"You really still sitting here again?"
Aurora was in the bay window in the library, curled up with a copy of Wuthering Heights — a novel Gwen had recommended to her — and had thought no one would ever interrupt her here. Apparently, though, Potter had discovered what a library was. She wished he had not.
"I can sit wherever I want, Potter. This is my house."
"Didn't say you couldn't."
He made his way from between the nearest aisle of books, arms folded, but his brow was furrowed in concern. She hated it. "You alright?"
"Obviously."
"I've seen you for, like, half an hour today." His nose wrinkled when he looked at the plate on the sidetable next to her. "Did you eat lunch in here?"
"Is that a problem?"
She had hoped that her tone would scare him off as usual. But it seemed he had developed a tolerance, because he kept on towards her, still with only that wary look of approaching a stray dog, and being uncertain of what it was going to do. "You've not been right since Monday."
She scoffed. "Thank you for your observations, Potter—"
"Oh, for — I'm not trying to start an argument here. I just — look, if I say I get it, you'll tell me I don't, so I'm not gonna say that. But, you know… It's not like you're the only one whose lost someone—"
"Excuse me?"
He winced. "That's not what I meant — it came out wrong — look, I — obviously Bellatrix maybe being a threat has rattled you. And I get that part. And… I know how hard it is when you know what someone has done to your family, that they want to hurt you too, and how — how scary it is, and how right now you probably want to go and confront her and hex her to death and scream out everything you've ever felt about her and instead you're stuck here and you hate it."
She wondered, oddly, if he realised she had already felt that way about her father; then, wondered if that was how Potter had once felt about him, too.
"I don't want to confront Bellatrix," she told him, "I want us both to stay precisely where we are. Stability is good. Stability is essential to the prosperity of the House of Black and we've had a blight of it these past few years."
"But you're still scared."
She shook her head with a short, biting laugh. "What a silly thing to say. It shouldn't need saying, Potter. Why are you trying to talk to me anyway?"
Finally, she looked at him, realising how close he had gotten. All he did was shrug. "I'm bored. Figured you might want a chat."
"With you?" But then, she wondered, was this as much for him as it was her? "What do you really want, Potter? Do you want to talk about whatever it is you've decided I'm feeling, or do you want to talk about your theories?" There came that guilty, sheepish look she knew so well. She hated that she could read him, but it could be rather amusing too.
Potter took the opportunity and hurried over to her, taking a seat by her feet at the end of the window seat. Aurora scowled and drew her legs up. "D'you reckon this has something to do with Karkaroff?"
"If Karkaroff is linked to the Dark Lord again, perhaps. Or, Bellatrix Lestrange is simply a hateful bitch with an unexpected opportunity. But, it's not a good sign. For anyone." The night before, she had dreamt of her mother's death again. Even now she could recall the screams she heard whenever the Dementors got too near to her. Recall that flash of bright green light soaring through the dark, burning behind her eyelids.
Potter took a moment's pause before saying, "You know how, a little while back, they were talking about having appeals for the convicted Death Eaters? In case there were other cases like Sirius's?"
"If by they you mean the Ministry, yes."
It was a mark of the seriousness of the conversation that Potter didn't roll his eyes at her correction. "Do you think she'd get one?"
"No. No, what she did was too awful. And she admitted in no uncertain terms, she was proud of it and they made such a trial of it because everyone — everyone wanted to see them sentenced."
"Why? What did she do?"
"She…" Aurora trailed off. Ordinarily she wouldn't mind sharing, but she thought of Neville Longbottom, quite unexpectedly. She wouldn't have liked if someone had told Potter about what happened to her mother; wouldn't even have liked if someone else told Gwen before she could. If Potter didn't know about Neville's parents, she wasn't sure that it was really her place to tell him. "Used the Cruciatus Curse on someone," she said carefully, "after the war. Two aurors — she was trying to get information about the Dark Lord's whereabouts."
"Who?"
"I don't know," she said, too quickly. Potter narrowed his eyes, and she held her breath, but he didn't push it. "Anyway, of all the Death Eaters, she's been securely behind bars. But the same, I suppose, won't always be said for the rest of them. None of them were ever allowed out of Azkaban, mind, and most of the appeals have been dropped by now, but…"
Wasn't it possible that someone could have slipped through the cracks? Planted a note, or arranged to have one planted, on the orders of someone who had once been their superior? But why, if not to actually attack? That was the part that Aurora still failed to understand; what Bellatrix Lestrange sought to gain by spooking her in the way that she had.
