Her father was quick at getting a reply to her about meeting in Hogsmeade. By the end of Monday, they had settled on Wednesday evening, as her classes finished early to allow extra time before midnight astronomy, and it would be a good time to slip away. He had read the article, of course — and the tone of his letter seemed already concerned about her.

When she headed to her dormitory, it was early. Usually she would stay up late, but on that day she was simply exhausted from all the emotions it had brought with her, and even looking at her textbooks and notes made her eyes burn. She could not possibly focus, and forced herself to admit defeat and turn in at around quarter to nine.

Pansy and Gwen both came with her; she somehow was not surprised. That they apparently had concocted a way to get her alone was an impressive feat of teamwork on their behalf, but she was not really in the mood for appreciating that element just yet. Instead, once she got in her room, she toed her shoes off and said, "You two didn't have to come with me."

"Don't be silly," Pansy replied at once, shaking her head. "It was the only way we were going to get anything out of you, wasn't it?"

Aurora gave her a withering look which Pansy returned with a hard, penetrating stare. "It's all nonsense what Skeeter says," Pansy said, "and we all know that."

She shook her head and sank down on the edge of her bed. Gwen came with her and put an arm around her shoulder. "I know you do," Aurora said, "but that's because you know me, isn't it? There are plenty of people who believe all that she says, that's how she makes money. And I've heard the things some of the others say, and I know that some of the lords and their ladies, and half of society, they all suspect some of the things Rita Skeeter has written about me. I — I talked about it with Theo and he confirmed some things and I — I think I've come to terms with it, even though it's awful and ridiculous and... You know I just don't have the time for all this."

"You don't have the time," Gwen echoed flatly. "You know time is not actually the problem here, right?"

"Of course I do — the problem is Skeeter and the society which she panders to. But I..."

"It's all got on top of you?" Pansy said shrewdly. "Which, like... Is pretty understandable."

"I just — its everything coming out at once. It's the fact that I'm growing more and more aware of my differences and the fact that some people will force those differences in my face at every opportunity. I even notice it in the common room."

At that, Pansy blinked, as though surprised by this statement. "Notice what?"

Gwen scoffed. "Oh, come on, Parkinson. The blood status thing. You can't be that oblivious."

Pansy shifted uncomfortably. She glanced at Aurora and back again. "I mean, I know people mention it, but it's not about you—"

"Not in front of you," Gwen told her sharply, "just like no one mentions my status to Aurora anymore, but we're not stupid."

"Well, I haven't—"

"I did hear what you said about Hermione Granger the other day."

"That had nothing to do with her blood status, she's annoying — and anyway, who cares about Granger?" She turned to Aurora, who was still reeling from what Gwen had just said. She hadn't heard anyone say anything about Granger recently, certainly not in the vein of blood status. But then, it had not been out of the question in previous years. Had she become oblivious to it — or, from Pansy's suddenly sheepish expression, were her friends merely taking care not to make such allusions in front of her?

Aurora felt suddenly very cold and uncertain, but she gripped the edge of the bed. "Pans," she said softly, "I know you don't like to think that people apply the same sorts of ideas to myself as they do to Granger or hell, perhaps more accurately, Weasley. But they do. They clearly do. And people do say things about Gwen and we're not oblivious to the looks each of us get." They exchanged a knowing glance, the secret of their experience stretching between them. "That's what this article really says, Pans. That my birth will be used against me, and that it will be used against others, likely in far worse ways, because mark my words, I don't have nearly as rough a time as most Muggleborns and halfbloods do."

"If it was just one article maybe it wouldn't be so difficult to deal with but..." Frustration mounting, the familiar burning of tears rose within her. But she brushed them away. This felt like a time for rationality, to try and calm herself. "This is everywhere. It's building from Merlin's Day, from first year, from the moment of my birth! It's all fucked, Pansy."

"Aurora—"

"I mean, she's right," Gwen said, fixing Pansy with a cold look. "Why'd you think I don't sit with you all in the common room? I'm not welcome. And we all know why that is."

