In the week since Merlin's Day, Aurora had barely had a moment to herself to think about everything that had happened. From Pansy's outpour, to Narcissa's cryptic words, none of it sat well. It was a feeling not unlike the one she'd had in the weeks leading up to Lucretia and Ignatius passing away — the feeling that something was changing, whether with her knowledge or not, and no matter how people might try to dress it up or keep it from her.
But one thing, she hoped, might change for the better.
On the sixteenth of July, Aurora made her way to the Ministry of Magic, where her father was already waiting. Dora, Andromeda and Ted had all accompanied her, but they were to sit in the gallery for the trial, watching. The whole of the Wizengamot had been summoned, and though Aurora had pushed for it, when it came to waiting in the corridor outside the grand courtroom, on her own, Aurora felt slight sick at the thought. There were people up there, some that she knew and some that she didn't. Some who, perhaps, had been down there as defendants themselves, or ought to have been.
She knew that everyone would have an opinion on the outcome of this. It unsettled her more now, after the Merlin's Day party. None of the Dark Lord's old supporters would move against them now, she was fairly certain, seeing as so many of them had publicly denounced him and were firmly in cahoots with Fudge. But they would whisper.
Even so, Aurora had gotten used to whispers. She knew who she was, and what her family meant to her, and that had to be the most important thought.
Her father was escorted to the Ministry alone in the early morning, but Aurora made her way with Dora, Ted, and Andromeda, all of whom were planning on watching from the gallery. Along with most of the country, she thought. It was only Andromeda who was allowed to walk down towards the courtroom with her, as they split from Ted and Dora at a door leading to the gallery overlooking Courtroom Ten.
"Remember what we discussed," Andromeda said as they went towards the elevator. "Keep to your story, don't let them distract you. It all should be fine — they can't prosecute him, there is no evidence. But you have to keep calm."
"I know," Aurora said, clasping her hands together. "I know, and it'll be okay. I know what I'm doing."
They both knew it, both knew that this trial was more a formality than anything, her stage to condemn the Ministry rather than their theatre to try her father. That didn't stop her from feeling nervous, from worrying that something awful might come out of the woodwork to haunt them.
She knew there were plenty of people behind them. Even the Quibbler — a magazine known for its eccentricities — had said that it believed Sirius's innocence, though it did also imply that he had a rockstar alter ego, which somewhat detracted from the credibility of the article. She had received letters too. There were still plenty which took against her, but she chose to try and focus on those which supported her, and on the messages of support from her friends. None of them were able to get away to watch the proceedings, though she suspected all of them would have it relayed to them by their parents. Pansy, Theodore and Daphne and Pansy all had written the day before to wish her luck, and it was a gesture she appreciated greatly.
As they went towards the elevator, though, she startled in surprise when she saw Cassius Warrington making his way over. Blinking, Aurora turned to Andromeda, who seemed oblivious.
"Cassius?" she asked when he got close. "What are you doing here?"
He shook his head, grinning as he fell into step and Andromeda frowned at him, suspicious. "My dad's on the Wizengamot, remember? He said I could come with him today to watch the trial, but I wanted to come see you. Say good luck, you know."
She tried to hide her smile. It was sweet of him, and wholly unexpected, but she found herself grateful when Cassius hugged her quickly, even if it did make her blush. "Graham says good luck too," he added when he let her go and ran a hand through his long blond hair. He glanced back over his shoulder, towards the open door to the gallery. "I'm sure you've nothing to be worried about."
"Thanks," she said faintly, still recovering from the fact that Cassius Warrington had decided to come here to wish her luck and show his support. He had written, of course, but his actually being here was an even stronger gesture. A smile pulled at her lips, as she avoided Andromeda's knowing, curious look. "That's er — that's really good of you. I think it'll be okay, but it's still... You know."
He nodded, wrinkling his nose. "Bit nervewracking, yeah?"
She let out a breathy laugh. "Just a bit, yeah."
"You'll be grand," Cassius assured her. "The whole Quidditch team's behind you. I'd get Marcus in to give you a pep talk if I could."
Despite herself, Aurora laughed. "Somehow I don't think being told to kick Gryffindor's arse would really help in this situation."
"You never know," Cassius said, shrugging as he laughed. He looked over to the door again, where two blonde young women were waiting on him, looking annoyed. "I'll get back to my sisters before they start moaning at me." He reached out a hand and then stopped himself, before clapping her on the shoulder. He cleared his throat. "Good luck, Black."
"Thanks," Aurora said again.
Cassius grinned at her, then with a nod towards Andromeda, hurried over to the door to the gallery.
Aurora blinked, still surprised as she watched him go. Andromeda cleared her throat, smirking.
Aurora's cheeks flushed.
