That summer started hot and only got hotter. Three days in, the heat was already suffocating, and the windows of every house thrown wide to try and entice a breeze that simply would not come. Very few had any proper air conditioning, and so wizards and muggles alike took to paper fans to cool themselves with, generating a breeze only of warm air which hardly did a thing to help.
Aurora, however, had the sea.
She had come back to Black Manor for the day, a difficult decision. After what had happened at Easter, her father and the Tonkses were loathe to let her anywhere near the place. But she felt she had to come back. There was still so much left for her to uncover and interrogate, and hiding from her own home and family would not help.
Her father had still insisted on coming with her. He was a ways further down the beach now, though keeping an eye on her; Aurora had spent the morning perusing the manor's library, investigating protective enchantments and digging out the inventory of family jewels and heirlooms. It was a long list, and many of its parts were scattered across the estate, and the Gringotts vaults. Hardly light summer reading, but necessary, she was sure, once she found the ring. And if she was going to open Grimmauld to anybody, she knew she would have to ensure that she could keep track of everything properly.
The inventory was now to one side, while Aurora sat in the small beach at the edge of the grounds. There were surely muggles nearby, but with all the ancient enchantments in the air, it felt like there was no one around for miles, but her and her father. It was peaceful, in a way that she realised she hadn't felt for some time. This was her chance to be alone, to recuperate and recollect her thoughts as she skimmed through cursebreaking guides for information, making notes while humming Weird Sisters music as the sun beat on her light summer robes and the sea breeze and light sprinkling of crashing waves cooled her.
Seclusion was reassuring, somehow, or perhaps it was merely the familiarity of the location. She told herself that it did not matter what Callidora had told her back in February — this was her home, it always had been, and whatever Arcturus had at first thought, she had to assure herself of his love for her. She was Lady Black, after all, no one else. It was noted explicitly in his will that the title and power go directly to her, that she had the power to appoint any future heirs of her own and hand power to their bloodlines.
Even so, there was too much to be done for her to revel in the sea breeze. Just as she turned the page to methods of arithmantic enchantment unravelling, there was a loud crack and she glanced up to see Kreacher hobbling over the sand towards her. Aurora slipped a bookmark in and snapped the book shut, sitting up straight as her house elf sank into a low bow.
"Mistress," Kreacher croaked, looking around the beach in awe. It had been years since he had last been here, either. "Kreacher was told to summon Lady Aurora." He wrung his hands together, and she narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
"Told by whom?"
"The portrait of the late Mistress," he said, referring to her grandmother. Her father started making his way along the sand to them, eyes narrowed. "She has been distressed, very stressed, since house elf Tippy says that the house will have visitors."
Aurora winced. She didn't even know for certain yet, and had hoped to speak with the portrait on her own terms. "Tell the late Mistress that I will explain to her later, should such a thing transpire." She would have to find some way to reason with and appease the portrait. Yet another reason, she thought as she flicked her eyes back up to the grand manor, that she needed to speak with her great-grandfather. "Tell her the Lady of the House has reasons for everything."
Kreacher looked like he was trying to hold back a snarl, but nodded shakily. "Yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress. Kreacher has news of Gringotts too, Mistress. The Ministry of Magic has asked that the accounts be investigated."
Her blood went cold. "Did they say why? Why did I not receive the owl?"
"Ministry addressed to the Black family," Kreacher said with a sneer. "Not the Lady. They wants to know Lady Aurora's connections to the Potter boy."
"Harry Potter?" Her head whirled. Did they think that she had taken money from him for something, or the reverse? Fudge still seemed adamant that Harry had been lying about the Dark Lord's return. Could it be that he wished to reach Potter through her, or to tear holes in whatever Alliance he might believe them to have?
She looked to her father as he stilled beside her. He said, "Investigative Jurisdiction Act. They need an adequate reason and substantial corroborating evidence of a crime. They've no reason to bother us, Aurora."
Relieved, she nodded. "Thanks. Kreacher, do you know if they've accused Potter of anything?"
Kreacher shook his head. "Kreacher does not care about the Potter boy."
Fair enough, Aurora thought. "Right. Is that everything? I think we can deal with that quickly enough." Frowning, she thought to add, "Would you like to come into the house?" His eyes bulged. "It has been a long time."
"Kreacher has cleaned," he mumbled, "Kreacher has been in the manor."
"Yes," she said, "but not with me. Come." Aurora got to her feet, picked up her books and dusted sand from her robes. Her father frowned, but said nothing. "I may require your assistance anyway." She glanced at her father. "And if there are to be any changes to our situation, then I will require your help in ensuring the House of Black maintains its power and legacy while adapting to the needs of our time. This may be key to our longevity."
