The house on Arbrus Hill stood proudly above the little village of Drybeck. Once, these lands had been vital to the Black family's finances and trading, nestled just upstream from the once populous city of Norwich. Now, most of Drybeck had no idea that the old, disused Tudor house on the hill had any connection to magic, least of all an ancient magical family. It appeared to them as a perfectly normal, if old, Tudor-style house, said to be owned by some wealthy old man who never saw fit to visit or make anything use out of it. A handful of magical families remained in the village and surrounding area, but none held loyalty to the Black family any longer — her family's connection was now only to the land itself, and the magic of the house, which at this point was faded, from the absence of its inhabitants.

Even so, stepping over the boundary of the narrow stream that bordered the northern edge of the low hillside, Aurora felt a sense of belonging wash over her, as the magic in the ground and in the ancient wards reacted to her presence. The family ring on her left hand warmed, welcomed and at home. But Andromeda was just behind her, and when Aurora glanced up, she could see the uncertainty in her gaze.

"My father would have hated to see the Ministry crawling all over this place," Andromeda said, frowning up at the top of the hill, where they could see the red stone face of the North Wing.

"I don't particularly like it either," Aurora admitted. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she was certain she could feel the traces of the unwelcome magic lurking in the air. Intruders — even if she had to have them there, for now. "But hopefully they'll be gone soon enough."

"Yes." Andromeda cleared her throat. Dora had met Sirius already when she had visited Hogwarts, but for Andromeda this would be the first time seeing her estranged cousin in over a decade, and no doubt it was going to be a rather strange experience for all of them. Andromeda had been — understandably — rather upset with Aurora when she returned home three days ago, and spent a good twenty minutes lecturing her about responsibility, and making sensible decisions, and respecting authority figures, before taking her in a tight, protective hug and beaming at the thought that after all these years, her favourite cousin was a good person after all. "Shall we go? I believe there's an Auror hailing us from up there."

Aurora nodded. "Will you be alright? I know this must all be odd."

Andromeda exhaled nervously. "It is very odd," she admitted, "but that doesn't mean it's bad, does it?"

With a faint smile, Aurora said, "I suppose not."

They went on up the gentle incline, and Aurora frowned at the grass on the hill. It would have to be cut back, she thought idly, for it was becoming rather wild, brushing against her robes. A dark-haired Auror guarded the door and gave them a suspicious glance as they approached.

"Lady Aurora Black, and Mrs Andromeda Tonks," Aurora introduced them, and the Auror nodded sharply.

"Course you are," he said, with a flicker of a grin. "We were expecting you, of course. Jack Baines. I'll need your wands for proof of identity."

It was an annoying formality, but a formality nonetheless. Aurora and Andromeda both held their wands out, and Baines traced a blue light spell over them. Both glowed slightly in confirmation before he handed them back. "On you go then. Mr Black's waiting somewhere in the drawing room, that house elf'll tell you, she's alright. Tell Tonks I said hello — guard duty ain't nearly as fun as you think, and it isn't like anyone gets all that excited about it anyway."

Andromeda offered him a tight-lipped smile, as Aurora pressed for the door to open and they stepped inside. The entrance hall offered a cool rush of magic around them, and Aurora smiled happily at the ornaments laid around the plinths, busts of their ancestors. Whispers came from the large, old portraits that hung from pale green walls, and Aurora tried not to let her discomfort show to her ancestors. This was not a situation she had ever thought she would find herself in.

"Tippy?" she called in the echoing hall, and with a crack, the littlest house elf appeared at the foot of the grand staircase.

She gasped, bending into a bow. "Lady Black, mistress! Tippy has been awaiting you!"

"Thank you, Tippy," Aurora said, feeling awkward with Andromeda beside her. "This is Andromeda Tonks. You've met before."

Tippy nodded, and bowed slightly again before righting herself. "Is Mistress here to see Mister Black? Tippy has prepared!"

"We are indeed, Tippy." Aurora smiled; it was good to see the house elf interacting with her as she had expressed a preference for, rather than stuck cleaning draughty old houses out of their strange sense of loyalty. "Would you show us the way?"

