When Aurora had sat down on Friday evening to begin her weekend homework, it had become immediately clear how much more work her professors were intending to set them this year. Snape, most of all, had set them some rather difficult research about antidotes and how various ingredients could be used to invert one another's properties and form a counter to given poisons. By Monday morning, she was already grumpy, especially after having receiving a letter late the night before informing her that the Legislating Assembly was being recalled for two 'emergency votes' — one about dragon importation laws, which Aurora thought hardly qualified as an emergency, and another attempt to push through restrictions on the employment of werewolves. As Lady Black, she would be expected to attend, which she wouldn't have minded had she been old enough that she wouldn't have to ask teachers for permission to leave class, something she knew Snape was going to sneer at her for, if not outright refuse.
The Legislating Assembly hadn't sat properly in a few years — in a time of relative peace and stability it was considered unnecessary, and the Wizengamot was dealing with most of the judicial processes recently set in motion, despite some arguments that the partially-elected assembly really ought to have more of a say. Of the three bills Aurora had been alerted about since her great-grandfather's death, all had been relatively minor, about certain trading standards and regulations on enchanted objects.
The dragon bill Aurora thought was such a minor thing. But the werewolf bill, that was something that would require everyone's attention. Every few years or so, she knew from records, something similar was attempted. This time the push came, interestingly, from the alleged Moderate Dolores Umbridge, whom Aurora was sure only supported the Moderate Party — and their appointed Minister Fudge — because it was currently more popular than the Conservatives, and would benefit her more.
The first thing Aurora did on Monday morning was to write to the Ministry asking for a draft copy of both bills, then sulked in the Owlery for a moment. The dragon importation bill wasn't really important, but it had become increasingly clear to her that her constituents in Cornwall were not fans of her or her family. It was no wonder, really, considering her own absence, though it was still beyond her to think of any reasons why they may not have liked Arcturus or her other predecessors.
There were no dragons native to Cornwall, but she did know that Cornish Pixie breeders had been looking for footholds in the European market for years. Depending on the terms of the dragons' bill, a precedent could be set that would benefit them long term, and if that was the case, she considered she might be able to vote on it.
And, if the way she voted on the werewolf act proved unpopular, then the vote on the dragon importation may help to quell the splash of her making her first official appearance in the Assembly — it was set for a week before the vote on the Reasonable Restriction of Lycanthope Employment Bill.
Such a bill didn't only bother her because of Professor Lupin, or any other sense of righteousness which she was admittedly becoming more aware of. She needed to wait to see the bill before making a decision, but knew it would hardly be kind to werewolves. Their employment opportunities were restricted enough already.
No, the bill bothered her because Arcturus had made her study the Assembly archives when she was nine years old. It had made for incredibly boring reading, especially for a child her age — not that she had had much else to do anyway — but he had asked her what she thought of some of the bills.
Rather bemused, she had pointed out the bill which had been put forward four times between 1965 and 1979: the Blood Status Employment Act. The bill had essentially decreed that witches and wizards who had no proof of wizarding heritage could not take up work within certain reserved professions, such as in the public sector, or anything else deemed 'essential to Wizarding culture' including, to her annoyance, Quidditch. It had also proposed that those with two or more Muggle grandparents be barred from taking up work within the Ministry.
"A dangerous proposal for some," Arcturus had said, "but popular in its day. It was seen as reasonable because its backers called it such enough times. Especially after Minister Leach — well." He has broken off like there was something she was not supposed to know. "I daresay it, and other bills like it, may crop up again from time to time. Muggleborns still cannot serve as Heads of Departments without unanimous support from their peers — and for lycanthropes, such legislation is already in force."
She had not asked what he had thought of it, and in hindsight had decided she did not really want to. But further restrictions of werewolves would set a precedent for muggleborns and — importantly to her — the children of muggleborns.
She was reticent to reveal her hand or her opinions, and in truth wasn't sure of what those ought to be. But the question weighed on her all the way to breakfast, where Pansy hailed her over immediately, waving a copy of a glossy magazine.
"You're in Witch Weekly," she said breathlessly before Aurora could even sit down.
It took her a moment to process this. Witch Weekly was the sort of magazine she always intended to subscribe to, then forgot to, then read Pansy's copy and tried out the skincare samples with her — they were of an unexpectedly high quality for a magazine. It tended to focus on celebrities, beauty tips, famous singers and dancers and models and people that every teenage witch was supposed to aspire to look like, and every middle-aged witch enjoyed to look down on while also being nostalgic about their own youth. She was not quite sure, then, what she was doing within its pages, until Millie added helpfully from Pansy's other side, "Remember their Which Witch series? About the famous witches?"
