slowly when he heard. She looked over to Draco, with a look to tell him to shut up, which he of course ignored. "Apparently my father's been donating to this special ward they've got there, for people whose brains have been addled by magic…"

He pulled a mocking face, rolling his eyes back in his head and opening his mouth so that his tongue lolled out. Aurora looked away, cringing, just in time to see Neville Longbottom surging forward.

"Shit — Neville—"

She was too late; he had lunged forward in attempt to tackle Draco, only to be hauled back the way by Potter and Weasley. Draco froze, staring in shock as Neville grappled with the two boys to let him go, swearing about St. Mungo's. He twisted in an attempt to get out of Weasley's grip, and Aurora stepped forward, trying to get his attention.

"Stop it," she said quickly, holding her arms out between him and Vincent and Greg, who were stood ready for a fight. "Just… All of you, stop. Draco…" She glared at him, fury bubbling up inside of her. But he didn't know, by the look on his face. It was still a horrible thing to do and make fun of, still made her guts twist inside, and even knowing that he hadn't done it to have a go at Neville and his parents, didn't make it better. "Just stop, alright?"

"Fighting in the dungeon, are we?"

She turned sharply, seeing Snape stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Black?"

"Yes, sir."

He narrowed his eyes. "Get inside."

She didn't wait for him to say it again, but when she went to sit in her usual seat, she kept an eye on the door, watching the way Neville stormed in, white and shaking with fury, still muttering under his breath. Draco still came to sit by her, claiming the Strengthening Solution he had brewed last period, but he glared at her as he did so.

"What was that about?"

"I didn't see the point in a fight starting outside Potions."

"You were sticking up for Longbottom. Why'd he go for me?"

"No idea."

"You know."

"Do you think I'd tell you if I did? Do you think you need more ammunition? Just leave it, Draco. All I could tell was that he's upset."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she whispered back, as the door closed behind Snape. "Just leave it, alright?"

Snape stormed back in, stalking to the front of the classroom with a flourish. "You will notice," he said softly, eyes glittering dangerously, "that we have a guest with us today."

Aurora turned, seeing Umbridge in a frilly pink suit, sat in the dim corner of the dungeon. This was all she needed, she thought grimly. At least if Snape and Umbridge fought, it would give her some decent entertainment. Ignoring Draco, she set about working on the second step of the Strengthening Solution from last week. The first half hour or so passed in relative boredom, Umbridge merely wandering through the class and asking about various students' experiences.

Aurora only told her that she thought they were well-challenged in the class, and nothing more. It was as close to a compliment as she could tolerate giving Snape.

"The class seems fairly advanced for their level," Umbridge said later while Snape was leaning over Dean Thomas's cauldron, which was issuing black clouds of smoke. "Though I would question whether it is advisable teaching them something like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would rather it were removed from the syllabus."

At times, Aurora thought, it was questionable whether Umbridge wanted them to learn anything at all. She watched as Snape straightened up, mouth pressed tightly in annoyance. Brilliant, she thought, grinding up griffin claw.

"How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?"

"Fourteen years."

"You applied first for Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Yes."

"But you were unsuccessful."

Snape stared at her blankly, and drew out the word, "Obviously."

Aurora hid her smile in her sleeve.

The class successfully redeemed from the equally peeved looks on both professor's faces, Aurora finished off the last few steps of her potion, which was turning a nice, translucent shade of turquoise.

She took a quick, solitary lunch and hurried off to the library, where Hermione Granger found her leaving ten minutes before Arithmancy. "There you are," she said cheerfully, tugging her toward the exit, "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"You have?"

"Oh, yes. We haven't spoken in ages, have we? Not properly, anyway."

"What do you want, Granger?"

Hermione dropped her smile slightly and whispered, "I know you know about the Defense club."

"Yes," Aurora said slowly, keeping on walking. "Potter told me weeks ago. Don't tell me you're still going to go ahead with it?"

"No, of course not, not now." Hermione was an awful liar. Aurora tried not to laugh. She had guts, she would give her that. "Who did you tell about it?"

"No one."

"But you must have! No one else has blabbed, I'd know if they had, but you haven't… Just tell me. Did you tell Umbridge, or was it somebody else?"

"I didn't tell anybody," Aurora said evenly, shaking Hermione's hand off of her arm. "I've no reason to do so. I promise you, Hermione."

