The next few days were about as close to hell as Aurora could get. Everywhere she went, people were sharing rumours and conspiracy theories about her father, and about her. Some theories she didn't mind, because they were too absurd to pay heed to, such as the idea proposed by a Hufflepuff that Aurora's father could turn into a flowering shrub to hide himself, but others cut too close to home. If she heard another person say that she helped him into the castle, she was going to hex them, regardless of what that might do for her case.

"They're all idiots," Pansy declared, scowling across the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom at Potter, who had for his part refused to even look at Aurora over the last few days. She didn't particularly care, because he had never been someone she wanted to talk to, but she hated that everyone really thought so badly of her. Maybe she'd given them reason to. She knew she'd never been the kindest person, but everyone assumed the worst of her the moment her name was read out at the Sorting and she was placed in Slytherin, so she had had precious few reasons to prove them wrong. The list of people whose opinions she really cared about was short: Draco, Pansy (who had never had the opportunity to judge her on her father's crimes), Gwen, the Tonkses, and perhaps Robin, and Professor Lupin. Anyone else, no matter how they whispered about her, didn't really matter. She still hated the misinformation.

They were hell enough, with everyone eyes, it seemed, constantly fixed on Aurora. Everyone seemed to whisper behind her back, to afraid to say anything to her face. But it was Tuesday morning that truly turned Aurora's stomach.

She hadn't quite anticipated the speed with which the news of her father's break in would reach the general public and the Daily Prophet; nor had she anticipated the reaction to her.

Not only, read the article, written by one Rita Skeeter, does Sirius Black pose a brutal threat to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but it has recently come to the Prophet's attention that Black's own daughter is in fact a student and resident at the school, in the very same year as the famous Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. In light of recent events and both Black and Potter's ties to the Wizarding War and the demise of Lord Voldemort, readers and parents must surely be asking themselves if their children are safe in such an environment. Is it right of Albus Dumbledore to allow such a child to be resident in a school with many young and vulnerable children? Our sources rumour that the younger Black and Harry Potter are rivals at the school, both in academics and on the Quidditch Pitch, both areas in which Potter excels. Therefore, we must ask if Aurora Black has any role in her father's break in, and if so, how can Headmaster Dumbledore justify her presence at Hogwarts at this most dangerous time?

She had gone entirely cold while reading, as had her tea. Aurora's eyes glazed over, and the chatter of the hall became overwhelmingly loud. She was sure everyone was talking about her. And when she looked up, it seemed half the Slytherin table, if not half the whole of the Great Hall, were staring at her, watching for a reaction.

Aurora crumpled the newspaper in her fist.

"Aurora..." Draco's voice said softly from her side. Her breathing came ragged and her chest burned bitterly. Across the hall, she could see the look on Potter's face, on Neville's face, on Granger's face, all reflecting the same expressions on everyone looking at her right now. Either contempt or fear. She wasn't sure which one she hated more.

"I'm fine," she growled, glaring at the table. "Rita Skeeter clearly is not a good journalist."

"Are you sure you're okay? You're not—"

"I'm entirely okay." Her voice almost squeaked at the end and she winced. "But I would like to work on my Arithmancy homework before class."

She stood up, rattling the table inadvertently, and even more faces swivelled to look at her. But Aurora felt completely numb. She refused to look at anyone as she left the hall, and didn't pay any heed to the footsteps behind her or Daphne and Lucille calling her name as they passed in the opposite direction.

She didn't make it to the library. She paused by the deserted Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor, feeling blessed that she was alone at last. Tears of frustration did prick her eyes but she refused to let them fall. "Don't bloody cry," she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

"Aurora?"

At the sound of Professor Lupin's voice, Aurora started, and stared at him when she turned. Perhaps she had expected to see judgement there, or hatred, but instead in his eyes she only saw concern. "Would you come inside for a moment?"

She didn't want to. She didn't want to talk to anyone, but her legs moved almost mechanically towards the classroom, and she slipped inside with Lupin. It was strange to be in there alone in the quiet. Lesson plans and unmarked essays were stacked neatly on a desk in the corner of the classroom.