Kreacher made a face. "Kreacher does not — does not likes the Dark Lord, Mistress. Kreacher has heard the stories about his return and Kreacher does not like it."
"Nor do I," Aurora told him drily. "Which is why I am trying to do what I can to ensure our safety in the face of the threat he poses. By whatever means. It is a complicated matter," she admitted. "And I would order of you that the details of this conversation are not discussed with anyone except myself, unless given my explicit permission to do so."
Kreacher nodded as they began to walk, Aurora keeping slow on the walk up the sands and the long grass banks, where the expansive grounds and the manor awaited them up the hill. Over the other side was a thick swathe of trees, but to east and west, the family grounds went on and on, rolling over meadows which covered old gold and salt mines.
"I am very much aware of the threat posed to me because of my blood status," Aurora told Kreacher as they entered the house. Her father, behind her, pretended not to take interest in the portraits and paintings around them, or the antique vases and table decorations. "Even from those who bear Black blood. But I am Lady Black, and I must be the one to uphold our family. The Dark Lord and most of his followers would have me dead. Certainly, Bellatrix Lestrange would." At her name, Kreacher gave a strange, strangled sound.
"Mistress speaks ill of Mistress Bella—"
"She is not your Mistress," Aurora told Kreacher warningly., as her father tensed behind her. "Please do not treat her or speak of her as such." When he did not say anything more, Aurora continued. "Albus Dumbledore offers me protection, but the nature of the services I would give ensure their secrecy. Therefore, I do not naturally declare a loyalty, while still having his loyalty to me, due to the need to uphold his base and his secrecy. It is not ideal, and so many precautions need to be taken to safeguard heirlooms — which is where you come in, Kreacher — but right now it feels like the best decision. I can ensure my own safety, and allyship with someone, since the other side would never take me, and I know that I do not want them, too. Dumbledore has offered me protection and information. It is not a decision I take lightly," she told him, "but... It is a choice that I must consider, for my own good and that of the family. It may not be what anybody else would have chosen before me, but..." She took in a deep breath, staring straight ahead towards the open doors. "I am the only person who can make that choice. And I feel that I must. This way, I can have an extra insight into the developing situation by virtue of my position. I hold more power than I would otherwise."
Kreacher nodded along, though he still appeared displeased. Not that that was any particular surprise.
Her father came to her side and whispered, "That sounded awfully rehearsed."
"I've been convincing myself," she said back in a brittle voice. "And I'm sure I'll need to convince others, too."
They turned right and at the doors to the portrait gallery, Aurora halted. She still had to steel herself for this, afraid of what she might hear but not be told.
She took in a short, nervous breath while Kreacher glanced up at her, eyes wide, waiting for a reaction she didn't know how to give. Aurora braced herself, laid a hand on the cool brass handle, and opened the door with a long creaking sound which made Kreacher wince.
The air of the gallery was cool as always, and though she was sure she had heard whispers on the other side, they died down as soon as they entered, her heeled boots clicking on the marble floor. Her father was silent behind her.
"There she is," came Arcturus' voice from down the long hall, warm with familial recognition, "my heir."
"She brings the elf," said another portrait importantly. Kreacher, trembling with excitement at her side, stared around with reverent eyes. "And her father. How curious."
"I told you she'd be back," came the voice of Phineas Nigellus, as Aurora continued towards her great-grandfather. "Dreadful duel she got herself into, Arcturus. I've said for years that school needs to manage its security better."
"You have told us this already," Arcturus said placidly, "at least a dozen times in the past week." There was a glimmer of a smile on his face as he looked at Aurora. She bowed her head when she reached him, and clasped her hands.
"Phineas has told me rather a lot recently," Arcturus said. His gaze flickered to his right, where the family portraits stood. Bellatrix was not among them, being from a more distant branch of the family than held this manor, but the portrait of Aurora's father and uncle and grandparents was. She was sure her father — the taller of the two boys, about twelve years old and clearly itching to get out of the frame — grinned at her, and his older self, who was staring around in a sort of familiar awe. "Is it true you are entertaining an alliance with Albus Dumbledore?"
"The Dark Lord has returned," Aurora said, for it seemed the best way to get it over with.
There was a moment of silent before one of the ladies on the left wall let out a scoff and said, "Dark Lord? Child, you will have to be more specific than that."
Aurora clenched her jaw, stomach turning with the weight of expectation. The name came to the tip of her tongue and she forced herself, against instinct, to say, "The one who calls himself... Voldemort."