Pansy was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry," she said eventually. It was not enough for Gwen, and Aurora understood that. But the gap between them has lessened recently, and they both knew, Pansy was changing. "I am. I... I'm trying to be better."

"I know," Gwen said, and it still surprised Aurora. Though she did not meet Pansy's eyes. "Still, it's true, isn't it?"

That, she could not deny. "You're welcome with me. You both are. I like you, Tearston." Beside Aurora, Gwen tensed slightly. "And, well... I don't think you're lesser than me."

"Oh, how kind of you," Gwen said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Pansy again seemed like she was unsure where to stand. "I mean, what d'you want me to say? It's — complicated. To deal with."

"Thanks." Gwen's eyes were steely now. "I'll remember your plight."

"That isn't what I meant. Listen." She sat down on Aurora's other side, hands clasped tightly together. "Aurora's my best friend. And I think, maybe, if I didn't know her, I would be different. Because of my parents and my grandparents and all our families who want us to believe that they're better. But I know Aurora and I know you now and I know that they're wrong. About a lot of things.

"I mean, anyone who thinks Aurora's incapable is clearly deluding themselves about something. And Gwen, well... You're just normal."

Gwen stared at her. "For a moment I thought you were trying to be nice?"

"I am! Aurora—"

"Was that really a compliment? Pans, even I'm better than that."

"I just mean — I have come to realise that Gwen is not all that different from me. She likes painting her nails the same shade of pink as me, and she's very good at haircare, and while her taste in fashion cannot be helped, she's no worse than Millicent in that regard."

"Again, compliments?"

"In most elements except her unfortunate entanglement with the annoying Robin Oliphant, you're quite respectable, Tearston. And I think if that's the case — and after all, you have been sorted here, and not just anybody can do that — you can't be that different. Most people say Slytherins are only purebloods, but that's not true. Even in other years. I doubt I would be put in the same category by the hat with people who are truly inferior in ambitious and intelligence."

Aurora decided this was not a good time to mention Vincent and Gregory, though they did linger at the back of her mind. Perhaps they were only here because they expected to be. Perhaps many of them were.

"And at any rate," Pansy continued hastily, "I certainly don't think that you are in any way inferior in ambition or intelligence. Fashion, yes, and maybe manners, but we all have our flaws. Merlin knows Aurora can't sing."

"Excuse you!"

"Well, you can't, darling. Anyway — all this to say, that I don't think less of you because you're muggleborn. I don't think it's compatible with what I've actually come to know of you over the last few months. But that doesn't mean I'm completely unaware of the fact that were I to say such a thing to my parents I would get a very different reaction."

"And? If they're arseholes—"

"Gwen," Aurora said softly.

"No, I mean, what does it matter what they think?"

"That's exactly why we're here. Because it has always mattered. But, Pans, it doesn't have to. We have to decide which part of ourselves we can be true to."

Pansy looked her in the eye, face pale, and Aurora knew she was fighting in her head. "I don't know how to do that."

Gwen tensed, jaw locking in anger. Aurora felt she was rather entitled to it; but she also knew that Pansy, whatever conclusions she was trying to come to, would not reach them by being prodded by someone else's anger, no matter how rightful that anger was.

"Then learn," Aurora told her, trying to keep her voice as soft as possible even though there was a part of her that wanted to scream that no one knew, but it was something she had never had the choice of avoiding, not really. That this had always been coming and she couldn't run from it even if she wanted to.

Pansy gripped Aurora's hand tightly and then a moment later, gripped Gwen's too. The girl looked rather stunned by this, but she didn't protest. "Do you really think it'll get us anywhere?"

"I should bloody hope so," Gwen said harshly.

"Even if it doesn't," Aurora said, "it'll be closer than if we lay down and refuse to acknowledge the need to change. Our society has been stagnant for far too long, and I mean this in many regards. We're the future." She looked to Gwen, who was staring at her with a sudden interest, a light in her eyes. "We may as well make a start on it."

-*

Hermione Granger cornered her after Arithmancy the next morning, having worn the same confused look for the entirety of their lesson.

"I saw the Skeeter article about you," she said slowly, making a great pretense out of putting her books away.