Hermione didn't want to believe her, she could tell. No doubt she had confided in others and for some reason, decided her personal judgment could not be suspect. So it must have been Harry who told the wrong person. Aurora just didn't understand why that was still her. "Harry thought he could trust you."

"He can," Aurora said, voice brittle. "I swear, Granger, I haven't told anyone. Now, if you don't mind, we have a class to get to, and I'm fed up of being called a liar."

"Well, you'll forgive me if I don't believe everything you say—"

"I am not a grass," Aurora snapped. "I haven't told anybody, end of. I thought you understood me a bit better now, but it seems I was mistaken. You've no reason to suspect me, so don't be so rude!"

She stormed off, and Hermione hurried to catch up with her, bag swinging at her side. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's just, I have a way of knowing that no one at the meeting told Umbridge, and we need to know how she found out and you're the only other person—"

"Why? If you're not going ahead with it, then you don't need to know. You didn't break any rules, you've got nothing to lose so long as you don't go through with it — which of course, you said you won't, so that must mean you're telling the truth. And really, what motivation would I have to stop you?"

"Harry said you thought it was a stupid idea, that it'd get us in trouble…"

"You think I told Umbridge about this so that I could protect you?" She laughed shrilly. "You're smarter than this, Granger. And so am I."

She turned, heart pounding, and though Granger followed, she did not say anything for a long moment. Even in her anger, Aurora had nothing to say; it was desperate and ridiculous, and honestly a little offensive.

"You and Umbridge were a bit chummy in Potions…"

"I didn't want to give her another reason to doubt Dumbledore's management of Hogwarts. Not everything has to be a fight, Hermione. I didn't tell her anything, and I don't intend to — not that there is anything to tell, clearly. So leave it. I'm not in the mood for this, and if you keep bothering me, I'll have to shut you up some other way."

To her annoyance, Hermione just laughed scornfully. "You don't scare me anymore, Black. Threats won't get you anywhere — you're just defensive. And it's not really helping your case."

"It seems nothing will," Aurora said with a sigh, just as the warning bell rang. "Now, I'm going to class, and I don't think you want to be late any more than I do, so just… Leave it."

She didn't look over her shoulder to check if Granger was following or not, but they slipped into seats at the same time under Professor Vector's watch and maintained a stony, cold silence all the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, at which point Granger went to debrief Potter and Weasley. They were extremely unsubtle, with the way they glanced over at her, whispering. She tried to ignore it, but such things always brought back that underlying fear, the one which gnawed at her every night. The fear of judgment, hatred, scorn. Rumours and gossip and whispers flying, her at the centre.

-*

Harry Potter found her the next evening, as she was leaving dinner to head down towards the Slytherin dorms. "Don't tell me you've duplicated the map or something," she said with a groan as he fell into step behind her. "Why are you and your friends so desperate to keep cornering me? I told Hermione, I didn't tell on you."

"You told Sirius about my detentions."

Aurora turned sharply to look at him. He didn't exactly look happy with her, but he didn't look angry, either. "I thought he'd want to know, and I was right."

"Yeah, and he told Dumbledore! I told you I didn't want anyone to know!"

"So Dumbledore spoke to you about it."

"No. He got McGonagall to do it for him." He scowled, and Aurora grimaced. Dumbledore wasn't exactly doing much to endear himself to Potter. Why, she had yet to understand. "But apparently he's going to make it so that detentions need to be approved or can be overseen by a student's head of house."

"That's good, isn't it? That's something, and McGonagall knows and hates Umbridge, so she won't let it happen."

"Yeah, and how long d'you think that'll last? She's already put through this decree about the clubs!"

"Well, he might be able to—"

"And she'll know I told someone! It'll just make her worse!"

"Then you need to tell someone when that happens!"

"I told you why I didn't want to!"

"Harry, she can't just get away with it, you know that, and if you were willing to speak up about this, it could stop her. I just thought I should tell my dad. I was only trying to help."

Harry glared at her a moment longer, and she held his stare, annoyed. "I know," he said, biting the words out, "you still went behind my back."

"Well, it's not as if you trust me much anyway."

"I did," he said, and it still surprised her. "I do. I know Hermione talked to you about... You know what. And I didn't tell her to, if that's what you think. I mean, the whole thing was her idea anyway, in the first place, and I told her I didn't think you'd have gone to Umbridge."