"Would you bring some of those over here for me?" he asked pleasantly, and again she did as she was told, strangely removed from what she was actually doing. Aurora placed a stack of essays on Lupin's desk. "I'm not handing out the marks until tomorrow, but you got an E on your last essay. I rather enjoyed it."

She smiled numbly. "Thank you, Professor."

There was a pause of quiet and then he said, "I read the Daily Prophet this morning."

"Most people did."

He sighed and leaned against his desk. "I don't quite know what I can say that will help you. But what I can say, is that people will judge others for any reason they can find. That doesn't mean you are what they think you are, nor does it mean you should become it."

"I'm not," Aurora ground out. "Professor."

His answering smile was feeble. Indeed, he did appear rather wan, as though he hadn't gotten enough sleep the past few nights. Though, Aurora imagined, most people had. She certainly hadn't felt rested since Saturday.

"This will pass," Lupin told her eventually. "Your father will be found and brought to justice. You won't have to be scared of him."

"I know," she whispered. "But that doesn't mean he won't... Follow me. Him being in Azkaban won't make people forget that I'm his daughter, after all." Another question was on the tip of her tongue, one which she didn't dare to ask.

Lupin made a move towards her, as though he thought to try and comfort her, but seemed to think better of it. He frowned and closed his eyes. "Professor," she said quietly, "I know you knew him."

His eyes snapped open and his face seemed to pale fifty shades. "How do you—"

"I saw you in a picture. I didn't realise at first, but I recognised you." She turned sheepishly towards the ground, cheeks aflame. It had been a foolish thing to mention and yet some part of her just wanted someone to know. And there were things she wanted to know, too. "Did you know my mother?"

At that, Lupin paled even further. He seemed to fumble to keep a grasp on the desk. "I..." His voice came out hoarse. "I did, indeed, Aurora."

"Was she..." She didn't even know what she wanted to ask. What could she ask? She imagined her grandmother's voice telling her not to ask questions, that her mother was irrelevant. But looking up at Professor Lupin, perhaps one of the last people alive and sane who truly knew her mother, she just wanted assurance that at least one of her parents was worth being related to. "What was her name?"

At that, he looked like he was going to faint. "I'm sorry?"

"My mother." She didn't dare meet his eyes. "I, um, I never knew her name. My family didn't talk about her."

"Oh. Oh, Aurora, I'm so sorry."

"I don't want you to pity me," she said sharply. If Lupin was bothered, he didn't care to say so. "I just want to know. It's relevant to my Arithmancy class, you see."

There was a moment in which she thought Lupin wouldn't tell her, or else that he would order her to get out of his classroom. But then the name fell from his lips.

"Marlene."

She didn't know what she had expected. Some sense of recognition, some innate understanding of herself? Instead all that Aurora felt was a little plummet in her stomach. "Oh."

"Marlene McKinnon. She was a Gryffindor."

"I'd thought so."

"She was a wonderful woman."

"I'm sure she was."

She didn't know what else to say. Lupin kept looking at her with awful, pitying eyes. "Do you think... I mean, do you have any pictures of her?"

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I'm afraid I don't carry pictures from my school days," he said, and Aurora nodded, stomach sinking slightly. "But I can tell you what she looked like." A small smile. "She was tall, outgrew all us boys. Her eyes were brown, just like yours, and they were both the kindest and most mischievous eyes I'd ever seen." Aurora felt her cheeks flush. "Her hair was red and ridiculously curly. And she always wore this leather jacket." He smiled fondly and Aurora shifted with unease. "She was quite marvellous, your mother."

"Right," she said stiffly, unable to look him in the eye. "Thanks."

She didn't know what else to do, so she hoisted in her bag like she was preparing to leave. Lupin stopped her. "She would be proud of you," he said just before she made, though Aurora couldn't help thinking it was just a kind lie. It was the sort of thing everyone would say to someone who had lost a parent. But Aurora had no idea what her mother would be proud of, and she certainly had no wish to make her father proud.

The thought was oddly freeing.