"I'm sure you did," Aurora replied breezily. "I know you read the Prophet — what did you think?"

Looking rather unsettled, Granger said, "Well, I thought you'd be more offended."

"Oh." She laughed darkly. "I am. But I'm seeking to find an advantage in it. The article brought home some things to deal with." She looked Granger up and down. "I know you've been trying to find something on her for months, haven't you?"

Granger bit her lip and then nodded, clasping her bag shut. "Walk with me," Aurora told her.

"I haven't found much," Granger said, looking more unsettled by the second. Aurora wasn't sure if it was the lack of reaction that had her confused, but she was too tired to explain all the thoughts that had spiralled in her head since reading the article. It had only been yesterday and yet it had felt like forever, like the whole world had shifted in that time. "I don't know how she does it yet."

"Does what? Write like a gossiping mother?"

"No — how she finds out her information. There are some things she knows from asking people, interviews, but I don't know how she's accessing people on the grounds so much. And, she knew things about Hagrid that he has only told one person, Madam Maxime. He didn't even tell us he was half-giant — that proves she has some way of listening in on people. She knows so much about you, too. Not explicit incidents, but even so, it's unsettling, don't you think? She isn't allowed to just roam the castle and she wasn't near me when I was talking to Viktor after the second task, but she knew what I was saying anyway. She's some way to listen in, but I've yet to find any magical means of doing so, and any Muggle means I've found would be scrambled by the magical signals around here."

That was rather a lot to take in one go. Aurora took a second to process before saying, "How much do you know about Skeeter herself? Other than her means of obtaining content?"

"Well, not much — I'd rather deal with that actual problem than rumour and history."

"But rumour and history are precisely the problem," Aurora reminded Granger, "that's what Skeeter thrives off. Why? Who is she? Where did she come from? More importantly — what's she trying to hide?

"Everyone has a secret, Granger," she whispered, as they stepped into the hallway, "I'm sure Skeeter's got more than her fair share. We find someone who knows her — the person, not the reporter — and her secrets are so much more useful. We need something we can use against her, rather than trying to prevent something she can work around."

Granger's mouth twitched up. "Are you suggesting... Blackmail?" She sounded half-scandalised, half-intrigued.

"I'm suggesting research," Aurora replied. "Whatever the outcome may be. She's not the only one who can dig up dirt on someone."

Granger looked like she was trying very hard not to look excited by the prospect, though whether it was at research or revenge, Aurora did not know. "I think you're right," she said, and then added louder, "So, Ancient Runes revision in the library on Friday night?"

Aurora smirked in response. "It would be my pleasure."

-*

Aurora snuck out after Ancient Runes on Wednesday afternoon; Harry met her and Hermione just around the corner from their classroom, to hand it over.

"Tell him I say hi, won't you?"

She nodded. "Of course I will. You know, this isn't anything personal, me going myself?"

"No," he said, with a surprising clarity. "I get it. You need your dad to yourself right now."

"Yes. I do." She managed a faint smile, looping the cloak over her arm. "He'll come see us both the next Hogsmeade weekend, I'm sure. You got a letter for him?"

"Oh, yeah." Potter dug around in his pockets until he produced a piece of parchment, which Aurora took for him. "You'll be alright sneaking in and out on your own?"

"I've done this before, Potter, and that was without an Invisibility Cloak. I'll be grand." She forced herself to smile at him, but it wasn't as difficult as usual. "Thanks again for this, Harry. A lot."

He shrugged, though she knew he was not possibly so unbothered as he tried to make out. "No problem. See you at seven?"

"See you at seven," Aurora confirmed, and tucked the letter in her satchel.

Sneaking out alone was indeed nerve-wracking, but it was also one of the smallest problems she had had to contend with previously. In perspective, sneaking out of school with an Invisibility Cloak and magical map really was child's play.

Her father met her in his dog form so as not to attract as much attention, halfway out the road to the forest where they had first met. When she got close, he perked up, even though she was invisible, and started rushing towards her. The scent, she supposed, though that was an uncomfortable thought. Hopefully she didn't smell bad, though by the way his tail was wagging, he was more excited to see her than anything else.