Her stomach dropped.
Rita Skeeter wrote that serial.
"Can I read it?" she asked as politely as she could, and Pansy nodded enthusiastically.
"We were waiting on you before we did. There's a picture of you, from Merlin's Day — I didn't know it existed."
Something cold slipped into her as she took the magazine from Pansy's grasp. "I didn't know anyone was photographing me."
At this, Pansy frowned. "There were lots of photographers there. Did you not give them permission to use it?"
"Of course not." Aurora flicked through to page seventeen, where her name had been listed. "You know I'd never agree to anything involving Rita Skeeter."
At this, Pansy did look somewhat sheepish. "Well, it is Witch Weekly. I think it'll be more sympathetic than the Prophet. And no one thinks your father's a mass murderer anymore. Maybe she's trying to make amends."
When Aurora read the headline, she grimaced and turned it so Pansy could see. "I doubt it."
LADY AURORA — A BLACK SHEEP?
Pansy furrowed her brow. "Well, that doesn't have to be bad. Any press is good press, right?"
"Rita Skeeter is hardly press. She's gossip." Aurora scowled, as she angled the magazine towards her friends and started to read.
In this mid-September issue, Rita Skeeter tackles the ninth profile in Witch Weekly's Which Witch series, a look into the lives of the up and coming young witches in our society. This issue, Skeeter dives into the mysterious history of the youngest member of the Ministry for Magic's Legislating Assembly, heir to one of the oldest, most prestigious families in Britain. As such, she would also, with maturity and the next round of appointments, be eligible for a seat on the Wizengamot.
A short, rather withdrawn girl of fourteen years, Aurora Black is a young witch long locked away from much of pureblood society, an absence which has long sparked curiosity. Lady Black was last seen in public at the final of the Quidditch World Cup, sporting an assortment of Muggle clothing. As most will recall, Lady Black's father — Sirius Black — was acquitted of longstanding murder charges in July, in one of the greatest judicial scandals of a generation. Mister Black, it seems, was as a youth committed to activism of blood equality. Primed for lordship at a young age, he was instead cast out of the family for his refusal to marry, and for a disregard for family values. Why, then, is Aurora Black a lady — and will she ever be able to carry the name of her family?
It is most unconventional for a child so young as Aurora Black to be handed any sort of responsibility, let alone that of a ladyship, or a position on the Ministry's Legislating Assembly. Certainly, this candid reporter experienced Aurora Black as a most immature young girl, more interested in Quidditch than in sharing her political views — if she has developed any respectable views at all.
There are, too, most intriguingly — especially for a house such as that of the Black family — rumours that Aurora Black's blood is less than pure. Sources claim that her mother was a muggleborn witch, and that her father was disowned for having a child out of wedlock. If such rumours prove true, it is no wonder that the family hid her for so long, and have only recently, following the tragic deaths of many of its older members, had to acknowledge her as the last of their bloodline. A bastard, half-blood Lady Black is not something that wizarding society would have anticipated, nor does Lady Black appear capable of stepping up to the title which is surely not as befitting as she may like us all to believe. At an age of fourteen, Aurora Black is currently a student at Albus Dumbledore's Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and known to be a student of Slytherin House. The school declined to comment on Aurora Black's character, but Slytherin house has long been known to turn out less than savoury characters — alongside its more respectable pedigree of leaders such as Lord Abraxas Malfoy, Lord Evian Selwyn, and many great Ministers for Magic — and the combination of Lady Black's dubious heritage and her house status, may indicate an ambition which could prove dangerous. The Black family has been known to turn out numerous Dark wizards and witches, too, the most notorious of whom is Bellatrix Lestrange, a follower of You-Know-Who, who is currently residing in Azkaban prison, and rumoured to be looking to appeal her sentence, despite giving a full confession at the end of the war.
Lady Black herself declined to give an interview, but upon encountering this avid reporter, seemed tetchy, as though she had something to hide. What that is, we shall all be most interested to discover. Is it her less than pure heritage — or a dark streak which runs in the Black family?
Lady Black also declined to comment on her relationship with one Harry Potter, who, it has come to this reporter's attention, is in fact the godson of Sirius Black, and who has been residing with him and Lady Black at an undisclosed location. On the topic of Harry Potter, Lady Black seemed most uncomfortable, urgent to evade the conversation. Whether Lady Black is hiding wicked intentions yet unknown, or instead — as I'm sure my readers will be keen to uncover — harbouring a schoolgirl crush on her new friend and famous Boy-Who-Lived, it is certain that there will be much more to learn about this most mysterious lady, and those she surrounds herself with.