Perhaps it was, as her father had suggested in his panic, a form of challenge. A promise or a threat, her way of telling Aurora that her place in the world was by no means secure. Well, she already knew that.
But if Bellatrix Lestrange thought she was going to be able to threaten her, that meant she thought she was going to be able to get out of Azkaban.
Aurora didn't have to study Divination to know that was not a good sign.
"Either way, we need to be on our guard. Keep an eye on Karkaroff when we get back to school. I don't know if he's involved and to be honest and seems far too neat for him to be."
"Could be anyone," Potter said, in a grim tone.
"Could be anyone," Aurora echoed, turning to look out the window, focusing on the crows swooping across blue sky, the grass rippling in a faint breeze. "I don't know what we're supposed to do here, Potter. I don't know why we should be expected to do anything, but it feels like we are. Or at least we expect ourselves to."
Potter was quiet for a blissful second. His silence was still rare. Then he said, "I guess you're right. Maybe Hermione'll have an idea when we get back. I thought I shouldn't put all this in a letter."
At that, she gave a small smile and finally met his eyes. "Potter, are you finally being sensible?"
He pulled a face, but there was so real malice in it. "I'm always sensible, Black."
"No, you're not. But I appreciate you trying now."
"That's very kind of you to say."
"I know. Don't expect it to happen again."
Potter laughed, bumping his legs against hers. There was something freed in the expression on his face, which she didn't understand. Aurora rolled her eyes. "This isn't funny, Potter. None of this is funny."
"I know," he said, somewhat more soberly. "But we'll figure it out. Everything's always worked out before."
She didn't want to be the one to tell him not to be so optimistic. This felt so much more out of her control than any problem she had encountered before, so much more shrouded in questions and mystery. It scared her far, far more.
And she was sure even if he hid it, that this all scared Potter, too.
-*
On the penultimate night of the holidays, Aurora had a nightmare.
It started out slow, a creeping dread as she drifted off to sleep, a falling sensation that she had become used to. Then there was a light, and she was stood in the ballroom of Black Manor.
The grand double doors were thrown open and it was full of people, dark crowds in gowns and jewels; men conversing in shadowy corners, making deals, women negotiating with one another over strained smiles and glasses of expensive champagne. Aurora was, for some reason, not a child but her current self, yet surrounded — some part of her felt, trapped — in the memory of her childhood. Beside her stood Arcturus, a hand on her right shoulder.
"We ought to make our rounds," he told her, "there are lots of people for you to meet. The Carrows want to see you again."
Dimly, Aurora recognised that was normal, somehow. She moved mechanically towards them, the stern Lord Aretius Carrow and his eternally suspicious wife Lucinda, and their two eldest sons, Andreus and Atlas, both tall and fair-haired and a good few years older than her. They stared at her as she approached and Arcturus melted away from her side. The Carrows' eyes were cold and dark, smooth glass.
When she was close enough, Andreus reached out to her bearing cold silver rings, and snatched his hand around her throat.
They melted away but she still felt the strain around her as she turned, running, spinning in a deserted dance floor, the wind from outside pulling her back. Shades and spirits whirled around her; Narcissa Malfoy grabbed her hand and dragged her away, to suitor upon suitor, faceless purebloods whose gazes dragged over her every imperfection, whose words spat venom that turned to 'traitor' 'lesser' 'dirtied blood'.
Then she was blinded by a green light. Her uncle's voice echoed in her mind.
"None of them want you here. They'll expel you without a second thought, they'll kill you the second they get the chance or the reason. That's always been the way. They're coming."
Green light cleared away and the ballroom was dark. All she could make out were bright eyes, silver eyes, illuminated by dim wand light. Her heart stuttered, her breath stuck in her throat. The chandeliers above her with silver, a thousand twinkling diamonds turned into scathing, scrutinising eyes.
Bellatrix Lestrange ran at her with a wild look in her eyes, spitting venom: "Filthy half-blood, unworthy, mudblood, traitor—"
And as she screamed the green light washed over her again, putrid with a yellow tinge, sickening her.
She turned sharply over in her bed, clutching the side. Nausea swamped her and she retched suddenly, like her very body was fighting against her. Shivers ran all over her, the memory of the dream fading yet leaving in its wake utter cold dread, a terror clutching at her skin with clammy hands.
Her breathing came in broken, sharp bouts and she clung to the mattress for dear life until she could control it, until she could steel herself and push down threatening, burning tears in her eyes.
It was only a dream, she had to remind herself. Only a million fears manifesting at once.
The family ring on her finger seemed to burn. On her bedside table, she could spy the onyx ring, lit by the sliver of moonlight coming in from the window. Silver. Her stomach flipped over again.