Even saying it felt wrong. There was no real taboo enchantment on it, but having had the name be so avoided for years, and knowing the weight it held socially, made her tremble with nerves when she spoke. Her father put a hand gently on her shoulder. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and went on hastily, "I need to protect myself. I need to know what really happened to me the night the mother died. I'm not... I'm not giving anything up. I'm not promising myself to anyone. But I have to consider the family as it is now."
Arcturus raised his eyebrows. "Well, you are Lady Black."
Her stomach turned. It was hardly a ringing endorsement, but it wasn't a disagreement either. And yet, Aurora had rather wanted some advice.
"You don't think I'm doing the wrong thing? Again, I haven't made up my mind, but, hypothetically."
"Hypothetically." Arcturus tilted his head. Beside her, Aurora's father tensed. "You speak of protection. For yourself, and the rest of the family."
She swallowed tightly, feeling dozens of pairs of eyes upon her, questioning what her definition of family ought to be, and how she dared to speak of it. "Yes. For my father, for my cousins — Andromeda and Ted and Nymphadora. And for Elise Black." Arcturus' brow furrowed. "She is the granddaughter of your cousin, Marius."
"The squib?" Phineas' voice rang out sharply. "I thought we killed him!"
Her stomach turned again, and Phineas' words hit her, cold. Her father took in a sharp breath, but when she glanced over at him he showed little of the surprise that she felt. Instead he looked almost resigned, or as if his suspicions had been confirmed. "Sorry?"
"Phineas—"
"Cygnus was adamant about it," he went on, "weren't you — oh, the sly thing's slipped from his painting. He said the boy was dead, he was desperate to get rid of him." For a moment, Aurora forgot how to speak. They had meant to kill Marius. Of course they had. It could hardly be a surprise, and yet, it wasn't something that she had truly allowed herself to consider before. Of course, the family that had raised Bellatrix Lestrange, who had wanted to kill Aurora's mother simply for being a muggleborn and daring to have a child of the Black family, would want to rid themselves of a squib born to them. They hadn't merely lied about his death as a coverup — they truly had meant for him to die.
But she stared around the portraits on the walls, all of them shifty and uncertain of what to say, all of them looking to her for guidance on what their stance should be, and felt yet another piece of her worldview chipped away at and destroyed.
"Cygnus couldn't stand the shame of a squib. He came to me, to ask what to do."
"Well, he didn't kill him," Aurora said, trying to keep her voice even. "And a good thing, too. He's a very kind man, and I think highly of his granddaughter. She may well be the future of this family, given the situation we are in, and I will prepare her for that and protect—"
"You cannot think of making her your heir."
This was the voice of Elladora on the left; a great-great aunt, severe even in her late teens painted with her parents and brother.
"I may have little choice—"
"But she is born of muggles!" Phineas' voice screeched. "She is not fit—"
"She is eleven," Aurora's father interjected, fury in his voice. "And perfectly lovely."
"No one asked your opinion," said Phineas Nigellus, and her father's expression turned mutinous.
"Father," Aurora began lowly, "perhaps you and Kreacher might like to go outside... Maybe look at the library?"
"No," he said, "no, I think I'd rather like to hear what our family has to say."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"No? I think it'll make for a riveting conversation."
"Dad..."
"There is no point in arguing with him." That familiar voice came from the left. Aurora turned sharply, seeing that her grandmother had returned to the frame with the family portrait. Her expression was one of disgust as she looked at her son. "He has never backed down from an argument, girl."
"I'm not sure that's—"
"Too stubborn for his own good."
"Quite unlike my cow of a—"
"Father!" She turned again, frustration surging. "Both of you, enough, this is unproductive. All of you, actually — petty sniping will do nothing for the future of the house of Black, nor will prejudice, and I cannot stand it. If I need to, then I can make Elise Black fit. Would you rather I name the person who would most want me dead? Do you think I should present my would-be murderer with an extra motive?"
Those words quelled her father, reminding him again of the threat of Bellatrix Lestrange. Quiet rang through the hall. Aurora turned back to the portrait of Arcturus, but the anger that had flared in her at everyone else's reactions seemed to lessen her need for approval. Advice, yes, but the bile and hatred in everyone else's voices reminded her that she did not want to bow to the ideology that had hurt Marius in the first place. Truly, she felt that she could not bow to it.
"If you think I have a better choice," she said, addressing her great-grandfather now, "please, tell me. I do want your advice."
Phineas made a disgruntled noise and slid from his frame. Arcturus clicked his tongue.