Keep your eyes peeled, dear reader, for there is surely more to this story than meets the eye, and I, Rita Skeeter, am determined to reveal all.
It was lucky, Aurora thought, that she was the fastest reader of her friends. It gave her more time to process what she had just read and the nausea that churned her stomach.
"I was only there for a Quidditch match," she said, feeling it was the most obvious complaint, and the one she was least annoyed about currently. "Of course I wasn't spilling all my political opinions to her - I just wanted to watch Quidditch!"
Millie gave her a sympathetic look. "Rita Skeeter always pulls this sort of thing. Remember what she wrote about Armana Huntley?" Aurora didn't remember specifics, but she did vaguely recall the famous pop singer's reputation plummeting overnight during March, due to some scandal about her daring to express an opinion that criticized Lady Abbott.
"And what's this nonsense about Potter?" Pansy asked, wrinkling her nose. "Merlin, Skeeter's gone downhill if all she's going off of is some vague connection. I mean, if she'd asked any of us - not that I would ever speak to her about you, mind - anyone who knows you would know you'd rather hex Potter's balls off than have a 'crush' on him."
At the suggestion, Aurora's cheeks flamed. Even more so, when Draco chose that moment to look over from the other side of the table, disgust written on his face. "Did I completely hear the wrong part of this conversation?"
Aurora groaned and flung the magazine out towards him, taking a slice of toast as she did so, and scowling at her plate.
"Gross," Draco said, reading the last paragraph. Then his eyes flicked up, and his eyebrows rose as he took in the rest. "Really?" He lowered the magazine, staring over at her. "She wrote that you're a halfblood?"
Even though he kept his voice down, Aurora felt the word was spoken far too loudly. A sense of anxiety crept over her, as she felt certain all of a sudden that the whole hall had heard. "It's drivel," she said primly, but Draco was frowning. "Nothing she wrote is actually true, she just wants some gossip to report."
"Well, she can't call you a halfblood," Millie said, "that's a lie. You could sue."
Aurora tried not to let her unease show. Technically, that part wasn't untrue, and she didn't think she could do anything if Rita only wrote the truth. Gossip was the way of these magazines, they knew how to defend themselves, and Aurora also was not about to get up in front of any court or judge and raise the question of her blood status to anyone. Especially when she knew the truth.
Even Pansy seemed to have realised this dilemna, and though Aurora wasn't sure if any of her friends had the certainty about her mother, she knew Pansy and Draco knew that her mother wasn't a pureblood, at the very least, even if she had never been able to bring herself to say the words out loud, or to speak her mother's name.
"Well, I think Skeeter's written a loud of nonsense," Pansy said. "Witch Weekly doesn't care if you're going to be a Dark witch anyway. If I didn't know you, and read this, I'd be more concerned as to why there's nothing about your skincare routine."
Aurora knew that wasn't true - that if Pansy didn't know her, she might have had a lot to say about the allusions to her less than pure blood - but smiled and laughed along.
Witch Weekly may have been an innocent enough magazine, but she didn't like the direction that the attention on her was taking. It was mere speculation, but it came too close to home, and while she didn't believe there was anything capable of taking away her position in practice, she knew that rumours would affect her already fragile social position. And with everything that had happened at the World Cup, and the precedent Umbridge was currently trying to set with her werewolf legislation, she didn't like the thought of existing as a powerful halfblood in a world returning to its old prejudices. Arcturus, she realised, had tried to shield her from that, from society's questions about her parentage, and their prejudices about it, but these things had a way of coming out in the most unpalatable of ways.
Her gaze lingered, too, as she re-read the article over breakfast, on the words about Bellatrix Lestrange. No one had told her that Lestrange was appealing her sentence. It was unlikely to go anywhere considering her confession, but the fact that Lestrange had even tried - when surely she was still as devoted to her cause as always, likely moreso and more mad since Azkaban, if her father's word was anything to go by - disconcerted her. What motivation would she have to leave and have to pander to the Ministry, other than to usurp Aurora, to finish the job she had tried many years ago and cleanse of any dirty blood? Aurora realised with a sudden twist of sickness, that that didn't just mean her, either. It meant her father and Andromeda and Dora and Ted. All of them blood traitors or impure, and all of them, somehow, her family.
They would not be harmed, she vowed. It was her responsibility to keep them safe, and to do that, she had to keep her position secure. Not just socially, but legally. If she could, she would exercise her role as blood relative to Lestrange to find out what she could about this absurd attempt at appeal, but as she scanned the article again, she thought to herself that there was more she needed to do.