"You seem to have a lot of faith in me, Potter."

"Well, did you tell Umbridge?" She shook her head. Potter let out a low laugh. "Exactly. Although, please don't try threatening Hermione again."

"Yeah," Aurora said with a grimace, "I got a bit... Wound up. And the reaction was honestly kind of embarrassing."

Potter's lips twitched in a small, reluctant smile. "Well, in that case." He lowered his voice and guided her to the side, a quiet corner of the corridor. "So long as you don't tell anyone, it's back on. I can let you know a time and place—"

"I don't want to know," Aurora said quickly, holding up her hands. "I have no interest in joining your little club, Potter, especially now. Just because I didn't rat you out doesn't mean I'm with you."

Potter sighed, gaze switching back to annoyed again. Aurora gave a tense smile. "Suit yourself, then."

"Try not to get yourselves caught this time, hm? I'm getting very bored of reading the words educational decree up on the common room wall."

-*

Aurora stared at the cramped notes in the margin of Hydrus Black's blessing, trying to piece together their author's thought process. It was Thursday evening, and she was trying to cram in some personal work before dinner and then Quidditch practice, but she had been studying so consistently all week that most of the words just blurred together. Yet, they were familiar, somehow, the curve of them, the perfect cursive, the sharp lines of the capital E.

'The blessing requires the blood of the caster 'and the flesh of the blessed, joined by contact. Willingly given, or not? Contact, blood on flesh? Separate from body or drawn from it? Change, transformation — where is the soul? Is there soul? If the spell is to protect body and spirit, what role does the soul play in forming the blessing? Eternity?'

What did Hydrus' blessing have to do with eternity, she wondered, or was the author merely puzzling out the role of the soul there too, or the longevity of the spell? Further down in the margin were the words: how can I see it?

Something nagged at the back of her mind, like something she knew but had forgotten. Her gaze traced the letters again. Soul.

Her father's voice came back to her, "My brother, Regulus, he claimed he could see souls."

She flung herself off her bed, scrambling for the locked drawer where she kept her most secret possessions and documents, and there she found the letter her uncle had written to Narcissa, that she had found in Black Manor. She opened it, paid attention to the form of the writing. Sharp capitals, gentle cursive.

That was Regulus Black's handwriting on the blessing. She knew it; the thought sank into her, wrapped around her heart. This was the blessing he used on her, she was sure of it, but then he must have modified it somewhat. Perhaps it was even connected to the family curse that Death had spoke of.

For months she had tried to find traces of the curse in her ancestry, but what if it hadn't been working on her ancestors this whole time? What if, by using this, Regulus had somehow awoken the curse, if it had been lying dormant all these years…

What if he had been trying to save her and doomed her instead?

She flipped through all her notes of translations, until she found what she was looking for. There: adaptation for singular object. How to use the blessing on one person; in this version, they were a willing and knowing participant, which she had not been, as a baby, but it was a start. Regulus could easily have built on this, and now, she felt, she too had something more solid to build upon in her research. She had to find out more about Hydrus. And, she had to work out whoever had written the other, older notes, to match it up to other figures in the genealogy. Maybe then she might work out what she was dealing with, what unintended consequences the blessing might have, and how she could use that.

Riding the high of discovery, already coming up with a plan in her head for how to proceed, Aurora tidied her things away and ran off to dinner in the Great Hall, and then out towards the Quidditch pitch.

Against her better will, Aurora remained distracted throughout practice. Her mind was on Lord Hydrus, and the names she had stumbled across in her summer research: Marisela, Penelope, Odysseus, Magnus, Castella. When Graham snapped at her for missing the Quaffle, she barely even noticed, and spent the rest of practice flustered in annoyance with herself.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Draco asked when they dismounted at the end of the session, as the sky began to darken. "You're never distracted."

"Just been studying a lot today, that's all," she lied, forcing a smile. "Anyway, it ended up alright…"

She trailed off, seeing Hestia Jones' owl coming over the stands towards her. This was not where she wanted to unveil her mother's diaries — not in front of Draco — but as she watched, her stomach swam uncertainly. There was something wrong with the owl's wing, and when she squinted to get a better look, she saw the packaging was ruffled, slightly torn.

"What's that owl doing?" Graham bellowed, staring round at them all. "Black, is that for you?"