Seeming excited, Tippy nodded and gestured for them to follow her up the white marble staircase covered by a deep green carpeting — recently cleaned, Aurora noted, and well done too — babbling merrily about the scones and cakes she had prepared for the three of them. "Tippy is glad to have someone to cook for again, Mistress," she said, "Tippy has only been cleaning for so long — not that Tippy complains!"

"I know," Aurora was quick to assure her. "I'm very excited to taste what you've made us."

Tippy beamed as she led them towards the largest drawing room. The door was slightly ajar, and Aurora could hear faint music coming from the gramophone inside. Andromeda tensed as they approached, but Aurora was already pushing the door open, to see her father sitting inside, more nervous than she'd ever seen him and with a tension that was oddly reminiscent of a misbehaving student waiting outside Snape's office, only with marginally less dread.

He perked up when he saw them, though, all but running over to hug Aurora at her entrance. She stiffened, but returned the embrace as convincingly as she could before stepping back. "Father," she started, "this is Andromeda. Which you know, of course, but... Well." This wasn't quite the situation for regular introductions, after all.

For a moment, the two cousins just looked at each other. Aurora felt rather like wishing the ground would swallow her up — even Tippy appeared out of sorts, and skipped hurriedly off to fuss over the curtains. Then Andromeda said, voice slightly choked, "It took you bloody long enough to invite me over, Sirius."

He went red, but the two embraced quickly, whispering. "Thank you," he said, when they parted. His eyes darted to Aurora. "You've looked after Aurora. When I — I couldn't. Done a pretty good job, if you ask me."

Andromeda pursed her lips. "Yes, well, she's always been a wonderful child, ever since we first met her." Aurora felt herself glow red. "Ted and Nymphadora are sorry they aren't here to meet you too, but I'm sure we'll all get to know each other. Aurora and I thought it best if it was just the three of us for now, but you'll have met my Dora already."

"Oh, yes." Sirius grinned. "Brilliant hair, by the way. Where'd that ability crop up in the family?"

"Goodness knows," Andromeda sighed. "The most recent Metamorphmagus we could trace was Belvina — our great-great aunt, Dora and Aurora's great-great-great aunt. She gave us quite the fright when it first appeared. We thought it was just accidental magic at first, that she'd managed to charm her hair green, just at a very young age, but no. It seems to have served her well though."

Sirius laughed. "I would have loved to have been able to do that when I was younger."

Andromeda shook her head as Aurora, feeling slightly out of place, led them over to the sofas next to the tea table, laden with trays of food. "From what I've heard, you got into enough mischief without having inherited metamorphmagus magic. Turning into animals and all sorts."

Her father flushed as they sat down opposite each other. "We had our reasons. Tea?"

The absurdity of seeing him offer to serve Andromeda tea almost made Aurora giggle, but she fought to compose herself. There was little time for idle chatter. Andromeda took a sip and asked, "So what exactly do you intend to have happen from this point?"

Her father blinked. "With regards to..."

"Aurora." She startled. "She didn't say if you had discussed whether she would continue to live with us or with you. I'm certain she thought I didn't notice her avoiding the subject."

Heat rose to her cheeks. She had been avoiding it — of course she had been avoiding it — because she simply didn't know what she wanted to do, or what she ought to do. No one had prepared her for such a situation. She wanted to know her father, but she wasn't sure she wanted to live with him, and even if she did, it felt too much like tossing the Tonkses aside, and that didn't feel right after all they had done for her.

"Aurora's welcome to live with me," her father said slowly, as though sensing her delicate mood, "especially seeing as this house is effectively hers. She knows what I would like. But I wouldn't... Andromeda, I really do appreciate what you've done."

Andromeda pursed her lips, eyebrows raised. Clearly, that was not the answer she had desired; but she turned to Aurora. "What do you want?"

Aurora stared at her. "I don't know."

Surprised, Andromeda said, "You don't?" Aurora flushed. "Not that I would pressure you, Aurora. You're always welcome with us, you can stay if you like, but I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to live with Sirius." Even as she said it, Aurora could see the words were somewhat forced. "And of course, it isn't as though we will live separate lives. I fully intend to get to know my cousin again, now that I have the opportunity. I merely thought you had made up your mind, already."

She shook her head, avoiding both their gazes, because she knew her father would look disappointed and she didn't want to deal with that. "It's not as if it's the priority right now anyway, is it?" she deflected, voice high. "We have to worry about the trial first of all."