People were always going to speculate, whether her father was in or out of prison. They would always talk. She could at least give them something better to talk about - and potentially, make it worth her while.
-*
Potter, somehow, seemed entirely unaware of the current legislation passing through the Assembly, for Aurora was sure that if he had been, then he would be talking about it. That meant that either the Ministry had neglected to inform him, or, like the idiot she knew him to be, he had continuedto procrastinate getting in touch about taking up his seat or looking into his inheritance as they had discussed during the summer. After their Arithmancy class, Aurora took Granger aside to check if Potter had mentioned anything about the Assembly bill, which he had not.
"I mean, I hadn't heard anything either," Granger said as they went down the corridor together, "and I always receive the Daily Prophet."
"It wouldn't be in the Prophet yet," Aurora explained. "I was notified because I have a seat on the Assembly — even if I don't make use of it often. I thought Potter would be notified, too, but we really do need to go over his responsibilities."
Granger raised her eyebrows at this. "He did say something about some lordship? Ron said all the titles are nonsense, but that he has a seat anyway — why wouldn't he be notified?"
Pursuing her lips, Aurora had to think for a moment before replying. "I suppose... Well, I certainly don't know of any Potters who would claim regency, let alone stake a greater claim to the seat than he can. But his parents passed while he was only a baby, and the youngest age one can take up their seat is eleven — and usually, a regent from the family is installed until seventeen, I simply bypassed that part — so it depends on the contents of the will. Which I did tell him to check. But he should be able to claim the seat now anyway." She shook her head. "This is a big vote. If he is serious about taking up his political powers, he should at least participate."
Granger huffed. "I bet he hasn't done it. I told him he should — creature rights are a very serious issue you know, and the Ministry's legislation is frightful all over, I've been looking into it." She shook her hair out with a sigh. "I'll talk to Harry, and get him to talk to you. I assume you're against the bill?"
Aurora nodded, then pursed her lips. She wanted to vote against it, but so far, she did not know how to angle it. That was where Potter came in — to deflect the attention. "I am," she told Granger, knowing it was what she wanted to here, "and I intend to vote as such. Potter's voice will be very influential if he uses it correctly." And at this point, it seemed the only person he knew who had even informed him he had a voice was Aurora. She could find an advantage in that, she was sure. "I'm sure one of us will figure out how to find the other."
Granger looked pleased at this. "I'll talk to him about it then. And you should talk to Professor Lupin — and I know loads of our classmates still think he was brilliant, I don't know if telling people about him might help, I don't know if he's on the Registry or not."
"We'll have to handle it carefully," she said, "but I'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Truthfully, I don't want to make a major splash. Just get Potter to talk to me, alright?"
Granger did, and hurried off to the library for some other bizarre research project, while Aurora headed to the Slytherin common room to start on their Ancient Runes translations.
Potter found her in the library the next day, looking flushed. "Hermione said you wanted to talk to me about my seat or something? You're going to help? With the politics and stuff?"
She sighed and shot him a pointed glare. "I know that you haven't formally taken up your seat yet, whether or not you realised what you had to do. The first step is to write to the Head of the Assembly, to confirm that you are taking up your seat, and to enquire as to its occupancy over the past decade or so. Now, I don't know if there are any family members who would even be able to claim proxy or regency, and even if there were I doubt they would be able to pose a real challenge to you taking up your seat at fourteen, nor would they want to. If they do, well, you'll either have to sort it out diplomatically or, if you tremendously fail at that, duel them."
"Duel them?" Potter asked, staring. "Why would I duel someone?"
"For challenging your position. You need to assert yourself as Head of the House. Frankly, you should also research your family tree. I think my father may have some records somewhere, and I know Dorea Black married in a few generations ago — she'll be something like your great-great aunt, I believe, the two of us have no real blood connection — but my knowledge is that the main branches of the family are gone, and there is only you." He didn't seem too appeased by this explanation. "Any proposed challenge would require at least two seconds anyway, and I doubt there would be that many willing to move against you, especially if they haven't so far. You've never had contact with anyone on your father's side of the family?"
Potter shook his head. "I thought they were all dead. I mean, Dumbledore said I had to live with family... I assumed if I had to be with the Dursleys, then it was because I didn't have anyone else."
At this, Aurora frowned. "Well, we can't be certain yet. Any members of the House of Potter are likely very distant relatives of yours — though if I were you, I would be asking Dumbledore why he neglected to tell you about any of this before. I certainly shouldn't be the one trying to educate you." Potter's lips quirked up as if amused. "What?"
"Nothing. Just — well, you do seem to enjoy giving me a lecture about this stuff. You're like Hermione."