"I think it might be," she said, stepping forward to save the owl as it hurled itself towards the ground. "Sorry, I don't know why it's coming here…"

The feathers were ruffled, slightly bloodied, Aurora realised with a sickening plunge. "It's alright, dear," she whispered to it, wrapping the panicked thing in her arms and stowing the package in her schoolbag. "Hey, hey, don't panic." She wasn't sure where Professor Grubbly-Plank's office was, but with luck she might still be hanging around the forest. Or even Professor Sprout could help; something was deeply wrong.

"I've got to go," she called over her shoulder, handing her broom to Cassius. "Sorry — this is my friend's owl, I need to get him checked out. I'll see you on Saturday!"

She hurried off in the direction of the forest, where to her relief, Grubbly-Plank was emerging from the shadows.

"Professor!" she called, picking up the pace. "Professor Grubbly-Plank!"

"Yes, dear? Oh, not another owl!"

"Another — sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to bother you—"

"Give her to me, spit-spot. Poor thing…"

"She was delivering something for me, Professor, just now."

Grubbly-Plank pursed her lips, holding the owl herself now. She teased the wing, but let go at the owl's frightened squawk. "This may well be broken. I'll have to take her up to my rooms in the castle, see what I can do for her. Where's this owl from, Miss Black, if you don't mind me asking?"

"A family friend of mine. She was sending some books I'd asked for."

"Hm. Well, she's not the first owl I've seen to this week. Something must be attacking them out there, I'll have to let Dumbledore know. But not to worry, Black, she'll be right as rain in a few days." She smiled down at Aurora, who tried to look optimistic.

"If you don't mind my asking," she started, "Professor, whose was the other owl?"

"Hm? Oh, Harry Potter came in with his on Monday, dreadful sight. But she's well fixed up now, nothing to worry about."

Umbridge, Aurora thought, with a sickly swooping feeling in her stomach. Of course. "Oh. Well, that's good to know — he's very fond of his owl. Will you send her on to me once she's better?"

"Certainly, Miss. Come, I'll walk you back up to the castle, it's getting dark."

As soon as she got into the dungeon, Aurora made a beeline for Apollo Jones, who was sitting with Leah and Lewis Stebbins in the corner. Leah made to stand when Aurora approached, but she shook her head quickly.

"Jones?"

Apollo stared at her. "Yes?"

"When did you last hear from your aunt?"

His face paled. "What do you mean?"

"I — oh, gosh, no, she's alright! She just sent a package up to me, something of my mother's she'd held onto, and her owl's dreadfully hurt. I just wondered if you'd noticed anything similar, last time she sent you a latter, or anything?"

Jones shook his head. "Not that I can remember, though I haven't written to her in a while, to be fair. Sola's always been fine."

Sola, that was her name. "Right. Well, Sola's with Grubbly-Plank now, to heal her. I just wanted to know if there was anything else… I'll go write to her now. Any message?"

Apollo shrugged. "Say hi if you want, I guess."

"Charming. Well, I'll see you all later."

She hastened back to her dorm, before any of the team could ask her what was going on, and scrawled out a quick letter to take to the Owlery, informing her what happened in such a way that she hoped Hestia would get the message Aurora thought Sola might have been intercepted.

When she returned, at last, feeling rather harried from the evening's events, she turned not to her studies but to the package of diaries stowed away in her bag. There were seven, all in all; their title pages covered 1972 to 1980, the year before Marlene died.

Aurora's hands trembled over the worn leather spines, the bound pages yellowed with age. It was amazing to her, how a book could grow from use, as though every time it was opened and read or written on, the pages took on a new life, a new thickness, filled with the soul of whoever had used them.

Opening the first diary was difficult. It felt like opening a door to the past. Even the year made something cavernous open inside of her, reminding her of the great expanse of time that divided herself from her mother. It had been fourteen years since her mother had died, and Aurora could barely imagine her face, and yet here she was, soul laid bare, a remnant of Marlene McKinnon at an even younger age than Aurora was now. She must have been twelve at that point, she thought, sure that her father had mentioned her birthday being sometime in December.

Aurora took in a deep breath, lying in her silent dorm room. If she didn't open it now, she felt, she might never open it.

She turned the page.

10th January, 1972

Dear diary,

First off, if anybody ever finds this, I am fully blaming Hestia Jones for making me write something as stupid as a diary. I can barely suffer through a Potions essay, and she thinks I can manage to write in this thing every day?