"I think we all know that's a formality more than anything else," Andromeda said, sighing. "However — you have a point. Do you have an update, Sirius?"

At this, her father's frown deepened. "Not much of one. It seems the Ministry wants it to be a quiet affair. Last I heard yesterday, they'll hold some sort of inquiry in the Autumn."

Aurora scoffed. "That is not the impression I was given, and it isn't nearly good enough. It must be a terrible embarrassment for them, they'll want to brush it under the carpet if they can." She smiled smugly. "But I won't let them. If they keep you hanging, I'll speak to Fudge about it myself. I'm sure I can make him see that a trial, sooner rather than later, is of benefit to him as well as us. There is no point in waiting until the autumn in the hopes that the issue will somehow fade away before a trial. It won't, and I don't intend to let it, either."

Her father raised his eyebrows. "Will you, now?"

"Yes." Her voice was clipped. "The Ministry has Pettigrew, there is overwhelming evidence that the trial was unjust. He has already confessed. As reparation, they must give you a full, free trial and ensure your innocence is made known. The circumstances have already prompted public outcry. Especially amongst pureblood circles. I've received letters about it already — the Ministry, wrongfully imprisoning one of their own, and a member of House Black, at that?"

"I haven't been a real part of the House of Black for a long time," her father said tiredly, "and everybody knows it. And frankly, I don't want to be."

"But you may have to be," she told him, trying to ignore the sting in his words. "People can remember things very differently sometimes, if you only direct their thoughts slightly in the other direction. You may have lost your place on the family tree, but I am still Lady Black. Not to mention, the Ministry's mistake is already causing a fuss. People are losing trust. They are questioning things. They are afraid of what may be revealed." She steeled herself. "But our family name still means something."

A faint and crooked smile graced his lips. "You sound like my mother."

"Perhaps," she said coldly, drawing herself up, "that can be a good thing, in the correct circumstances. Grandmother taught me never to underestimate myself, and to always know my worth." She flattened her hair, staring her father down. "And just because you have exhausted your allies, does not mean that I have. And I don't intend to lose them in the murk of all this."

Now, her father wore a light smirk. "Why do I feel like you have more planned than you are letting on?"

"Because I do," she told him. "To begin with, Dumbledore knows the truth. He is head of the Wizengamot, and I believe he will side with us.

"Then there are the other families. Granted, most of my friend's parents may not be... Particularly endeared to you, but Daphne Greengrass's family might put some support behind us. And of course, Ron Weasley's family. They might not be held up as pureblood but they do have some influence, and they are old." She smiled to herself. "And I think we both know Potter's word will hold influence in this particular instance. No matter how quick Fudge was to disregard him, public opinion generally won't be quite the same."

"Fudge won't want to disrupt his position," Andromeda warned. "He doesn't want people to lose faith in him."

"But it was Bagnold's administration that sentenced you," she went on, "wasn't it? Therefore, he has a way of dodging the brunt of the outcry.

"I'm certain Blaise Zabini's mother has connections in journalism, too. In fairness, she has connection everywhere, but if it comes to it, and Fudge won't do the right thing because he's afraid of the scrutiny, we could leak a story, start a fuss among the public. Put pressure on the Ministry to address its gross incompetence, either way." She could feel her own mouth lifting in a smirk. "We still have power," she told them both. "I see no point in disregarding it. And I want justice, yes, but I also want acknowledgement of the consequences of the Ministry's failure all these years. To do nothing would be to betray the family legacy. Something I have never been keen to do."

She still hated the slow smile that edged its way over her father's features. "Look at you," he said, "all grown up and defending your Dad."

"I'm not just doing this for you," she said, words coming out sharper than she had intended. "I don't want the family name smeared by lies, either."

Her father nodded. His eyes trailed down to fixate on the table. "Still," he said, voice thick. "Thank you, Aurora."

Andromeda coughed and took a scone from the stand. "I think perhaps our focus should be on ensuring the script, not the stage. Aurora, you have assurances from Potter, Granger and Weasley, yes?"