Aurora ignored that. At least he hadn't compared her to Weasley. "There's little else we can do until your seat is confirmed. But I would suggest that you familiarise yourself with the political composition of the Legislating Assembly."
"Right." Potter sighed. "So, what actually is it?"
Refraining from banging her head on the desk repeatedly was getting to be quite a feat. "Don't you know anything?"
Potter scowled at her. "Apparently not."
"Have you at least picked up on some of the history from Binns?" The look on his face told her that he had not, and she let out a long sigh. "Merlin, I hate you."
Annoyance flashed across his face and he stood suddenly, knocking the table so that Aurora's ink bottle almost toppled over. "Fine then. If you don't want to teach me anything, God knows why I thought you'd be helpful anyway."
"Oh, so you're going to take up your seat with absolutely no idea what you're getting yourself into? Good idea, Potter, have fun with that."
"I'll ask Hermione. She's at least a nicer teacher."
"Much as I respect Granger's work ethic and attention to detail, on this front, she does not know what she's talking about, not in the way I do. I may not have been an active participant in politics recently, but I have been very much aware of it. There is a reason the only children I ever got to interact with were Draco and Pansy, and why my great-grandfather had me educated in the humanist tradition. Most of the people I met when I was young were politicians, associates of Arcturus. I've been trained to be Lady Black for years, I know what I'm talking about. You can go it alone if you want, or get Granger to give you a history lesson — but I know what we're dealing with. Now, there is a small bill to be put in just before this one, and I'll vote by proxy on that, just to avoid such a large splash resulting from the werewolf vote—" she glanced up, saw that Potter had sat back down opposite her, and smiled "—a small thing regarding dragon importation permissions, no one cares much about that, but it seems urgent to be put through. The Wizengamot have already licensed it, so it seems a formality more than anything else."
"Right," Potter said uncertainly, "should I do that too?"
"You can do what you like on that front. Analyse for yourself what the impact of the werewolf vote will be on your standing and what it says about your intentions and policies as Head of the House."
Potter just stared at her blankly. Aurora sighed. "And this is why you need me, Potter. Look, do you even know what the seven factions of the Assembly are?"
He did not. Aurora explained, as plainly as she could, the general policies of the three main factions — the Moderates, who lead the Assembly under Aloysius Vabsley with forty six seats of the hundred and forty available, usually supported by the twenty-one seat Progressives under Simeon Gilbert, and opposed by the Conservative faction led by Alberta Renton, with thirty-four seats.
"Generally speaking," she told Potter, "and you should be taking notes on this, by the way, I don't want to have to all this trouble to have you forget as soon as you work out that door—" to her delight, he took some rather crushed parchment from his bag and found a disheveled quill to write with "—the Conservative faction support complete isolation from the Muggle world, as well as the imposition of blood and creature status in the determining of legal status. They also advocate for the Blood Status Act of 1967 to be withdrawn and the Act of 1973 to be reimplemented — essentially, restricting the means of employment for Muggleborns and their direct children. Economically, they lean towards the system we have in place already, which the Moderates are also loathe to overturn — there is actually rather a lot of regulation of the market regarding potential Dark magic, but in material goods and such, we have much more freedom, and they generally agree that the government shouldn't involve itself. The Moderates are generally more tolerant of blood status, but not of creatures, and most definitely have an anti-werewolf tilt. Progressives advocate for greater government intervention in welfare, and are a large part of the reason why St. Mungo's is becoming more and more funded by the Ministry, rather than by private donation from the likes of the Malfoys. They also believe in giving assistance to Muggleborn students to integrate them into society, as well as greater tolerance for Squibs — the Moderates seem quite content to leave those issues be to please the Conservatives, whom they rely on for economic support." Potter looked dazed by this all.
"Right. So — Conservatives suck, are more right wing. Moderates are nicer but also don't help much, and Progressives want to make things better."
"That is a very obviously biased way of looking at things, Potter," she informed him, almost laughing. "I also would not advise you to go up to Alberta Renton and tell her that she sucks. And you may also find that the Progressives tend to be a lot more about words than actions. They have to concede to the Moderates too often to really be a credible force for a lot of the policies they claim to support — the system was supposed to encourage collaboration, but it often makes it difficult for parties to move too strongly."
He had the sense to look at least somewhat sheepish. "You said there were seven, though, right?"