"I would never have allied with Albus Dumbledore," he admitted, which Aurora knew anyway. "My own political allies have always been very opposed to him."
"They rejected me."
"Did they? Or did you merely assume that they would?"
Aurora blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Aurora, dear, I cultivated those alliances for a reason. Because I knew that they — Malfoy and Nott and Carrow and Avery and Parkinson — would follow their instinct of rejection otherwise. I needed to give you the best chance of ingratiating yourself to them. I did not have enough time, I admit that. But I always sought to protect you.
"You were always rather caught in your own mind, as a child. I do not deny that the likes of Abraxas Malfoy and Albert Nott might not treat you kindly. And I am sorry for it. I do wish that you had managed to keep them on side, that I had been able to live long enough to keep you secure, and that I could protect you now.
"But the past is our undoing and we cannot change it. The thing about our family is, we endure. If this is the way... It is not the path I wanted or would have chosen, but sometimes that less desired path is the one we must take, to survive.
"I would, however, recommend caution. Do not throw your lot in with Dumbledore and alienate others, or ruin your chance of surviving the backlash if it all goes wrong."
"I wouldn't," she said clearly. "I don't intend to make this public knowledge. Fudge dislikes him now, though — Dumbledore." Arcturus raised his eyebrows curiously. "The political atmosphere is changing, and the election is almost upon us and I'm still not sure where public opinion will fall. Perhaps that will guide me, politically, for a while." He nodded in agreement. "But Fudge won't do anything about the Dark Lord. He won't fight. So trying to keep to his agenda and his views, won't get me anywhere. He won't protect any of us, so it's Dumbledore or nothing."
Arcturus let out the sigh of a man who had seen almost a century of political turmoil and still managed to be disappointed. "How is the best case scenario Albus Dumbledore?"
Aurora's lips quirked into a smile. "I ask myself this daily."
"Be careful," Arcturus managed to say. He was looking at her father, too. "Keep your cards close to your chest, please. Do not do anything for free."
"I never do," she said. "I am getting something out of it. Dumbledore is a great wizard, no one can deny. He's going to tutor me, personally, and he's going to help me. I spoke to you some time ago about a blood curse. I believe Dumbledore has information which may help me to discern its origins, and to heal from it."
A deathly silence fell. The words blood curse rang in her ears. To her right, Lord Castor started, "The House of Black—"
"The House of Black is Lady Black," Arcturus snapped, before their ancestor could say anything cruel. Her father straightened, and Aurora saw for a moment, a flicker of agreement, or of relief. "Without Aurora, this family falls. Without Aurora, our past is nothing. Lady Black must protect herself."
"Lady Black should not need to! She should be able to fight better. Or at least have a husband to do the fighting for her."
Anger seethed inside of Aurora and she whirled around to face the portrait of Castor, who had spoken. "There are more ways to fight than with brawn and stupidity, flinging hexes about and taking a sow's ear off."
Castor, who had indeed cut the ear off his prize sow with a wayward hex in his youth, pursed his lips. "I am only saying what we all know and what the rest of the world does, too."
"I will marry when I want to," she said, "but I am still over a year from being of age so I'm afraid you'll have to wait."
"They never should have changed the law—"
"I can make my own decisions," Aurora said firmly, aggravated by the whispers in the room, and frankly insulted. "And I will. In this context, in my situation, my allies are limited. Merlin's Day is in just over a week, and I will take the opportunity to improve my political standing, and see how the election pans out. But I..." She swallowed tightly, hating to voice her desperation and need for help. "I shall make my decision. Thank you for showing me that I do not want you to make it for me."
Phineas Nigellus muttered something about disrespect, though whether it was aimed at her or Castor, she did not know. She did not particularly care, either.
"Arcturus?" she asked. "Might I go to the underchambers again? I feel I have some unfinished business, and I should like my father's help."
A faint smile graced his features. "As you wish. I hope you find what you are looking for."
She wished she could be so optimistic. Aurora turned to Kreacher, who had been watching this exchange with a torn expression. She mustered a smile. "If I am to have any guests this summer," she said, bending slightly to speak with him, "then Grimmauld Place will need cleaning. Artefacts and heirlooms will be moved to a more secure location, here. I would be... honoured," she told him, choosing her words carefully, "to have your assistance. If there is anything sentimental to you, from my grandparents or from Regulus, you may be able to keep it somewhere safe, if you would like."
Kreacher's eyes went round and he said slowly, "Anything?"
"Within reason," she amended. "You would ask me first, of course. I understand such a change may be difficult for you, moreso than for the other elves, and it may help to ease the process."