"I see you," she muttered when he was in hearing distance. "But calm down, I really don't want to get caught. That's the last thing I need."

And he did calm, somewhat, perhaps from hearing the tension in her voice. They hurried towards the treeline and when they ducked inside, Aurora at last took the cloak off, and her father transformed. The sight of his face overwhelmed her suddenly, his bold grin and unruly hair and the genuine love in his eyes. A sob wrenched from her and the grin quickly faded, replaced by a frown as he tugged her towards him and enveloped her in a tight hug.

"Oh, sweetheart."

"I — I didn't know what to do—"

"I know."

"The article and then — everything else and Lord Nott hates me and I can't — I can't be this, what they want me to be and, Dad, I don't know how—"

"I know," he whispered again, squeezing her tightly. He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, and rubbed her shoulder in a comforting manner, soft and affectionate. "It's alright, Aurora. I've got you." She sniffled, but she let herself cry this time. She was safe here. "I've always got you."

He rocked her gently in his arms for a moment, as Aurora tried to cry out all her feelings. She hadn't expected them to overwhelm her so suddenly, in a positive tidal wave, but they had been ebbing and flowing over the past few days and now, for some reason, they were stronger than ever.

"I'm so tired, Dad," she whispered, "I'm tired of pretending to fit something I'm not. When everyone knows I can't fit and they'll never let me fit. And it — it's wrong!"

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Them. Those lords — like Rosier and Malfoy and Nott, and all the rest. Thinking I'm lesser because of my mother. Their opinion is wrong and it — I think it's wrong of me to try and conform to their opinions anyway!"

He stiffened, paused. "Yeah?"

She nodded, and squeezed him tightly. "I think — well, I suppose I've been thinking for a while — that I don't really want to be associated with people like that. Even if they did accept me, it... I don't agree with them. I never wanted to join their alliance, or even the Conservatives. And I guess, yes, this makes things difficult and Merlin knows I've a million and one other things on top of it at the moment, and this isn't good for me politically in general because of what she criticised but — the blood status thing?" She pulled back from her father slightly, so that she could get a proper look at him. There was deep concern glimmering in his grey eyes — familiar eyes.

"My mother's identity is private to me because I wasn't allowed to know for so long. But it certainly isn't something I'm ashamed of. And it's not something I should be ashamed of, or feel like I have to hide and that's something I've kind of struggled to come to terms with but I — I understand it. My blood status shouldn't matter. And to the people I agree with, the people whose politics aligns with mine, whose support I really want and alliance I could feasibly pull off? They are not, generally speaking, Sacred Twenty-Eight. I think maybe that's a good thing.

"I talked to Theo about this a bit, at first. And then Pansy and Gwen."

"Good," her father said. "I'm glad."

Aurora smiled wanly. "Can we sit down somewhere? I — I think I won't cry as much."

"You don't have to worry about crying with me."

"I know." She gave him a small, quick smile. "But I want to have a better conversation than one where I'm just sobbing at you."

"Alright," her dad agreed, moving to have just one arm around her shoulder, "we can find a part of the clearing that's easier to sit on."

They wandered for a few moments in a strangely comforting silence. She was just aware enough of her father's arm round her shoulder, the way he slightly guided her towards a patch of sunlight that came through the trees.

"I did bring a picnic," he told her, holding up his little bag, "extension charm on it. Figured it was my turn after all the times you snuck me food last year."

Aurora chuckled. "Too right. At least I had a bit of an easier time sneaking out now — Harry gave me a loan of his cloak."

"Good of him."

She hummed in reluctant agreement. "He was nice about it. I think he knows I'm upset. I don't like that he's figured it out but I suppose it has been rather more obvious than I'd like."

Her father cracked a faint smile. "Yeah, I could never hide my feelings from James, either."

"It's not like that," Aurora corrected him sharply, "I am not trying to hide anything from Potter — he's just a nosy git who notices more than anyone should, for the level of relevance he has in my life."