Aurora nodded and went on, "The other four are the Insular Alliance, currently led by Lord Selwyn." This name seemed to mean little to Potter, so she added, "Selwyn is from one of the oldest pureblood families, and claims Anglo-Saxon descent — they are very, very proud of this claim. They think it makes them 'purer' than other families who came along with the Vikings or the Normans. More English, which is a bit of a silly concept considering we're all English, and the celts were there before the Anglo-Saxons anyway — but it's rhetoric, and it works for him right now. The Insular Alliance doesn't really have a strong economic stance, and are more ideologically focused, but they will usually back up the Conservatives. Of their twelve members, eight are from hereditary seats. They're very Conservative, and a few decades ago advocated for the legalisation of Muggle hunting, which should give you some idea of their general political ideas."
"That's horrific."
"Quite. Thankfully, most of the other parties are very strongly opposed to them, and a lot of their influence comes from the fact that their members are generally very wealthy. On the other side are the Direct Democrats, who advocate for the dissolution of the hereditary system and reforms to the Representation of Magical Creatures Act, to create a more inclusive Ministry. They have seven seats, all elected, and tend to ally with the Progressive faction when the Progressives aren't themselves directly allied to the Moderates. The Celtic Alliance generally falls between Moderate and Progressive, their main point is that the Celtic nations ought to have more direct representation — despite the fact that their noble families are actually over-represented in the hereditary seats, though I suppose with regards to Ireland and Wales that is debatable — and that the old magic from pre-Norman society ought to be more accepted in the Wizarding world, rather than seen as Dark for its more ritualistic nature. And then there are the Radicals, who only have two seats, which is frightening in itself because they largely demand the complete breakdown and re-arrangement of the political system, as well as the withdrawal of Britain from the International Statute of Secrecy. But they also are major advocates for workers' rights and are the only faction that has never compromised on its defense of Muggle-born, Squib, and Creature rights.
"Then there are three unaffiliated hereditary seats. The first two are, of course, Black and Potter. The third is Lady Gwyneth Caradas. She's from an old Welsh family and tends to support the Celtic Alliance in matters pertaining specifically to that identity, but her politics regarding social status tend to align more Conservative, and economically she is Progressive. I haven't met her often, but she seemed curious about me."
"So she'll vote for the act?"
"We can't know, but it is likely. The Conservatives certainly will — I believe this act only needs a majority of half the Assembly, though that may change depending on the Wizengamot's view on the matter. The Progressives and Direct Democrats are very unlikely to back it, the Insulars absolutely will. Radicals probably won't, but the Celtic Allies could go either way and likely don't have a united policy on the subject. The Moderates will be divided — the bill was proposed by the Minister's Senior Undersecretary, who is part of the Moderates even if she really doesn't seem it."
"How can she be a Moderate?"
"Anti-werewolf, remember? It isn't so uncommon a sentiment, really. From what I know of Umbridge she isn't exactly tolerant of Muggleborns either, but they're harder to target at the moment — the war shook things up on that front, everyone said they'd have to create a more tolerant society, but they haven't really, they're just sneakier about it now. And the Moderates have more power, so that's where she headed. She works under Fudge anyway, the Assembly Seat is an added benefit."
Potter sat back, processing. Finally, he asked, "How do you keep all that in your head?"
"I have to, Potter," was her reply. "Really, it's high time I do something more with my position. No one would expect such direct participation of a twelve year old, but I'm fifteen this month, and I really do need to step up."
"But why now?"
She shrugged. "Because all Summer, people have been bothering me about my lack of affiliation, requesting my hand in marriage for their sons, or for themselves — which is greatly disturbing. I don't intend to ally myself to a particular faction yet, though I suppose my stance on this issue will align me closer to the Progressives — which is why I want to support the Conservative faction stipulating that dragons ought to be contained from owned land, but allowed to be traded into the country so long as our markets in creatures are also given respect by our partners."
"But you're not on their side."
She grinned. "But they don't have to know that yet. I still need to watch my back. And, the Witches' Inheritance and Property Bill has appeared every few years, and keeps being shot down — almost all of the hereditary seats are held by men of course, and their sons don't want to think their sisters might usurp their seats, nor do husbands want to risk their lands being divided with their wives. It requires a two third majority to pass. Someone might just make a concession if I play my cards right."
"But you're — you're still voting against the act?"
"Oh, of course. I don't believe in it, and it sets a dangerous precedent for the Blood Status Act to be reinforced, which itself would disqualify me from holding any formal employment and quite possibly tip me from my seat."
Potter looked like he had been hit over the head with a textbook, but nodded. "I think that makes sense. So — all I have to do is write the Ministry and say I want to take up my Assembly seat?"