She nodded. Potter, she was sure, would be there, and his friends would follow whatever he decided to do. Lupin would be there, too. Her lawyer, Atlas Runbarrow, was doing everything to ensure that their statements were airtight. In truth, Aurora wasn't concerned about whether her father would be proven innocent — the Ministry had more or less decided so already, and the evidence was stacked entirely against Pettigrew now. But she wanted, in that bitter, burning part of her, revenge, not only on Peter Pettigrew, but on the whole institution that had allowed for the miscarriage of justice against her father. She wanted everyone to know and recognise the injustice of it. She wanted the Ministry shamed for what they had done. Runbarrow had said that, once the trial was out the way and her father's innocence declared, he would be able to assist her in suing the Ministry, something she found greatly appealing. They had a lot to answer for — they should be put on trial too, she felt.

Everything else they discussed was as Aurora had imagined. Her father was apprehensive about the idea of revealing his Animagus form, however, the maximum punishment for not registering was a fine, and infinitely preferable to the punishment for perjury. Admitting to his form didn't necessarily implicate Lupin in anything, unless they went into a deeper explanation, which would have to be worked on.

Once they had eaten all that was on the stands and drained the kettle, and the conversation turned from her father's case to Dora's position with the Aurors, and how Ted was getting on with his writing work, and Andromeda asking after Professor Lupin (who, to Aurora's relief, was quite settled somewhere out in Wales, and had been in touch with her father regularly) the bells in the village clocktower were ringing at five o'clock.

"You can always stay for supper," her father said hopefully, gaze flicking to the window. "Or invite Ted and Dora 'round, I'd love to see them."

Andromeda pursed her lips and Aurora tried not to fidget with anything as she set her teacup down. "We probably should go," Andromeda said, with a wary glance along at Aurora. "But you can stay if you'd like to."

"No," she said, too harshly, and she winced. "Not that I wouldn't like to, of course. But I'm sure those Aurors outside are already getting tetchy."

Her father snorted and looked away from her, somewhat coldly. "I'll see you again soon," she promised, feeling suddenly like she had been caught again. What was she supposed to choose to do? "This will be sorted soon and then you're free to do whatever you want."

His smile was clearly forced when he looked at her, standing up. "Yeah. Can't wait. Really." Her father pulled her into a tight hug and she tried not to be so stiff as always. She just didn't know how to express her feelings about any of this, or about him. Especially since she wasn't even entirely certain what she did feel, or think. "Please visit me when you can," he whispered, and that made her feel worse. "I know this is strange, and difficult... But I want to be able to spend time with you. Whatever form that takes. Alright?"

"Yeah." Her chin bumped against his shoulder as she nodded. "I will. It's just... There is much still to deal with."

The stiff uncertainty in her voice was impossible to hide. Her father let her go, before reaching over to kiss Andromeda's cheek. "I'll walk you out," he said quietly. "And Aurora, if you would... When you can. I can't have Harry visit me yet, without supervision, because of... All of this. But I did receive a letter from him the other day which worried me." She frowned, gesturing for him to go on as they left the drawing room. "His cousin's been put on a diet and they're all being made to follow it. It sounds grim, to say the least. But Harry's already a bit... Thin." That was certainly true. "And he was all too eager to leave his family when I offered. Just... See that he's alright? Not wasting away or anything?"

She wanted to say no. Potter had already told her not to visit unless absolutely necessary — because his aunt and uncle weren't fans of magic. And she didn't particularly want to have contact with him anyway. But her father asked.

"I'll see if there's anything I can do," she said grudgingly. "But I'm really not the best person for this. I doubt he wants me there."

Her father chuckled, with a sad sort of smile. "You might be surprised. Maybe things have changed."

"I doubt it."

His eyes softened. "Come back and see me as soon as you can, right?"

"Of course I will." She let him pat her gently on the shoulder, before she and Andromeda left. His figure was slightly forlorn in the open doorway, illuminated from behind by the white light reflected off the marble entrance hall. Aurora felt a pang of guilt, which she knew was ridiculous. She couldn't stay with him right now anyway, and yet, she didn't know what she ought to decide for the future either. Making her choose felt wholly unfair, yet she knew she would never take kindly to either her father or Andromeda deciding for her. Such decisions were too complicated, too emotionally loaded. Aurora didn't know how to begin dealing with such things right now.

Dinner felt somewhat stilted that evening, the tense air broken only by Dora's discussion of the tickets they had managed to secure for the Quidditch World Cup.