The elevator ride down was highly awkward in the light of Andromeda's teasing looks, but at least it gave her something to think about besides her crushing nerves about the trial. She knew it would go in her favour, but didn't want to take anything for granted, and her brain came up with all the worst possible scenarios to unfold.
Atlas Runbarrow, the lawyer she had taken on for herself and her father, greeted them at the end of a long, draughty corridor. "Lady Black," he said, with a nod. "Mister Black is already waiting through there." He gestured to the door opposite the one that led to the courtroom. "We have some time to go over any points of concern. And one of your other witnesses has already arrived — Remus Lupin."
"Yes," Aurora said, trying to hide her nerves, "I thought he would be early. I believe Miss Granger, Mister Potter, and Mister Weasley are all arriving together." She and Potter had exchanged a couple of letters recently, and once Aurora had gotten over the abysmal state of the boy's handwriting, they had agreed their arrangements. Potter and Granger had stayed with the Weasleys the night before, and were too arrive at half past eight on the dot, prepared for the trial to begin at nine o'clock.
"Good, good," Runbarrow said, glancing anxiously up the corridor. "Well, I'd hope they'll find their way. Come inside, Lady Black, your father has been anxious to speak with you."
Aurora tried not to roll her eyes. It had only been two days since she last spoke to him, but her father was just like that. He said he wanted to make up for lost time, and she was increasingly inclined to remind him why such time had been lost, but had had to hold her tongue. They had more important things to worry about, and he had been just as disconcerted as Andromeda when Aurora told him about Merlin's Day.
"I'll see you after," Andromeda said, hugging Aurora tightly. "You'll be alright, I promise. Say hello to your dad for me."
Aurora nodded, and tried to ignore the fresh wave of nerves that came with Andromeda's departure.
Runbarrow led her inside, where her father was in low, agitated conversation with Professor Lupin. The latter looked very much worse for wear, with deep bags beneath his eyes, but her father broke into a grin the second he caught sight of her, all but leaping to his feet.
"Rory," he said, opening his arms as he hurried over. She gave him a tight lipped smile and a tense hug in return. "Are you alright?"
"I'm perfectly fine," she said, shaking her head. She glanced over at Lupin, who gave her a wan smile and didn't get up. "I'm more worried about you, considering this is your trial."
His smile fell, only the tiniest bit. "Yes, well, hopefully it'll all go smoothly. You said it yourself, it's a formality more than anything else. We just need to prove our point."
Aurora nodded. "Yes, but that isn't to say it won't be nerve-wracking. You have to make sure you don't leave anything out, because the press are all in there and they'll use anything they can to elaborate the story. And you have to make sure you stick with Dumbledore, he's leading the trial anyway which is helpful, if a slight bit morally dubious. But it works in our favour for now — and you have to be careful in your wording, Pettigrew will try and twist whatever you say, and the journalists want as much of a scandal as they can get. You have to keep calm, like we practiced."
"Aurora," her father said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder, "I know. You don't have to worry, it's going to be fine. I know what I have to do. I can handle it. We're in control."
Aurora pursed her lips. "Even so, this is an incredibly important day. We have to use it to the best—"
"Sirius!"
She broke off, face immediately dropping into a scowl. Her father didn't notice — though Lupin seemed to — as he quickly moved past Aurora to embrace his godson. When she turned, trying to keep her face pleasant and neutral, she noted that all of the Gryffindors had made something of an effort, but Weasley's collar was still sticking up evenly on one side, and Potter's hair was not even the slightest bit tamer than usual. His glasses were dirty too, and Aurora rolled her eyes when he turned to her, looking awkward.
"Black," he said. She could hear the struggle in his voice, too.
"Potter," she greeted, inclining her head. She spared a passing glance as she said, "Weasley," and then offered Granger a small, tense smile. "Hermione. I'm glad you're all here." Someone came in just behind them, closing the door, looking harried. "Arthur Weasley, yes?"
They had met before, of course, neither occasion particularly pleasant, though for different reasons. But to her surprise, Mr Weasley nodded enthusiastically, and went to shake her hand. "Lovely to meet you again, Aurora. Slightly better circumstances at least." She nodded, avoiding the curious crease of Potter's forehead at those words. "Now, I think I'm supposed to go up into the public gallery, but I wanted to see these three down here safely. Are Ted and Andromeda here, Aurora?"
She blinked, slightly surprised by the question. But she did know that he was familiar with them, since Dora had been friends with Weasley's eldest brothers at Hogwarts. "Yes," she said after a moment, "Dora's with them too, and her hair's bright orange today so she shouldn't be too difficult to find."
"Jolly good." Mr Weasley beamed at her, and then nervously between her father and Lupin. "Well." Runbarrow arched an eyebrow. "I suppose I'd better let you all get on with it, get ready. Ron, remember what I told you — and fix that collar, or your mother'll have my head if you wind up in the papers looking like that."