"Thank you, Professor," she said quietly, with a small smile, and with a nod between them, she left.

-*

There was one reprieve, shortly after Halloween. As the weather worsened in the days leading up to Slytherin's opening game - against Gryffindor - Draco moaned spectacularly about it and his arm injury. Flint had Aurora doing drills with them in practice, while Draco grumped on the benches. "We're going to have to make a decision," Flint told them at the end of practice. "The weather's shit, Malfoy's arm's shit, and we want to beat Gryffindor. We can forgo the match, based on an injured Seeker."

Aurora stared between him and Draco, who gave her a small nod. They had discussed this eventuality already.

"I can play," she said quickly, looking back at Flint.

"That's a tricky decision to make though, Black. We don't know if you're good enough."

"Well, you won't know until you let me play." She stepped up, hoping her boldness might pay off. "Will you? There's no point having a reserve if you don't use me, and if you don't play me then the other teams will take that as a sign of weakness and a lack of faith in your squad and training." Flint gave her an assessing look and she added before she could back down, "Plus, the whole school's terrified of me, including Potter. Intimidation tactics always come in useful."

For a second, Flint looked sour, but then broke into an uncharacteristic grin. "I like your thinking, Black. How's about we put it to a vote: who says Black should play against Gryffindor?"

Draco raised his hand, settling Aurora a little - no matter how much she wanted to play, she was glad Draco wasn't hurt by it - as did Flint, then Miles Bletchley, then Cassius Warrington. Peregrine Derick slowly raised his own hand, and she broke into a grin. Graham Montague pulled a face, but she didn't care. Flint turned to her with an expression between a grimace and a smile. "Then it's decided. I'll let Snape and Hooch know. Black, take a shower, and make sure you put in some extra training before the game. I don't want you getting sloppy - and this is only for one match. If you lose..."

"I won't," she said confidently, clenching her fists. "Potter isn't going to know what hit him."

As always in the leadup to the Slytherin-Gryffindor match, tensions were high between the two houses. This was only heightened by the fact that both captains would be leaving at the end of the year and were desperate to beat the other, and that Potter had discovered Aurora was being played as Seeker and had taken to hating her even more than he already had. The usual sniping between the houses blossomed into something of a turf war. Anywhere Aurora went, she was looking over her shoulder for approaching Gryffindors who might try to hex her, and the other team members weren't much better off.

It took all of her self-control not to turn around and hex Alicia Spinnet when she made a loud comment about how Aurora was the 'last resort' and wasn't a threat anyway, but she had to keep her cool. She wouldn't put it past the Gryffindors to get her banned if she tried anything, especially given the current situation with her father.

All she wanted to do was win. She trained by herself every evening, forcing herself to go faster and higher, training her eyes to catch any small movements. A few days before the match, she was beginning to grow more and more confident. Potter was good, but she had a better broom, and her team was brilliant, too. The win against Gryffindor wasn't in the bag, and it would be silly to believe so, but she thought she had a pretty good chance. The sun was almost set by the time she finished her training, touching down on the pitch and gulping down a bottle of water. She was sweaty and tired, but it felt good.

She had just gathered her cloak and gone to put the practice Snitch back in the store cupboard when something caught her eye. That big black dog was staring at her again, with those horrid and unnerving eyes. It seemed a lot creepier in the darkness, and Aurora kept a tight grip not only on her broom but on her wand as she approached. "Have you been following me?" she asked in a quiet voice.

The dog let out a low but soft growl, and raised a paw to rest on her foot. She glanced down, but couldn't gather why it was acting this way. "You're a strange thing, aren't you?" Aurora whispered, scratching the dog's ears. "Don't you have a name?" The dog only barked, and withdrew its paw. "I don't understand that."

She didn't get any clarification; instead, the dog turned and bounced away into the darkness and the treeline. Aurora sighed, and watched it until it disappeared, before heading back into the castle, suddenly cold.