Looking torn between amusement and reprehension, her father merely looked ahead and declared, "This spot'll do."

With a quiet smile, Aurora followed him to the spot, and sat down gingerly on the picnic blanket which he laid out. Her father, on the other hand, merely flopped down with a reckless grin and started pulling bottles of butterbeer from his bag. "So," he said, popping the lid off and passing one to Aurora, "want to talk it out?"

She appreciated that he hadn't asked any particular questions; wasn't forcing the topic of Skeeter or of exams or of the elections, instead merely letting her chew over anything and everything that came to mind. It did take a moment for her to manage to speak, as she pored over all the issues. At first, she said, "I think I'm finding this all rather more difficult than I thought I might."

Her father nodded slowly. "I see."

"I mean, I — well, alright, I'll start from the beginning. You know, I wasn't really on top of things, my first couple years of being Lady Black, and I really should have been, but—"

"But you were twelve," her father reminded her softly, "and grieving. And that's alright."

"I know, but — well, then, this past year I've really had to embrace it a lot more, not just out of duty but because I truly have need of my position now, I have things I want to use it for, whether that's for your sake, or my own, or to vote on things that actually really matter to people. But I haven't had that same political backing and support that Arcturus had for himself, and was trying to build for me, because I let that slip through my fingers, and because, in all honesty, the people with whom the family would usually ally or associate, aren't people whose views really align with mine, anyway. That's pretty clear.

"You know, last year, I didn't tell you this, but some of the older lords spoke to me, at Merlin's Day. They warned me that they knew of rumours about me not being entirely pureblooded. Lord Nott warned me he didn't want me associating with his grandson and it seems the likes of Rosier and Travers felt the same. I'm sure had Narcissa not cared for me so when I was growing up, Abraxas Malfoy would be the same. Perhaps he does think the same as they do, but knows saying so would be more of a detriment.

"At the time it bothered me, of course. But I still, I don't know, felt like it was just words. It hadn't quite translated to action yet, to real exclusion. But I've become more and more aware, over the past year, of the sorts of views they hold, and of the fact that really, I don't know the extent to which Arcturus agreed. He always told me I was special, there was nothing wrong with me for my mother's blood, but... He still associated with people who believed otherwise. Even if his views changed, he didn't stand up for them. Perhaps he thought he was making it easier on me by not doing so, but, well, I'm a target now, regardless.

"I'm just... Tired of it. Tired of always being worried what people think about me, tired of always having to think weeks and months and years ahead of myself. Tired of feeling like I can't live today because I've too much to worry about tomorrow. And worrying that I'm not good enough but then worrying that I'm worried about being good enough for the wrong people, and worrying about what good enough even actually means because what I really care about is my exams and my friends and that doesn't matter because I'm not allowed to just be worried about those things. 'Good enough' isn't good enough for me. But I don't know who I'm trying to be good enough for anymore."

She let those words linger a moment, took a drink of butterbeer. "Well," her father told her, "that's something you can only know yourself. But I can tell you that the person you are right now is, and has always been, good enough for me and for everyone who loves you."

"I know," she told him, voice coming out in a whine, "you tell me this all the time and I appreciate it, Dad, but I — I can't help the feeling that I still always have to be more. There is so much that I must be, so many people I have to please if I want to reach my full potential."

He nodded, clasping her shoulder. "I know it's difficult, sweetheart," he told her, "trying to figure out not just who you are, but who you want to be. I remember it, too. We were in drastically different situations," he added hastily, a distinction which she appreciated, "but I know the confusion you're going through. Trying to figure out what you're loyal to and how to be loyal, and what all that means.

"But I didn't have to be Lord Black." His grip tightened. "I know you keep saying you want to do it yourself, and I respect that. But, sweetheart, I think - and Andromeda agrees — forcing yourself to juggle all this, your duties as Lady Black, and your studies, and trying to just be a normal child, as you say, and trying to figure yourself out as all teenagers do, it isn't good for you. I'm not incapable, Aurora. I'll take over your duties as soon as you give the word, or Andromeda and I can balance it, as regents or stewards or whatever form you want that to take.