At that, Weasley scowled, and Aurora let her gaze drift around the room as Mr Weasley left. "You three," Runbarrow said, once the door closed again. "Run your stories by me again, will you?"
They all went into a corner to discuss, while Aurora took the opportunity to sit down opposite her father. He appeared to be getting healthier and happier by the day, and she knew already that once this was over, it would be a massive weight off his shoulders. She wished she could say the same for Lupin — her old professor looked pale, his scars more prominent than she remembered, and back to the same gaunt thinness that had worn at him when he first took the position at Hogwarts. It was strange to try and reconcile him with the image of a werewolf which she had always kept in her head from horror stories. But Lupin had not been close to hurting her that night in the forest, he had even helped them in his wolf form.
And it was hard to look such a person as him in the eye and believe he was as awful as he surely should be.
"I haven't seen you since you left," she said quietly to him, trying not to disrupt the conversation in the corner. "I doubt we'll ever get such a good teacher. It's unfair that you had to leave."
A smile plucked at him, briefly. "In truth, Aurora, I don't think it was surprising. This has happened every year. Even when we were in school, there would be a new Defense teacher, every year, without fail. The circumstances are just... Unfortunate."
"Unjust, you mean," her father said, glaring at the table. "Snape had no right going off like he did."
"Yes, well." Lupin pursed his lips. "What's done is done." He nodded to Aurora. "You did well in your exam regardless."
She flushed, and her father looked over interestedly. She hadn't mentioned her exams to him really, because it had felt rather meaningless in the face of what had come after. Defense Against the Dark Arts had gotten her an unexpected Outstanding grade, along with Transfiguration and Arithmancy, while most subjects had been Es, only Herbology and Potions earning Acceptable grades. Whoever we have next year won't be as good," she said. "I know that already." Lupin smiled and she asked, "But how are you feeling? I imagine this situation isn't ideal."
He laughed. "Far from it, Aurora. But I'm coping, and I have my best friend back, so that's... Something." Both men glanced over and smiled at each other. The brotherly expression was strange and new on both of them.
"I suppose so," she agreed. "Father, you'll have to invite him round once this is all over."
Her father grinned, eyes flicking over to the corner. "As a matter of fact, we need to talk about that. I know you've been putting it off, and I'm not going to tell you where to live or anything—" Aurora stiffened "—but I would like you to... Visit, for a couple weeks. Before the World Cup, I know you're going to that with the Tonkses. Visits of an hour or so aren't the same, and you know that house has nothing but space."
Aurora clasped her hands together. She didn't want to say no, but she wasn't sure how to say yes. "I'll consider it," she said slowly, not looking at him. "I will. But we have to take this one thing at a time."
"Sirius," Potter said, distracting them as he appeared, lacking any grace or decorum, next to him. "How are you? Are you nervous?"
"We were in the middle of a conversation, Potter," Aurora said in a clipped voice. He pursed his lips, glancing between the three of them assembled there. Over in the corner next to Runbarrow, Weasley and Granger whispered, throwing unsubtle glances their way.
"Right. Sorry. Um..."
"It's fine," Sirius said. "I'm fine, Harry. We just have to get through today, and then it's all official and I'm free. Thanks to the two of you." He nodded between them, and Potter grinned.
"I know, Ron said everyone's talking about it. And about Aurora speaking to Fudge." She bristled at the use of her first name, but Potter clearly didn't notice. "But it's good, isn't it? Now everyone'll know you're innocent, they can't doubt it."
"That's the plan." Her father grinned. "I must say, it'll feel good knowing people know I'm not a murderer. And it'll feel good to know Peter's behind bars."
"Yeah." Potter had a satisfied sort of smile at that, too, but it fell quickly. "Will he — I mean, I guess he is here, right?"
Sirius nodded. "We'll be questioned first, and then him. I think they're keeping us separated."
"Right." Potter set his jaw, then glanced at Aurora. He smiled tersely. "How, um — how are you?"
She stared stonily at him. "Quite alright."
Potter seemingly didn't know what to say that, so the group of them lapsed into a stilted silence, until Granger and Weasley came over and started up a chatter that, honestly, started to do Aurora's head in. They were all so loud, and all she wanted to focus on was the trial that awaited them.
At nine o'clock sharp, there was a knock at the door and Albus Dumbledore swept in, wearing robes of violet and gold, and the matching hat with the embroidered W which Aurora knew to be the uniform of the Head of the Wizengamot. The fact that he was leading a trial he had taken such a clear side in didn't quite sit well with Aurora, but it suited her today and she was certainly in no position to question it so long as he kept to their side.
"We're ready for you all now," he told them, eyes twinkling. "There are seats prepared for everyone. Please."