"Well, you will have to supply identification and proof of birth — again, you need to find your parents' will and see what it says, it's foolish to put that off, Potter — but it should be a straightforward process. I doubt anyone will try to challenge you." She nodded to his parchment, which didn't have as much writing on it as she would have liked, but was better than nothing. "You can do your own research into your political alignment. Weasley may be able to talk to you about it too, if you would like a second opinion, though the Weasleys haven't held an Assembly seat in at least a century. He'll still have picked up some knowledge of it, more than Granger will be able to get from theoretical textbooks — though I've no doubt she'll find them fascinating."
Packing away her own things and hoping to complete her Arithmancy work in the common room, Aurora stood, and Potter quickly followed her action. "Sort your seat out first," she told him.
A smile pulled at him. "So are we, like, allies now or something?" Her glare sobered him up. "Okay, then."
"I suppose we aren't enemies," she said, "but the word allies has a certain weight to it. You can't just throw it around." Helping Potter privately with the aim of one day getting something out of it was one thing. But any public conception of an alliance would shake the already dangerous relationship she had with the conservative purebloods, whom she needed on her side, because they always had allied with her family, and she could not bring herself to let that go.
Alliance with Potter was a horrid thought, anyway.
"Noted." Potter was still grinning, much to her annoyance. "I'll tell Sirius, he wanted to know how we're getting on." Then he ran a hand through his hair and said, "See you in class then, Black," before hurrying off out the room.
Aurora stared after him, bemused, before she headed off back to the dungeons, muttering, "Bloody Potter," under her breath.
-*
Professor Moody had them attempt to throw off the Imperius Curse two days later. "Now," he said, once they had cleared the tables away, "this lesson has been cleared with Dumbledore for educational purposes. If anyone wants to sit it out, you can go to the edge of the room and observe your classmates — but again, I suggest you take the opportunity.
"Like I said, this curse is illegal under normal circumstances and for good reason. I can perform it because I know that I have your permission, and that I know it's for the best I do it. Make of that what you want. I don't know how many of you I'll get through today — takes a toll, after all, Dark magic, and I don't like to use it — but whoever wants to sit out, say so now."
There was a short silence, before Sally-Anne Perks put up her hand, followed by a couple of Gryffindors, Apollo Jones, Clarissa Drought, Lucille and Draco, who was outright glaring at Moody, who merely shrugged and said, "Suit yourselves. Make sure you sit somewhere out the way."
They all cleared off, leaving the majority of the class standing clustered together. "Who wants to go first then? Let's see — Jenkins, is it?"
Tara Jenkins, one of the Gryffindors, startled to have been called on but stepped forward nonetheless to allow Professor Moody to put the curse on her. It was strange to watch and more disconcerting than she had expected. Jenkins got a glazed look in her eye, and stood perfectly still for a moment, before Moody got her to put her hands above her head and run backwards. It was amusing in a slightly horrific way, but it was over after only a minute or so.
"No noticeable attempt made to resist the curse," Moody said grumpily. "You need to learn to resist, Jenkins."
Jenkins blushed furiously. "I was trying, Professor."
"Good, but you didn't try hard enough. Who's next?"
No one particularly seemed to want to, but Moody picked on Weasley for the next turn. He turned on the spot twice before running up to the blackboard and writing his name in chalk upon it, before Moody lifted the curse.
"See the look in the eye?" he said. "Like he's blank, no thoughts going on."
The tips of Weasley's ears went red and Pansy muttered, "That's nothing to do with the Imperius curse, though."
Moody swirled around, having overheard, and his blue eye lit on Pansy. "Parkinson, then, since you're so keen to pass comment. Up here."
Pansy went pale, but obliged. Yet again, she had that glazed look in her eye, as Moody made her skip around the room before writing her own name along with Weasley's. When the spell was lifted, she looked deeply flustered, but Moody just barked, "Selwyn! You next!"
No one had any evident success in resisting the curse, though Moody didn't seem too bothered by this. The number had dwindled to around half a dozen students left to try — herself, Theodore, Potter, Granger, Leah, and Eloise Midgeon — by the time Moody barked, "Black!" and she stepped up before him.
"Imperio," he said, and all of a sudden a wave of contentedness came over her. It was strange — at first, all of her worries simply washed away, and her head was empty of thought. Dimly, she could feel the strangeness of this experience, but in a moment a voice said inside of her head, "Jog around the room," and she started to move. Jogging was nice, and relaxing, and she was used to it. There was a vague sort of thought forming at the back of her head, that maybe she should slow down, but she didn't particularly want to. "Run up to the blackboard now," the voice said again, but Aurora looked to the blackboard and it gave her pause. Why was she to do that? Why did she want to? Her mind paused, but her body kept moving, and she stumbled into Theodore before righting herself and marching up to the chalkboard. A vague chuckle registered in the back of her mind before the voice said, "Write your full name."