The time on her clock told her it was six o'clock. She sighed loudly, falling back against her pillows and staring at the ceiling as she tried to regulate her breathing. Yet in the shadows of her bedroom she swore she could feel Bellatrix Lestrange lurking, or else the spirit of Regulus Black, haunting her, just trying to reach across.
It was a long while before she could get back to sleep.
It was, of course, just her luck that the first person she saw in the morning — bleary-eyed, pale-faced, hair still something of a frizzy mess from all her tossing and turning — was Potter and not her father. He did, immediately, narrow his eyes in suspicion at her appearance as she meandered to the dining table and poured herself a cup of tea.
Of course, Potter was no stranger to nightmares. But that didn't mean Aurora could confide in him.
"Do stop gawking," she said mildly, reaching for a pot of yoghurt. "It's unseemly."
"You look a bit…"
"Tired? Yes, I had an unfortunately disrupted sleep. It was most annoying."
Potter's suspicion only seemed to increase with that, though suspicion of what, she did not know. "Right." He poured syrup over the stack of pancakes he had already helped himself too, and Aurora glowered.
"Where's my dad?"
"Oh, popped through to the drawing room for a bit, said he had to write a letter back to Remus. I guess it was important, he'll be through in a moment."
That didn't appease her nerves — instead, her mind now swam with questions over what could be so urgent that it could not wait until after breakfast. She said nothing, and they ate in silence until her father returned, also looking rather weary, but forcing his usual smile. Over the past couple weeks she had come to see that forcedness more often, or at least with some greater clarity.
"Morning," he said through a stifled yawn, and frowned as he took in Aurora's appearance. "You alright?"
She glared in response. Not in front of Potter, she hoped her eyes told him, and he winced. "Nice day for a fly," her father said, "thought we could all take a trip out on the bike, maybe find somewhere for fish and chips, maybe by the seaside. Or we could go into the city — you know, I've never really explored Norwich."
"We have homework," Aurora replied for both her and Harry, who looked most put out by this.
"I thought you said you finished that days ago?"
"Well, all my official homework — but exams are coming up, so studying counts as homework too. They're really important this year, the fourth year curriculum contributes a lot to the O.W.L.s, and I need to do well so I can get approved for the N.E.W.T. classes I want to apply for next year."
Potter frowned at her. "Wait, these exams affect that?"
"Not officially," she said, "but if you bomb an exam this year, they'll have reservations about your prospects on the O.W.L.s. And Merlin knows Snape'll take any excuse he can to deny me whatever I want."
"Still," her dad said, frowning, "it's alright to take a day off once in a while, sweetheart. Merlin knows I didn't work half as hard as you do."
"Yes, because you were stupidly clever and managed to become an Animagus at sixteen, but some of us need to work for their grades."
"It's still only fourth year — maybe just a couple of hours off? Might help you clear your head."
"My head doesn't need cleared," she said irritably, and he raised his eyebrows pointedly.
"I'm up for a trip," Potter put in, which was not helpful. Of course he was. He didn't care about any of his classes, Aurora was sure. She didn't know how Hermione Granger put up with him.
"Fine," she conceded, if only because she still didn't like the idea of missing out — and because, though she'd never admit it, the thought of being left in the house alone unsettled her right now. "But only after lunch. I've still a lot of Runes translation work that needs doing, and I want to finish up some extra readings for Charms."
"Alright." Something in her father's smirk told her he'd been angling for that all along — the whole day was a low offer and he had tricked her into bargaining. "I'll figure out what we can do. I was chatting to the woman in the flower shop the other week, told me she'd taken her granddaughter to see some play in the city, can't remember what though."
"Well, that's helpful," Potter said cheerfully, and Aurora didn't like that it was what she had just been about to say, too.
"Mhm. Maybe I'll take a wander down and ask about."
"You're such a tourist."
"Are people usually responsive when you 'ask about'?" Aurora asked, eyebrows raised.
"Oh, yeah. The locals love me," he said with a wink. "And I love the chocolate cake in the cafe at the square — we should do that tomorrow before you two leave."
"The train leaves at eleven."
"It can be breakfast!"
"It's chocolate cake."
"Rory…"
She sighed, shaking her head. "I'll try their tea," she conceded yet again, and took a sip of her own to prove a point. Her father grinned.
He got what he wanted, of course.
-*
By the time lunch came around, Aurora's head was already so crammed full of ancient runes that she wasn't sure she could bear to read any more medieval alchemical texts. Not least because half of them were also written with the most frustrating mix of Latin and Greek, which kept translating differently to the runes, leading her to wonder what the point of any of it was and if the medieval alchemists of old really did just want to fuck with whoever dared to try and uncover their secrets.