Aurora felt her stomach stir with nausea as they all got to her feet. Her father sent her a reassuring smile which she could not bring herself to reciprocate, and she tried desperately to appear collected as they went through to the courtroom. She had to be calm, measured. She had to show everyone not only her father's innocence, but her family's strength.
Her head was abuzz with nerves and with the noise of the courtroom. High up in the gallery, she could see throngs of people, possibly hundreds, who had turned out to watch the trial. She caught Dora, Andromeda and Ted at the front, with Arthur Weasley beside them. Higher, Augusta Longbottom sat wearing the hat from Neville's boggart, next to, of all people, Professor McGonagall. In the corner, a dark veil over her face, was a short, round woman whom Aurora realised looked eerily like Pettigrew. She thought she saw, too, the silvery sheen of Narcissa's hair — but she couldn't fixate on it, and was being moved along to one of the sturdy, high-backed wooden chairs that ringed the circular courtroom floor. Her heart was beating so loudly she was certain it echoed all around. In the press gallery off to the side, one Rita Skeeter sat poised to take notes, and the Wizengamot at large was a sea of magenta robes. She recognised some faces, but tried not to dwell on them. She knew it would only make her nervous, and she could not afford to be nervous today.
This was a formality, she reminded herself. She had nothing to be nervous about. Andromeda was smiling encouragingly down at her from the gallery, as were Ted and Dora. She had confronted the Minister himself for this. She had to make the most of it.
They called on her as the first witness. Trying to hide the slight tremor of her hands, Aurora tilted her chin up, straightened her back and pushed down her shoulders. She took in a depth breath, remembering what she had rehearsed so many times in the mirror, making sure her delivery was perfect. Dumbledore smiled at him from his seat as High Warlock, as she began.
"My father is innocent, it is clear. Twelve years ago, his case was brushed aside in the wake of the end of the war. Today, I want to set the record straight, for the sake of my family. I want the world to know the truth."
-*
For its nature, the trial was over quickly. No one was surprised when Dumbledore declared her father innocent, though Pettigrew did put up a fight. The reporters in their gallery were whispering excitedly, likely already dreaming of the morning's headlines and the papers stuffed with analysis.
But all that was beyond Aurora when they shut the door to the courtroom and her father embraced her, holding on tighter than ever, and she could feel his smile against her. "I'm free," he said hoarsely, and she realised awkwardly that he was crying. She put her arms around him as best she could, trying to let her shoulders relax. She couldn't stop herself from smiling.
"That, you most certainly are," she said, beaming.
"We need to celebrate," Lupin said, clapping Aurora's father on the back.
Her father released her, grinning over at his friend with watery eyes. "Well?" he said, grinning at Aurora and then at Potter, Granger, and Weasley. "I think there's some sort of paperwork I have to go through, but I really ought to thank you all—"
"Mister Black," Runbarrow said from behind them, "I believe there is still the matter of the inheritance." Aurora tensed, looking at him. "Now you've been cleared... Well, you can access your personal accounts regardless, but the family finances and responsibilities will revert to you unless otherwise declared."
"Oh, I don't want any of that." He said it so easily, it was almost more shocking than if he had taken the responsibilities. "No, it's much more important to my daughter than it is to me." She flushed as he drew her towards him, but it was true. "I'll abdicate formally or whatever it is I need to do — but Lord Sirius just doesn't sound right."
Runbarrow regarded Aurora curiously, but nodded. "Very well. I'll have the paperwork for you, to ensure everything is official and legal, but if that ring is anything to go by, the family magic's already recognised its Lady Black." At that, Aurora smiled.
"Thank you, Runbarrow," she told him, still giddy with her relief. "Truly. We'll be in touch."
Then, he smiled back at her, lifted his briefcase and said, "I'm glad to be of assistance, Lady Black."
She turned back, beaming, to her father, and bade Runbarrow goodbye just as Dora came crashing through the door, grinning. "I told you everything would be fine," she declared to Aurora, who laughed and let her pull her into a hug. Ted and Andromeda followed, and behind them a short witch with flushed cheeks. "And you," she said, staring over her shoulder at Aurora's father, "now you have to show me how that motorbike works."
Andromeda groaned.
"I will," Aurora's father promised Dora with a smile, and then caught the eye of the short witch who still lingered in the doorway. His eyebrows rose, and he brightened further. "Hestia?"
The short witch smiled faintly, making her way inside with a rather bewildered look on her face. "Thought I'd congratulate you on your freedom, Black."
Her father grinned, hurrying forward to clap her on the shoulder. "Thank you," Aurora heard him say quietly.
She nodded, glanced at Remus, Potter, and then at Aurora. Hestia Jones, her mother's best friend.
"Last time I saw you," she said, walking towards Aurora, who felt suddenly nervous, uncertain of herself and how she ought to react, "you were a baby."