Hestia says I should start by writing one thing I liked about today, one thing that went badly, and one thing I want to improve. It sounds like bollocks because it is, but it's important to her, and if you do end up reading this, Hes, know that I usually do love you, and I use the word bollocks as lovingly as possible. Make of that what you will, and if Danny's managed to get his hands on this, piss off before I teach you a worse word for yourself.

One good thing about today: Well, we've been back at Hogwarts for three days and not one person has called me a mudblood, and as far as I know, no one's called Lily or Mary that either.

One bad thing: Potter and Black didn't hex Snape for being a know-it-all prick when he very clearly saw me and Hestia muck up our potion. Granted, I could have done that, but Slughorn doesn't know my name and worships the ground Snape and his mates walk on, and Potter and Black have a lot less to lose getting in trouble.

One thing I'd like to improve: Lunch was a bit naff. The soup of the day was mushroom, which was shit.

Hestia, I hope you're happy.

Goodbye, diary.

Marlene McKinnon, best and most understanding friend

Aurora found herself smiling as she read. Reading always was a fun pastime, largely derived from her imagination; she conjured up images of characters and books and likewise, she could sudddnly see her mother, twelve years old, lying on a dorm room bed much like hers, except in red and gold, making fun of her friend, reflecting on her day. It was nice to know her mum hated Snape, too, though the flippant mention of people using the term 'mudblood' made something cold curdle inside of her. Her mother had grown up in a different Hogwarts than she had, but her experience was not shaped by time, but instead by status. Even when bigotry was absent, that absence made the issue itself conspicuous.

But her mother seemed funny. Cheerful, optimistic, a little bit sarcastic. Her last paragraph made Aurora smile: she wasn't much of a fan of mushrooms, either.

That was her mother, laid down in worn blue ink.

She turned the page to the next entry, which was much shorter.

18th January, 1972, it read.

Dear diary,

Hestia really wants me to write in this, so here we go.

One thing that was good about today is that McGonagall said I did really well on my Transfiguration essay. One thing that was bad is that I blew up a cauldron in Potions, but I'm ninety percent certain it was one of James Potter's mob and not mine or Hestia's fault. Lily agrees, and she never agrees with me. One thing I would improve, I'd like to get my own back on the boys, and I'm sure I could. I can definitely convince Remus Lupin to help me, he's craftier than he looks.

Over and out,

Marlene McKinnon, Transfiguration genius

Smiling, she turned to the next one.

2nd February, 1972

I did not like a single thing about today. I can improve this day by murdering Lily Evans. What went badly today? Lily Evans thinks she's my mother and that just because we are both skint and muggleborn we somehow have to a) act the same and b) set an example to be the absolute model of perfection which in my opinion means thumping Slytherin at Quidditch and in her opinion means not leaving shoes out on the dorm room floor. She's definitely exaggerating about almost 'breaking her neck' and I actually no longer believe her that she has a sister, and if she does they definitely don't share a room, because it was SO not that bad. She's driving me absolutely up the wall, and Hestia's annoyed with her too. Dorcas won't take sides, but Mary and Lily will back whatever each other says, so everything's awkward and horrible and I'm writing this in the common room of all places because the dorm room is just too stupid and if I go up there Lily's going to order us all to have a bloody 'spring clean' and like hell

Alright, the day's been improved, Sirius Black just made an absolute twat of himself and tripped into the fireplace trying to set off fireworks. Half his hair's gone and he's taken Peter Pettigrew out with him. Lily and the girls came down to see what the fuss was about and she found it funny, so I think we might be good now. I'm still not above throwing a slipper at her, though.

Bye diary!

Marlene McKinnon, with better hair than Sirius Black

That last line was enough to keep Aurora smiling. She could just imagine the look on her father's face if her mother had said that to him, and dearly hoped that she had.

She was real, to Aurora; it was an unexpected revelation, and shouldn't really have been a revelation at all. Yet she could see her clearly now, could imagine her voice and tone and expression. She could see Lily Evans too, and Hestia and Mary and Dorcas; could imagine her father at that age, his laugh and grin and smirk and the wide-eyed expression when he realised he messed up, and the quiet grin on Remus Lupin's face. Suddenly the distance was not so large, and the past did not feel quite so unknown.