Alchemists were bloody annoying, no matter how determined she still was to learn their craft, when the time eventually came for the N.E.W.T. course to run.
It was precisely because of the exhaustion of translation — and partially, she admitted, due to the sunny weather outside — that she consented to having lunch in Norwich itself. The city did have a small Wizarding community, centred by the old Norman Market around the castle. From what Aurora knew, the tunnels beneath the market led to a great, cavernous Wizarding market, mostly made up of apothecaries and trinket-sellers, but supposedly fascinating nonetheless. Still, straying there made her feel slightly uneasy; Norfolk was the seat of the Carrow family, and after their feature in last night's dream, they did make her nervous. What Callidora had told her months ago came back to her; that Arcturus had tried to negotiate a match with a Carrow son, a match that had fallen through because of his inability to prove her pureblood status.
No one would hurt her in the open, but the reminder still hung about her, to the extent that she was actually somewhat glad her father chose a Muggle restaurant to visit for lunch, near to the cathedral. At one point, between ordering their food and it arriving, Potter disappeared off to the loo, and her father wasted no time in asking, "What had you so upset this morning?"
She stared back at him, surprised he continued with the line of questioning. "Nothing. I… It's silly. I had a bad dream, that's all."
His frown only deepened. "A bad dream? What about?"
"It… I was in the manor, and there was a ball and the Carrows were there, and then Narcissa and all these other pureblood whom I really know already and had no right to be so disturbed by, and then… Thete was Regulus, I think, or his voice, and then I saw her — Bellatrix…" She couldn't bear repeat what she had said. "And then I woke up." She shrugged. "Just a stupid dream."
But her father wasn't stupid and he knew her too well to believe that. "It's okay to be frightened. God knows we've all had our share of bad dreams. But I promise I won't let anything happen to you."
"But you can't promise that," she said, too sharply. His face fell, into something akin to guilt which stabbed at her heart. "I don't say that to be cruel, but it is true. This threat is something I must live with now."
"You know we're doing what we can to figure out a way to protect you."
"I shouldn't need protecting." She leaned closer and dropped her voice, aware of the muggles around. "I'm Lady Black. I can take care of myself."
"You're my daughter, and you're fifteen. Trust me when I say you don't know nearly as much about the world at fifteen as you think you do. You're not invulnerable, Aurora, and that's okay."
"So you think I'm incapable?"
"Of course I don't, and you know I don't, so stop being petty."
"I'm not petty!"
Her father winced and pinched his brow. "I didn't mean to insinuate… God, Aurora, all I'm trying to do is help, yeah? I'm not trying to diminish or offend you, I'm trying to reassure you."
"Well, you're not doing a very good job." It was a mean thing to say, perhaps, but riled up and worried and irritated as she was, it was the first thing that she could say. "I just need to get over this fear and find a way to deal with Bellatrix, and figure out how that note got there, and everything will be fine." On top of the million other things she had to do at the moment. Only that morning she had received a letter from Carrick Bratt asking about her endorsement for the forthcoming election and she could barely even bring herself to think about that.
"Rory. You know it's alright to ask for help. I've told you before, anything you need… I can tell you're overworking yourself, sweetheart. You're tired and stressed and that's understandable. But you don't have to be. You shouldn't be, at your age."
"Yes, well, unfortunately my situation demands it."
"And I've told you you don't have to—"
"I'm fine, Dad. Really, I'm on top of things. This has been a bit of a blip, yes, but once I'm back at Hogwarts I'll be alright for the foreseeable. I'm just tired today because I didn't have a great sleep. But everyone gets nightmares." She didn't elaborate on the way her fear of it still ate her up inside, the way she could still hear Bellatrix's biting words, Regulus's pleading ones.
To this, her father seemed not to know what to say. But there was a sad, pensive look in his eyes, something bordering on mournful. "You will tell me when you need me, won't you? I'm worried about you, Aurora, that's all."
"I don't need you to be."
"Well, I am."
He reached across and squeezed her hands gently. "You're safe with us. Remember that, sweetheart, please."
Her answering smile was strained but she appreciated the words nonetheless. Out the corner of her eye, she spotted Potter returning to them, and withdrew her hands from her father's grasp. "I know," she assured him. "But some things, you do just have to let me deal with myself."
Because she didn't even want to think about implicating anyone else she cared about in what had to be her issues. She was Lady Black — in the end, she knew, it would fall to her to defend that title, no one else.