"Yeah," Aurora said, "a lot of people say that."
Surprise registered on Hestia's face, and then a faint grin. She winked. "Cute kid, Sirius."
Aurora bristled at being called cute, but Hestia didn't seem to laugh at her. Rather, she crossed the room towards her. Andromeda moved behind Aurora, a noticeable and protective presence at her shoulder.
"I'm sorry we never met before," Hestia said, and Aurora said nothing. "I did try."
Good for you, she wanted to say, but held her tongue. Some part of her thought it would be nice to meet her mother's best friend, to know another part of the woman she had been taught not to think about — but she also felt that Hestia was not entitled to meet her, that if she had wanted to then she had had her chance, and she didn't know how to break away from the fact that this, all of this, would have been forbidden by her grandmother.
"Thank you for your support," she said, trying to ignore the coldness of her own voice. "I'm sure we'll get to know each other some day."
Hestia smiled, and exchanged a look with Remus, who nodded. "I should get back to the Hospital. Sirius, Remus you know where I am. Aurora..." Her smile now was somewhat forlorn. "I'd love to see you another time. But I'm sure you've plans to celebrate. And Harry?" Potter startled, looking over from his conversation with Granger and the Weasleys. "You too."
"Right," he said, too quick and to eager for someone who hadn't been paying attention to the conversation. He was grinning, too. "Hestia Jones."
With another smile, Hestia Jones clapped Aurora's father on the shoulder and hugged Remus tightly, before leaving. At the door, she turned back, and called, "Just to warn you, there are about a million reporters out here."
Her father chuckled and Aurora smiled faintly as Hestia disappeared.
"Guess they all want a story," her father said, putting a hand gently on Aurora's shoulder.
"That's all they ever want," she replied in a low voice, as the roomed quietened. "But at least this story we're in charge of." She eyed the door cautiously. "Are you ready?"
Her father nodded, eyes glistening again. "I'm a free man, and Peter's going to be locked away for life for what he did. I feel ready for just about anything right now."
-*
An hour and a half later — a million reporters, Aurora felt, was a severe underestimate, and had made getting out of the Ministry an astounding feat — they found themselves in a Muggle cafe, having commandeered around half the tables once they were joined by Andromeda and Ted, and then Arthur Weasley, and then Percy Weasley the ex-Head Boy who had now found himself in Barty Crouch's office and had been keeping an eye on the proceedings with great interest.
"We in the International Magical Relations office," he had told Aurora rather pompously on the walk there, thinking she was interested, "are really just glad it's all over, and we can get back to our other work. I've this report on cauldron density, and Mr Crouch has been run off his feet organising everything for this year." He shared a conspiratorial look with with his father, one which Aurora recognised too well. What the hell was everyone in on that she wasn't allowed to know?
"I wasn't aware Mr Crouch was particularly interested in proceedings," she told him, tilting her head, "as he never extended any letter of apology for what transpired under his leadership. My impression was that some in the Ministry believe he's losing his touch."
Percy Weasley went pink. "Mr Crouch has a lot of important business to be dealing with. It is only natural that he prioritise. We have some very important business coming up."
Aurora raised her eyebrows, but Percy Weasley was not the target of her ire and if she wanted to drag an apology out of Bartemius Crouch, she would do it herself, at a later date. This was her father's day to celebrate, and though she was certainly irked by the sight of him merrily walking down the pavement with Harry fucking Potter by his side, there were other battles to fight. "Well, whatever it is that is so important," she said in a tired tone, "and I know there is something super secret because everyone has been dancing around it all summer, send Crouch my regards."
And with a too-sweet, false smile, she strode onwards, slotting herself between Dora and Granger, the latter of whom seemed greatly entranced by the concept of a metamorphamgus.
"I have read about them of course," she said, then covered to Dora's amusement, "well, not them, of course, people like you. It seems very rare, and ever since I met you, I've been doing my research because it seems like an awfully useful skill to be have, but everything I read said it must be inherited, is that true?"
"Apparently," Dora said with a shrug. "I mean, I was born with it anyway, and we're pretty sure one of Mum's great aunts or something had it, but there's no real way of knowing if it comes from the other side of the family, since Dad's muggleborn."
Granger looked at Aurora with interest. "But you and your father can't do it, can you? But you are only cousins, I suppose, and if it comes through the other branch of the family..."
Aurora felt this would be an inappropriate moment to mention that their family tree's branches tended to form more of a circle. "No metamorphmagus powers as far as we're aware," she said. "It tends to die out and then crop up again for a few generations, as far as I know. But I do have a tendency towards Transfiguration magic above anything else, and you've seen my father. That sort of magic does come more naturally to us."
Granger cocked her head. "That is interesting. So do you think certain types of magic run in the family? As in, you're... Genetically, more attuned to one form?"