She picked up the chalk, held it to the blackboard, and was about to write when she felt a tug at the edge of her thoughts — which name. Should she start with lady, should she include Euphemia? The chalk fell from her hand but she moved to pick it up again anyway, and then couldn't remember why she had any issue in the first place. She scratched out the words Aurora Black — since she had been told nothing about using a title — and finished it with a full stop before she felt the sense of contentedness wash away and she was back in her own mind, staring at her shaky handwriting on the board.
Why was she standing here now, not over there? She turned, the vague memory of what she'd been made to do washing over her, and felt a great wave of embarrassment. But Moody was grinning. "Did anyone catch that? Black wasn't successful, but there was a change there, just for a split second, did you see it in here eyes? What were you thinking, Black?"
She stared at him. "I'm not sure, Professor."
"Were you confused? Questioning?"
"I..." She winced. "I wondered what to include in my name, Professor."
He grinned. "See! Just like it is easier to cast an Imperius if one believes that their victim ought to do what they are told, so too is it more difficult to resist if said victim doesn't question what they're doing. The curse works best with little changes over time, with the maintenance of a routine that eases the transition. Of course, a stronger Imperius would mean that wasn't so necessary — it'd trick the mind better than mine. What you've all experienced is nothing compared to what a truly Dark wizard would be willing to perform — but we can work our way up once more of you manage basic resistance. Black, in her momentary confusion, was able to resist the spell, though not break it. The important thing is to question, to challenge what you are being told. Still, it's a breakthrough. Who can do better?" It was only as his eye roamed the remaining group of five that Aurora realised he had left them the top students in the class. Clearly, he had some sort of hierarchy in mind.
But Granger had no success in breaking the curse, and though Aurora knew she saw the faint light of resistance in Theodore's eyes and his hand tremble when he was made to write his own name, only Potter, the final victim, had any success, breaking off in the middle of looping his y and throwing the chalk, rather too strongly, towards the window.
Moody lifted the curse and laughed even as Potter flushed with embarrassment at what he'd done — the chalk had scraped the wall, making a broken white mark upon the stone. "Brilliant, Potter, Brilliant! See — Potter questioned, Potter resisted! You're not of such weak mind as some of your classmates — good, good! Didn't need to throw that chalk quite so hard, but if you're told to help a Dark wizard and punch him in the face instead that would be brilliant, so I can forgive you it. Right!" He sank down against his desk. "I think that's enough for today. Too much can be painful, like I said. You can spend the rest of class talking about your experiences — I recommend you all try and speak to Potter, Black and Nott." So he had noticed Theodore too — he just hadn't mentioned it, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why.
Aurora wasn't in much of a mood to entertain her classmates, but thankfully everyone directed their attentions to Potter rather than her, and so she and Theodore sat up the back, comparing their experiences.
"It was strange," Theodore told her, "I didn't mind just walking around shaking people's hands — but that isn't particularly out of the ordinary, as an action, is it? Then he wanted me to write my name, but..." His eyes went distant, staring at the window. "I suppose I'm just not really a fan of my name." His eyes flicked to hers, and Aurora couldn't help but feel that he was being evasive. "What about you?"
"I wasn't sure what to write," she admitted. "I questioned going to the blackboard, but only for a second or so — but he said full name, and I... I didn't know what my middle name was until relatively recently. Thinking about it gave me pause — but I don't think Moody was trying to perform the Imperius to its full strength. If he was, just having to think about what you're doing wouldn't be enough to affect it."
Theodore nodded. "The Imperius is meant to be much more difficult to shake off. I think you're right — and he likely wanted some of us to be able to do something to shake it off, anyway. There's no use teaching by example when no one's successful."
"Good observation, Nott." Aurora jumped slightly, seeing that Moody had appeared behind them. His fake eye whirred as it stared between the two of them. "Neither of you would be able to hold off someone who really wanted to have that control over you, or someone who truly embraces the Dark Arts. But you exercised the right sort of mind magic that you need to use to resist, and that's a good start." He jerked his head to the cluster — of mainly Gryffindors — that had formed around a bashful looking Potter. "Better than some of your classmates, anyway."
He didn't give them a chance to respond or ask questions before he stumped off towards Draco, Pansy, Vincent and Greg, who were all looking exceedingly bored at the front of the class. Still, Aurora got the feeling his false eye was still watching them out the back of his head. The sense of it followed her until the bell rang, and she and Theodore hurriedly ended their conversation about how to train themselves to recognise the symptoms of an Imperius, fleeing to the Great Hall for dinner.