"Course," she said, looking pointedly at Aurora in a poorly concealed attempt to draw her into conversation, "Ludo Bagman doesn't really know me all that well, and Moody says he's always been way too generous with favours, but I think he's a bit curious too. Anyway, we're not in Top Box or anything, but he managed to wangle a bit of an upgrade for us. We'll be pretty high up."

She cracked a smile. "And Ireland and Bulgaria are still the favourites? I suppose we're all in green then."

Dora pulled a face and said teasingly, "Not Slytherin green, though."

Andromeda scoffed. "Slytherin green is the best green, Dora. Everyone knows that."

With a short laugh, Aurora glanced up at Dora, nervous to ask exactly how many people these tickets were for. Everyone else seemed to notice the unspoken question, but she didn't want to ask. Not least because they were expensive tickets and it felt awfully rude. Besides, she didn't have to try and include her father. She didn't even know if he would be a free man by the time the cup final came around.

"We'll have to book the campsite soon, too. Dad can do that, though, he knows how Muggles work, and apparently I'm always too loud and weird on the telephone."

"You are definitely too loud, Dora. It's no different than a Floo call." Ted's smile was overly bright. "Are any of your friends from school planning on going to the cup, Aurora?"

She almost laughed at the question. "Only everyone," she said. "It's been all Draco spoke about for goodness knows how long, even Gwen's going with Robin Oliphant's family. I don't think Daphne is, and Pansy isn't particularly interested, but everyone else is going. I even heard Perks and Jones talking about it, and I barely hear them speak." She shook her head. "It is the sporting event of the year, after all."

Dora grinned across the table. "Is it now?"

Aurora stared. "Well, yes. It's the Quidditch World Cup, Dora, what's more exciting than that?"

The three adults traded secretive smiles, and Aurora frowned, feeling rather left out. "What am I missing?"

"Nothing, dear," Andromeda said, and Aurora hid the irritation that flickered across her. "You'll have to ask Gwendolyn what site they're going to, I'm sure it would be lovely for you to see each other again."

Aurora narrowed her eyes. "Yes, I suppose so. Though that's more Oliphant's territory..." She didn't want to admit that she and Gwendolyn weren't quite on the same terms as they had been last year. It wasn't bad, necessarily — just different. "Aren't any of Dora's old school friends going too? It would be nice to meet them, after all your stories."

Dora grinned. "Oh, Penny is, you'll love her, she's the sweetest."

"Sweetest?"

"And wicked fun when she gets to it." She winked. "We were the life and soul of Hufflepuff house in our day. Never seen anyone like us." She threw a teasing glance in her father's direction. "His lot could never have kept up."

Ted rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm certain none of my lot got quite as many owls home as you did, Dora."

While they laughed, Aurora snuck a glance at Andromeda, who seemed tentatively warm. She still couldn't get over the feeling that, whatever she did, she would upset someone. There was no right choice. Sitting here with the Tonkses, Aurora wondered how she could ever want to be anywhere else. But leaving her father alone around that empty house, that felt wrong too, in a different way. Like abandoning him — a foolish thing to worry about, really, considering he had gotten himself locked up in Azkaban for most of her life.

Even so. She wanted to believe Andromeda and the Tonkses would be as alright with whatever choice she made as they said. But she couldn't — not quite.

Still, she tried to distract herself. Through dinner, and then, with the thought of her father's trial. It had to be significant. She could not allow the Ministry to sweep their failings under the rug. That mission in her head, that had to be her primary concern. Never mind the sentimentality of deciding whether she would live with Sirius or Andromeda — the House of Black came first.

She would defend it.

-*

Post flooded in in the morning, as predicted. At least this time, Aurora had Dora, Andromeda, and Ted on hand for the onslaught of owls, all of whom were indignant on her behalf.

"I did wonder when they'd get redirected from Hogwarts," she said, plucking a howler and flinging it straight into the fireplace, "clearly people don't think about term times if they don't have children there. Rather awful planning."

"You've had this many owls?" Dora asked, furious. "Random people shouldn't be able to contact you! You're a kid!"

"They find a way," she said idly. "At least help me read them. Some are important, some are blabbering nonsense and some are just insults. So far, no one's hexed me via letter, so I count myself rather lucky."

"No one had better hex you via letter," Ted said in a low voice, snatching a letter from a dark owl with bright eyes. "This one extends an apology from a Madam Barberton."