"Perhaps," Aurora said lightly, "but as far as I know, there haven't been any formal studies into the subject. Personally, I just prefer the precision of Transfiguration to Charms. It always felt more flimsy to me."
It did feel slightly absurd to have such an easy theoretical conversation with Hermione Granger, especially as it continued all the way into the cafe. But she had always been the more tolerable of the Gryffindor trio, and her conversation was at least more stimulating than that of Ron Weasley, who was lamenting the losses of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch Team — he had truly awful taste. They had lost by a margin of three hundred and seventy to Aurora's team, the Holyhead Harpies, a few months ago, and she had to resist the urge to break from conversation to crow over it.
They wound up having cake and ice cream all around, which was a bit of an irresponsible meal, but Aurora was content to join in the merriment of her father. He seemed brighter all of a sudden, and the light of freedom shone out from his smile as he told Arthur Weasley about his enchanted motorbike. Still, when she did look closer, she could see something strained behind his smile still. Small enough that perhaps even he didn't notice it, or feel it all the time. But there was a certain haunting there, and Aurora could feel it.
When she glanced at the window, she saw the shadow of Death lingering on the pavement, skirting around a group of teenagers not much older than herself. He tilted his head, as though she had asked him a particularly difficult question, and then vanished.
She couldn't pursue him today.
They stayed in the cafe until Percy Weasley looked at his watch and declared that he had really best be getting back to the office, because his lunch break was about to end, and Dora and Arthur followed, the former not without giving Aurora a tight, warm hug. The rest of them wandered around Muggle London for a while — as the Wizarding World would be very much abuzz discussing the trial — and it was a very new experience for Aurora and Ron Weasley.
Everything was so loud in the city. Trains rattled underground — in a complex system of rails that was literally, in a grand show of Muggle unoriginality and to Aurora's great annoyance, called the London Underground — and bright red buses screeched and cars beaming in the sunlight blared their horns in the mid-afternoon traffic. Aurora didn't know why they didn't just squeeze in and then there would be room for everyone, but she supposed that was the point of motorcycles, and they made the worst noises out of any of the Muggle traps.
The clothes were quite another thing. She was used to Gwen's style of dress and to her family, and she'd been confronted with horrendous novelty jumpers over Christmas, but everyone she passed seemed to have a new way of dressing, in bold colours of knitted patterns, torn denim — what could possibly be the point of that — with strange, flimsy chokers around their necks. A massive board in one of the busy squares showed a moving advertisement for something called Coca-Cola, and in another a woman pouted at the camera, scantily clad. She averted her gaze. Muggle London felt so dreadfully improper, there was no other way to put it.
Her father at least seemed to sense her discomfort, even if Ron Weasley took it in his stride, asking Potter and Granger and the Tonkses seemingly every question he could think of.
"It is a bit overwhelming, isn't it?" her father asked, with a grin.
"The clothes are... Odd," she commented, as the passed a girl whose skirt barely covered her thighs. Aurora's cheeks burned.
"It was worse in the seventies," her father assured her. "I did like the leather jackets, though."
"And all of these fumes are awful. I feel like I'm choking." She lowered her voice to a whisper, though frankly anything she said would be lost along this many people, "How can Muggles live like this? How can magic thrive in this?"
Her father shrugged. "We find a way, I suppose. World's always changing, Aurora."
She stared around at the strange knot of people she found herself in, with Muggles on all sides, talking loudly about things she had never heard of. Brights lights blazed on corners where traffic slowed — electric, she knew that was what the word was, she had said it before, but when Granger said it it sounded effortless and Aurora was sure she mangled the word by comparison. Some shopfront was playing music and blared the words, "You swing me right round, baby, right round," and a couple of teenage girls squealed and swung each other around, almost knocking Aurora into an oncoming man in a suit who glared at her and muttered something about bloody kids and stalked right past her.
"I hate it," she decided, folding her arms with a creeping feeling of unease. The Muggle books she had read weren't like this, an undignified clash of words and sounds and smells and tastes and sights, and for all Gwen's family were rambunctious and loud, being around them didn't make Aurora want to claw her skin off.
She realised, in a panicked moment, that there was hardly a trace of magic in amongst this chaos. There were all the wizards and witches around her, yes, but the Muggle world had taken them and twisted their essence and churned it out the way its buses and cars belched out their awful fumes.
"I really hate it," she said, voice more strangled now, and her father took her hand quickly. "It doesn't feel right."
"Andy," he said quickly, and Andromeda turned, broken from Hermione Granger's questioning about how Ted's family reacted to his being a wizard.
She seemed to understand immediately, hurrying over to Aurora, who was immediately embarrassed at the new attention. No one else was bothered, clearly, by the strange, warped world that they had found themselves in.
"It's a lot, isn't it?" Andromeda asked, and she shook her head.