With all the Quidditch drama going on, Aurora was looking forward to only a handful of her classes: Ancient Runes, Transfiguration and of course Defence Against the Dark Arts. Care of Magical Creatures was exceptionally boring now all they were doing was feeding lettuce to flobberworms, Potions was awful with Snape, and the others were just mediocre. She wanted to like Arithmancy, since she had always been interested in it, but Professor Vector insisted that her Agrippa calculations were incorrect, and Aurora didn't know what she was meant to do about it. Granger looked awfully smug about the matter, and her constant presence made that class even worse.

She was relieved on Thursday that she had Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin's classes usually cheered her up, but when she entered the classroom, she realised that their usual teacher was not here. Instead, Snape stood at the front of the class, writing the title WEREWOLVES on the blackboard in capital letters. Aurora hid her groan. There was no teacher she hated more than Snape, and she had a feeling this class would be especially wretched given how much she hated her, Potter, Neville, and Lupin himself.

The class settled in near silence, and Draco looked inquisitively around. Gone was the warm feeling Aurora usually associated with Lupin's classroom. Snape appeared batlike and cold, and could as easily have been a vampire as taught them how to fight one. When he was satisfied at the class' quiet - despite the fact that Potter had yet to arrive - he began to discuss the notes on their class that Lupin had left, which concerned their behaviour and skill rather than the material covered.

"I never had Black down as an essayist," he sneered, and she prickled. He was deliberately trying to rile her up, and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of her temper. "Apparently Longbottom is adept at dealing with Boggarts." His lip curled cruelly. "You have found a talent at last." Neville flushed red. "Now, I would think Lupin would have done me the courtesy of leaving a record of your-"

The door burst open and Potter stride in. "Sorry I'm late Professor Lu-" He broke off, face going bright red when he realised who was glaring at him from the desk.

"You are ten minutes late, Potter," Snape said coldly. "So I think I'll make that ten points from Gryffindor." Aurora hid her smile. "Sit down."

Potter looked outraged. "Where's Professor Lupin?"

"He is feeling too ill to teach today," Snape sneered. He looked rather pleased by this. "I believe I told you to sit down."

"But what's wrong with him?"

"Nothing life-threatening." Aurora thought Snape looked like he had hoped it was. "Ten more points from Gryffindor. If I have to ask you again, Potter, it will be fifty."

Though he looked extremely reluctant, Potter took his seat with Granger and Weasley, glaring at Snape. "Now, as I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record on the topics you have covered-"

"Please sir," Granger interrupted. Pansy pulled a mocking face. "We've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, and Hinkypunks, and we're meant to be starting-"

"Be quiet," Snape snapped. "I did not ask for information, I merely commented on Lupin's lack of organisation." Aurora ground her teeth. She bet Lupin had left notes, and Snape was neglecting to look at them just so he could have a go. As if he could ever be a better teacher than Lupin.

"He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," Dean Thomas said, and Aurora smirked. He was, and Aurora was glad he'd said it before she'd had to.

"You are easily satisfied," Snape replied in a cool tone. "He is hardly overtaxing you. I would expect first years to be able to handle Red Caps and Grindylows." Aurora felt the urge to remind him that their first year professor had been utterly incompetent and also possessed by the Dark Lord, but she didn't think it would be a good idea to draw attention to herself. "Today we shall discuss..." He smirked as he flipped to the end of their textbook. "Werewolves."

"But, sir," Granger interrupted, "we're not meant to do werewolves yet, we're supposed to be working on Hinkypunks."

"Miss Granger. I was under the impression that I was teaching this lesson, not you. Turn to page three hundred and ninety four." Draco and Pansy both obliged, but Aurora did not move. She was glaring silently at Snape. Why was he so awfully bitter? "All of you, now!"

She reluctantly did so, glaring down at the page. "Which of you can distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?"

Aurora knew this answer easily. Arcturus had taught her all about werewolves; beastly, brutish things that would stop at nothing to satiate their appetites. She knew of one during the war, Fenrir Greyback, who had sank to his knees before the Dark Lord so he might have some twisted justification for his targeting of Muggle children. He was a horrid brute, and all werewolves were the same.

Aurora raised her hand, and Snape's eyes glittered in her direction. "Black. You know the answer?"