"Blabbering nonsense," Aurora said. "Just put it to the side, Ted."

"Aurora," Andromeda started in a disapproving tone. "We can't just gloss over this."

"I know," she said, reading a letter from Leonard Arlington's ShieldWorks, a company her family had been associated with for years, which wished to set up a meeting, "I'll make sure it doesn't all get sent here to you, it isn't fair to interrupt breakfast—"

"That," Andromeda spluttered, "is not the point. This level of post is — well, it counts as harassment!"

"At least they don't all hate me. It was worse after that Skeeter article."

She ignored the pointed looks which the Tonkses traded. "It's really fine," she told them, even though the barrage of letters was making her uneasy, "I'll have to deal with this sort of thing when I'm older anyway, I can't hide from it."

"Perhaps," Andromeda said slowly, "but right now, you're fourteen."

"Oi!" Dora looked up with an indignant expression, waving the letter she had opened for Aurora. "This one's from Lord Thorel. He's proposing!"

"He's sixty," Aurora said, disgusted, "burn it and I'll reject him before I block his owl."

"You're fourteen!" Andromeda reiterated. "You don't have to deal with this."

"I don't mind," she said, "most of them aren't creepy like that. To be honest, people like that are even worse than the insults." Even though she knew those were the sort of people she would have to deal with the most over the next few years. "Andy, it's really okay. We can organise an owl redirect, but I can handle it — and I have to handle it, at least right now."

Andromeda sighed. "You shouldn't have to, not at your age."

"But I do," she reiterated, bristling. She wasn't a child — even if she was, the world wasn't exactly treating her as one. She sliced open another letter, this one calling a lying whore, which was a lovely new addition, however irrelevant the insult was to the issue at hand, and one which admittedly rattled her more than she liked. "I'll burn this one too. I just wish I could use my own wand for it."

"What does it say?" Ted asked at once, looking over, and she folded it, angling the writing away from him.

"Nonsense. It doesn't bother me."

She scooped up the last of the letters, deciding that everything that wasn't a howler could be dealt with later, after breakfast. All three Tonkses were still staring at her, though. "It really is alright," she told them, trying to keep her annoyance out of her voice. "I just want to have breakfast."

Dora snorted, and took a long sip of coffee. "Sure, munchkin. I'll look into owl redirects at work today, we can manage that sort of thing."

Despite her insistences, Aurora nodded gratefully at the offer. "I do need to be able to access owl post, even from people I can't pre-approve. But I'd rather it didn't get to a stage of getting hexed."

"It won't," Andromeda assured her hastily, though Ted was still frowning, "eat up your breakfast. We'll see your father for lunch. He will want to hear about this, you know."

"I know," Aurora said grouchily, "but it will just worry him even more than he already is. He doesn't need to know."

"He will want to know," Andromeda said, and that was the end of it, at least until Aurora got to her room after finishing her cup of tea.

She read through her letters hastily. Most were, thankfully, nice letters saying they hoped her father was doing well and not too affected by his unfair stint in Azkaban — those, she could compose a basic reply to and copy it out. But still too many accused her of lying, or said she should be locked up herself. Two had the audacity to ask about her mother, as if Aurora was going to hand out information, or knew what she would think of all this, and one of those made a not-so-subtle inquiry as to her mother's blood status, though they were signed anonymously. Three letters related to society or Ministry business — one an invitation to tea at Abbott Manor, the other about the Legislating Assembly agenda once it reconvened after Merlin's Day, and the other a confirmation of an appointment with Minister Fudge for a few days' time.

That one brought her courage, so she crumpled up the letters she didn't like, placed the others carefully in a drawer, and prepared herself to see her father again.

A/N: And so begins the summer of '94. I have a question for you all over here, just out of curiosity. There's been a bit of debate/discussion in the comments over on AO3 about potential ships in this fic. Romance really isn't the main focus of this fic anyway, certainly not at the moment, nor is it Aurora's priority, but I am curious about people's opinions over here, since it hasn't really been touched upon so much and I'm curious to see if opinion is split.

In addition, if there is any particular theme or aspect that you'd like to see explored more this year, feel free to let me know in the comments! I'm curious to read your thoughts about how fourth year is going to go this time around, and I hope you all enjoy reading it. Thanks for all your support!