"No," she said, "it's nothing."
Andromeda's face settled grimly. "Muggle London isn't like our London. It has its own magic, its own way of doing things. There are eight million people in this city, and it's polluted beyond belief. I thought it was overwhelming my first time, too."
"I'm not overwhelmed," Aurora said crossly — even though she was, just a bit — because Potter had just glanced back with a strange look on his face which made her cheeks blaze. "I'm perfectly alright. This place is just horrible, that's all." Anyone would feel suffocated in this inescapable, smoggy heat, wouldn't they?
"See those cracks in the pavement?" Andromeda asked, and Aurora looked down, nodding. "See the flowers sprouting up from them? There's magic in that, isn't there?"
"That's life."
"Isn't life a principle tenet of magic? And not too far away, there's a park. There are loads of them in London, when you focus on them. We're not so far from our world. Not so far from nature. There's a lot of Muggle technology, using electricity, it meddles with the magic. It isn't meant to be contained."
Electricity was meant to be lightning, Aurora knew. Untamed and fierce, burning across a roaring sky. She thought of that, latched onto a lightning storm, imagined the little grassy patch that she knew was outside Grimmauld Place, not really too far from this part of the city. She wasn't so far from magic; wasn't so far from home. This place was just strange and itchy, and maybe it was because she was realising that Muggle didn't really mean mundane, but Aurora felt horribly out of her depth.
She forced herself to take in a deep breath. She didn't want people to stare, and Andromeda was giving her that maternal worried look that made her uncomfortable, so Aurora forged ahead, wrenching her hand from her father's grip. This was fine. Muggle London was fine.
They found a park soon after, which Aurora was sure was no coincidence. It was large and green, covered in trees, and Aurora felt she could easily forget the city. It was strange indeed, she thought, as they gathered on the grass. Granger seemingly had endless questions for the Tonkses, which Ron and Lupin joined in on. Aurora pretended not to notice when Potter sat down beside her father, staring at the sky.
"I've never really been in Muggle London either," he admitted. She clenched her jaw. "Apart from when Hagrid took me through the Underground to get to Diagon Alley."
He glanced at her as he said this and it made Aurora's skin prickle. She didn't know what game he thought he was playing with her. "I'll have to take you out properly some day," her father said, "to see the sights and everything. I've not seen nearly enough of the world."
Potter grinned. "Aurora said you're living somewhere out in Norwich."
There it was again. Using her first name. Since when had she given him that permission? She didn't expect him to use her title, but he seemed to have discarded any of the formal distance between them. She didn't understand why. What was he hoping to achieve? Did he want her to let down her guard? He was a Gryffindor, and an idiot at that, and she was not going to let him any closer to her than was strictly necessary for her father's peace of mind.
"Yeah. Little village, where our family used to have a lot of land. A lot of it's been divided up now, for farming and stuff, it was part of the 1707 Agreement. The house is still there, just the Muggles conveniently forget about any desire to try and enter it. It was too prominent to just erase from their collective memory entirely, nowadays I think they all believe it's under some sort of heritage trust. The wards are strong, though. It's a nice place."
Potter smiled and Aurora folded her arms, pretending to be very interested in the going-ons of a small family of four across the path from them. "I did say, when we met, that you could come and live with me. Managing something permanent might be difficult this year, but I do want you to visit. And from there, some people might kick up a fuss, but if it's what you want, no one can really say no. Not even Dumbledore — and he did try."
Aurora hadn't been privy to all the details of that particular conversation, only that Dumbledore had said Potter needed to live with the Muggle relatives for his safety, which her father said was bollocks considering all the precautions they had around Arbrus Hill.
"You mean it?" She was sure she had never heard Potter more excited. "I thought, for a bit... Cause of everything..."
"It's what James and Lily would have wanted," her father told him. "Your birthday's coming up, isn't it?"
"Yeah..." Potter sounded almost shy. It was weird. Aurora gritted her teeth, and had to look away from the family that had interested her, lest the parents think she was plotting murder. "But it doesn't really matter to me or anything. We don't do — I mean, I've never celebrated it with the Dursleys before."
"I'll get something arranged," her father said flippantly. "That alright, Aurora?"
She startled, not having expected to be included in this conversation. "It's your life, isn't it?" she said stonily. "Celebrate Potter's birthday if you want."
Her father looked awkward yet pleading. Potter stared at the grass, cheeks pink. "You could join us."
"No thank you," she declined. "I'm sure Potter would rather I weren't involved anyway."
Potter's eyes darted between them. "I really wouldn't mind," he said quickly, to her shock. "I mean, you're my godsister, right? It could be fun."
Aurora thought it would be anything but. The smile on her father's face, though, stopped her from saying anything.