"Yes," she said tightly. There was no other reason why she would have put her hand up, after all.

"Let's see if you know, or if you are merely attempting to show off." He nodded sharply and she took that as her cue.

"They differ in a number of small ways. Werewolves typically have longer snouts than the true wolf, they have less of a tendency to move in packs, and often make use of their hind legs alone, which gives them slightly more of a humanoid resemblance."

Snape sneered. "Only three differences, Miss Black? Dear, dear."

"It's more than anyone else gave you," she retorted coldly.

"Indeed." Only Granger's hand was still waving in the air. "Though I do not appreciate your showing off, Miss Black, as I have told you on multiple occasions. Your impertinence has earned you a detention." She scowled. "Can nobody else give me any differences?"

"We haven't even studied werewolves yet," Parvati Patil snapped, and Snape glared at her. "You can't expect us to know everything when we haven't even been taught!"

Aurora wished Patil had kept her mouth shut. "At your age? I must make a point to tell Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are."

"Please, sir," Granger said desperately, like she couldn't bear not to answer. And Snape called Aurora a show off? "Like Black said, the werewolf differs from the true wolf in many small ways. Their eyes are often more humanoid in colour, shape, and expression, and they tend to have sharper-"

"Have I not just told Black my opinions on show offs?" Snape shook his head with a glare. "That is the second time you have spoken out of turn. Another ten points from Gryffindor, for being an insufferable know-it-all." It wasn't untrue, but Aurora thought that was rather far for a teacher to go.

"You asked a question and she gave you an answer!" Weasley cried out indignantly. "Why ask if you don't want to be told."

Snape sneered again coldly. "Another five points, Weasley. And I believe you can join Black in detention. I'm sure that will be a joy for both of you." Aurora looked at her desk to avoid glaring at anybody. "And if I ever hear you criticise the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."

After that, no one dared to speak again, though in Aurora's case, keeping quiet was very difficult. Whatever it was about Snape, he just infuriated her and brought out every angry thought she would otherwise never dare to voice. She had to remind herself of her friends around her to keep calm. If she blew up here, he might stop her from playing on Saturday, and she couldn't risk losing that chance. Flint would kill her if she did.

So even as Snape insulted every one of her essays - called them incorrect and exaggerated and unnecessary - she kept her steadfast silence. He held them back at the end of class. "You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognise and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday. It is time somebody took this class in hand." Aurora glared bitterly. "Black, Weasley, stay behind. We need to arrange your detentions."

With a scowl, Aurora gathered up her bag and stalked over to Snape's desk. Weasley looked no more pleased about this than she did, and shot her a venomous glare which she immediately returned. "There you both are," Snape said silkily. "You will both spend the night scrubbing bedpans in the Hospital Wing, with no magic." Aurora screwed up her nose in disgust at the thought. "Too good for that, Black?"

"No, sir," she muttered, crossing her arms.

"Weasley? Do not let me hear you criticising my teaching again. As for Black..." He sneered. "Difficult as it may be to restrain your arrogance, do attempt to stop being such a horrid show off. If I remember correctly, your father was the same, and we all know the fate that leads to."

For a second, she was lost for words. How dare he speak to her like that? "Forgive me, Professor, but as I have reminded you on multiple occasions, I am not my father." She scowled fiercely. "So I'd appreciate if you stop trying to compare us just because you've taken object to me."

Snape's eyes glittered menacingly. "Get out of my classroom, Black, before you earn yourself another detention."

She sneered back at him. "This isn't your classroom, Professor," she said, before sweeping out, not waiting to hear what he said and certainly not waiting for Weasley. The door swung shut and hit him firmly in the face, and she only winced before strutting to Arithmancy.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," she said tightly, trying to hide her scowl. "I had to speak to Professor Snape."

Vector waved her on and she took her usual seat by Granger, who raised her eyebrows coolly. "What?" Aurora snapped, pulling her book out and thunking it down on the desk. "Stop looking at me, Granger."

Granger simply made a superior sort of huffing sound and turned around, leaving Aurora to fume.