"I promise I'm a lot less hot-headed in writing than in person." She snorted at that and he gave a wry grin. "It's how I was taught, there are some things you still can't shake. And I'll do better for your sake. I get why you want to handle it yourself, but I'd really urge you to pass some work or correspondence over to us, at least until your exams are over with."

The thought still made her ill and uneasy, like she was somehow giving up or betraying some legacy by giving any power to them. Even though she knew what her father was saying was true, not just for him but for Andromeda. "I just... I'm scared to let go of it."

"You're not letting go of anything," he assured her, "we're not going to make any big decisions without you. You're still Lady Black, we just want to help you. You're also our kid, yeah? We've a duty to do the best by you, and that includes your education and peace of mind."

"I — the lords and everyone already think I'm weak. They'll look for anything they can to discredit me."

"Not all of them," he reminded her, "and this sort of thing is plenty common for male lords of your age."

"Potter's not as stressed as I am."

"I don't think Harry realised there were elections until I mentioned it in my last letter. He's different priorities — though I have had to remind him to keep an eye on his vaults, he has no clue how money or investments or anything works."

"And here I thought you weren't interested in that."

"Like I said, there are some things you're taught and can't shake. Point is — asking for help isn't a weakness. And those who will harm you for it, well, they can go through me." She laughed at that. "Listen, I trust that whatever political opinions and relationships you truly feel you need to create, you will find a way. There are those who are already determined to take against you, and you know that. And I know it isn't easy, I know it's difficult as hell, but you're braver than I am." That surprised her. She turned to stare at him, perplexed by the words. "I ran from it. Other things, too, of course. But even before things got bad with my parents, I was afraid to figure out my place in the world, afraid of the conflict between my opinions and my duty and my family, and I just avoided it. I went strongly one way and never looked back, and I didn't have the bravery to stick around and do something material other than fight from the inside, instead of within. It's brave to some, yeah, but, I don't know. I was also a kid, just your age, but in confronting what you've been taught and actually reckoning with it, well, I think you're pretty brave for that. Even more so that you're doing something with it, and taking on responsibilities and politics. I didn't do that. And I was afraid of the responsibility, too."

"And you're not afraid of it now?"

"No. Not when I'm doing it for you."

That made her heart warm slightly. She took a long drink of butterbeer and smiled, a little more settled. "I don't know if I'd say I'm brave. And I think you're plenty brave, Dad. I kinda figured out from Andromeda and Remus a lot of stuff you went through, um... But I know it was difficult. And I really appreciate you asking. I just don't want people to think I'm incapable."

"Trust me," her dad said, "anyone who thinks you're incapable, is deluding themself. You've proven your capabilities already, but no other Lord or Lady has to deal with full-time education on top of their responsibilities. Not to mention being a teenager, which is bloody difficult enough. If you think it would make it easier for you, if Andromeda and I took over correspondence and such for a while, do it. Don't worry about what other people think, because I'm sure you think they'll believe worse of you than they really will. It's about what's best for you, as Aurora — yes?"

She worried her lip. She knew he was right, she was just afraid to admit it. But it was like he said. Asking for help didn't have to be a weakness. And yes, the likes of Lord Nott and Rosier and Travers sat in the manors and made their money off investments and deals with the Ministry and they did not have to contend with constant homework and learning and every other strain on her time that Aurora had at the moment. They all had been allowed to breathe and learn and grow into their roles. She had not.

But her dad was offering that, and she knew he was genuine. Knew that he would do everything he could to work in her name, in her image, to help her. That was all that the love in his eyes said. That this was for her, and the realisation of that made her heart blaze in relief.

"Thank you," she said in a whisper, and moved to pull her father into a tight hug. He stiffened, as if he had not expected it, but then melted into the embrace, holding her close. Tears burned at her eyes but she didn't hate them as much as usual. "Thank you, I — yes. I think that might be for the best."

He propped his chin up and rubbed her shoulder. "Good. I'll tell Andromeda, we'll get everything organised for paperwork and letter directions — they can come to you and you can pass them on if you'd prefer that, or we can arrange for duplications once they reach either one of us."