"When are you free to go?" he asked Potter. "You can come and live with me any time you like, so long as we clear it with your aunt and uncle."
"As soon as you're ready for me," Potter said immediately, smile brightening. "It's not like I have much to pack or anything, and the Dursleys won't care, they'll just be happy they don't have to worry about me. I think Dudley's cottoned on to the fact I'm enjoying this diet way more than him, but he probably hasn't managed to work out I've got a stash of snacks upstairs yet."
Her father looked stupidly happy. "I'll have a room set up for you. There are enchantments all around the place, so you'll be perfectly safe, and you might even be able to get some Quidditch practice in." He turned to Aurora, grinning. "You both could!"
Aurora gave him a flat look. "How lovely."
His face fell and she felt a stab of guilt. Her father had been through hell for twelve years, and he deserved a happier life. But his idea of a happy life happened to involve the very opposite of her idea. She understood why he wanted to have Potter in his life, of course she did. She didn't want it to be at the expense of her place in his life, though, and it wasn't her place to make this more difficult than it already was.
So she said, through gritted teeth, "Arbrus Hill really is a lovely place. Cassiopeia was rather good about keeping it in condition, and Tippy's the sweetest elf you'll meet."
At the mention of an elf, Potter looked interested. "Elf? You have a house elf?"
"Three, technically," she corrects. "Kreacher's been in the family for... Well, as long as anyone can remember, which in fairness isn't too long. The other two were employed more recently by my relatives, but letting go of house elves can be an awful hassle, they see it as a betrayal sometimes, and I gave them the option but they wanted to stay and help clean up the old houses — Merlin knows Grimmauld certainly needed it — so I let them."
Potter's eyes narrowed. "You know, I met a house elf once."
"Yes, I am aware," she told him shortly. "Draco's father was furious all Summer." She tilted her head. "It would have been funny if he wasn't so... Him."
"The Malfoys treated him terribly."
"I can assure you, my elves are well cared for," she replied smoothly. "As all elves should be."
That Lucius did not treat elves well was hardly a surprise. He was not the sort to think of them as equals — as admittedly few did — nor was he the sort to understand their differences and treat them with kindness. Elves thrives on friendship, common bonds forged with magical peoples. But people, like Lucius, had taken advantage of their differing idea of loyalty, had warped it to suit their own means and feed their own sense of superiority. But elves could choose their loyalties too — and they were not to be trifled with, or kicked around.
Potter didn't looked satisfied with the answer Aurora had given, but she wasn't going to elaborate on her thoughts about house elves to him, certainly not yet.
"What's Grimmauld?" he chose to ask, and she groaned. "You mentioned it before."
"None of your business."
Potter gave her an exasperated look and then turned sharply. "Sirius, what's Grimmauld?"
"The place I grew up. Aurora lived there for a while, but it's full of — well, nothing I would want a child around."
"Bully for you," Aurora muttered at that, rather indignant on the house's behalf.
Her father flushed, and Potter clearly noticed the shift in tension, as he turned to her again. "But you grew up there."
"Precisely," her father said darkly. With a wordless sigh, Aurora got to her feet and moved to sit next to Andromeda. No one stopped her.
"What's wrong?" Andromeda asked quietly, while Ted distracted the other two by talking about the Quidditch World Cup.
"Nothing," Aurora whispered back, "I'm only a little uncomfortable. Potter has a lot of questions, is all."
Even now, he seemed to be probing her father for information about his time at Hogwarts — though she supposed that was an alright subject for him to be interested in.
"You know it's alright to be uncertain about all this," Andromeda told her gently. "You don't have to commit to anything. All any of us want us for you to be as happy and as safe as you can be, your father included."
With her hands on the ground, grass threaded between her fingers, Aurora stared up at the sky and contemplated the movement of the clouds, and what this place might look like under nightfall. Leo would be rising; she would be able to see Regulus, or maybe London was too polluted for that. "I know that," Aurora said, voice quiet. "I do. I just don't know what to do with it."
Andromeda gave her a tense half-smile in return.
"But I do want to visit him."
"Of course you do," Andromeda said in a rational sort of tone, "that's only natural."
"It still doesn't feel quite right."
"That's only natural, too." She smiled weakly. "Especially considering the relation to him." The slight indifference that her tone held towards Potter somehow set Aurora at ease. "I think you should try to get to know your father, and I think we both know that you want to. But your home can be wherever you want it to be, Aurora. You're not going to lose one if you choose the other."
"But what if I can't have a home?" she asked, hardly breathing through the words. "What if — what if he likes Potter better than me? What if I do something or say something and ruin everything, and what if I choose not to and that ruins every home I've ever had before? I can't just be Aurora. I have to be Aurora Black."
There was pity in Andromeda's gaze, but there was understanding, too. "Perhaps not. But you can still decide who Aurora Black is."