Already it was a weight off, and Aurora felt like sobbing; it felt silly. "Thank you," she said again.

"Anytime, sweetheart. That's what I'm here for — what we're all here for."

"I — I know." It felt good to acknowledge it out loud. "I still don't know what to do about Skeeter though. It's not just about what she said about my mother, it's, honestly, people were going to know at some point and now I know it's become easier to talk to people about it, people like Theo..." The memory of what he had told her still twisted her stomach a little. "She shouldn't be able to know those things she knows about me. I don't think she should be allowed to publish them either, but apparently our laws on those sorts of things are shockingly lax for anyone that isn't either the Minister of Magic or in his pocket, so. And she's targeted Granger too — Hermione."

"I know," he nodded, "I've read it. We all looked into it, too, but like you said — criticism of the government has to be kept low, but criticism of anyone else, even a child... There aren't any protections in place."

"Kind of a running theme, isn't it? That's something I'd change, too. Our stupid laws."

Her father chuckled. "Stupid's one word for them. And I have every faith that you'll find a way to do just that. To change the world. But for that you have to allow yourself to change too — to be a teenager and do as teenagers do."

She wished she could. Maybe soon she could try. Maybe for once the world would give her a break.

"I already know I want to make change. Starting with myself. I'm not going to try and play neutral anymore, it gets nobody nowhere and what's the point of doing it to protect your power if you then feel too trapped to use that power? No, I want to start building connections — real ones, ones that'll benefit me and also push me. Progressives like MacMillan, Vaisey, Edris, even Abbott if I can stand his heir. And I haven't made my mind up on my election endorsement but I think I do know now that I want to give one, that I have to. Either the Progressive or Celtic candidate, or maybe one of the independents.

"There's a lot that needs fixed about our world and about myself. And it's not just going to happen, by me talking about how I find things unfair, when I'm too — too scared to actually use my power and position for its purpose."

He stared at her a moment, something swirling in his eyes, something like recognition. She didn't know what — or who — of, nor did she like that he did not tell her. But his eyes were assessing, curious, a little startled. And then he softened and said, "I think that sounds right, Aurora."

"I'll inform you if I want to make an endorsement, but you can talk to candidates if you'd like and report back. You're less intimidating than Andromeda, though maybe there are some I'd rather she handle."

"I am not!"

"In an interview-type situation, I'd imagine so. She raised Dora, she's very good at interrogation."

At least he laughed at that, and the strange look cleared from his eyes. "I'm sure I can be intimidating too."

"Oh, I'm sure, too. But Andromeda'll enjoy the politics more, I think." She found herself smirking. "And maybe between all of us, we can actually use our family's power for good."

"I'd like that," her father said, and wrapped his arm tightly around her so that he drew her into his side. Aurora found herself putting her own arms around him, holding him in a tight, warm hug. It felt safe, secure, loving, the sort of hug that you want to hang onto forever and that a piece of you always will.

"Thank you," she whispered, as tears sprang to her eyes again.

"Of course." He brushed a hand over her hair, and kissed her cheek gently as a shaky tear spilled over. Her father frowned against her, but didn't pull back. "Hey — why're you crying?"

"I don't know," she mumbled, curling her head into his shoulder. "I think I'm relieved."

A small, quiet laugh as he kissed the crown of her head. "We can work with relieved," he told her. "Relieved is close to happy, right?" She nodded and he squeezed her tighter. "I love you, sweetheart."

And, slightly shaky, she lifted her head and whispered back, "I love you too, Dad."

He stiffened, and stared down at her. For a horrible second his face was blank, and then bloomed into a broad, bright smile, his eyes sparkling. "Do you really?"

Aurora frowned at him. "Yes. I mean, I'm pretty sure. You're..." She couldn't quite find adequate words, and she knew that she had not said those words before, but they felt right and they felt true and they felt like her heart. "I love you, Dad. It felt complicated and now it feels as simple as that. I love you. Because I do."

And with a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob, he gathered her even closer into his arms, and held on tight.