The elf merely stared at her, hurrying up the stairs behind her. "Thank you, Lady Black," he croaked out, and she smiled at the title. "Kreacher — Kreacher would like that."
"Good," she told him, feeling both relieved and pleased. If she could only find an adequate space to move things from Grimmauld Place, between here and Silver House, and perhaps Carrick, then she might manage to both ingratiate herself to Dumbledore and protect her inheritance. "You may go now. Start having a look at things you wish to protect. I shall see you soon."
Kreacher beamed up at her and then Apparate away, disappearing with a crack. A cool breeze fluttered from the spot he had left, and Aurora straightened up before turning to her father. "Come on," she told him. "You're allowed to do magic so there's far less chance of falling down the stairs in the dark. But there might be some spirits. I don't know if he — they'll want to see you."
Her hasty coverup only made it clearer that she had meant Regulus. Her father's expression remained mild, though, as he followed her underground, into those shadowed and hallowed rooms, filled with musty books and dusty ornaments.
"I've never been down here," her father admitted, wrinkling his nose and shivering. "It's..."
"Creepy?"
"Depressing," he clarified. When Aurora glanced over her shoulder, she paused. He was very pale, and had that unsettling, haunted sort of look in his eye.
"You don't have to be down here," she told him softly, "I'll be alright, if you're uncomfortable. Really."
"I don't want you to get hurt."
"You don't have to defend—"
"I'm fine," he lied, and she pursed her lips.
"Fine, then. We'll be quick anyway, the lighting's awful to try and read by, and I don't think I'll find much of consequence."
"What is it you're looking for anyway?"
"I don't know. Just... I feel like I need to find something. To actually feel like I'm doing something instead of just, sitting around waiting to be attacked. If there's anything relating to the Transmogrifian Curse specifically, or torture curses... Or how to counteract them. I don't know, I know Bellatrix never had access here, but maybe Regulus... There's more to this than I've been told. I just don't know what to do."
"Okay." Her father frowned, staring around with ghostly grey eyes. "Breathe, Aurora."
"I'm fine—"
"Let's both stop saying that, yeah?" She sighed, but remained quiet. "What way do you want to go?"
"Left," she said immediately, glad to grasp back onto her mental plan. "I didn't get to explore that way much before. There might be something more practical there — spellbooks or grimoires or some such things."
But all they found, moving through the underchambers, seemed to be dust. The visit yielded few immediately relevant results, though Aurora could not resist the book she found written entirely in runes, or the handwritten journal in dense Latin.
"It might become relevant," she said when her father gave a look of objection. "Or it'll be interesting anyway."
He shrugged. "Your books, sweetheart."
On the way back out, she felt a presence at her neck again. She could not identify the spirit, but was sure that Regulus was somewhere, watching, and so she said to her father, "Do you think your brother left anything down here?"
He seemed startled by the question. He turned and stared at her, eyes bright. "Intentionally?" She nodded. "I — I don't know. Far as I know he never came down here at all. Anything he'd left behind, would have been at Grimmauld." He seemed to take her silence for objection, and insisted, "We'll be able to look into it next time we're there. Dumbledore might be able to help."
"Maybe," Aurora muttered grudgingly. "I'm not so sure I want him too close to our family's history, though. He's hopefully going to agree to my terms, not to disrupt anything. And besides — I want to do this myself. Or at least," she amended, "without needing the help of outsiders."
As she spoke, a draft picked up again, a cool breeze tickling her ankles. And there was a tugging at her stomach, drawing her onwards, into a shadowy room decked out in swathes of — surprisingly well-kept — purple velvet curtains. Her father followed closely behind her, wand at the ready. "Where's this?"
"I don't know."
The room had little furniture but seemed cluttered by everything else. There was a simple oak desk and writing chair in the centre, and a long-cold cauldron in the corner, and a single bookshelf tucked away behind a curtain. Yet books were piled high on the desk, one precarious stack topped with a brass contraption which was still whirring round and round, one pearl floating in the centre of it and emitting a high pitched whine every few seconds. Leafs of paper were scattered across the desk, coated in a thick layer of dust — until the breeze, with its invisible hand, swept the dust away.
Aurora tried not to smile, for her father's sake — he looked rather disturbed by this show, and had paled again. "You think he's here, don't you?"
"I know he is," Aurora said, wringing her hands together. "I just want to know why."
The spirit tickled the back of her neck, and then the room fell silent and still. Aurora stepped forward, footsteps soft on the old stone floors. Her father stood at her back, wand out, unwielding.
She bent down as she reached the desk and tried to read by the light of her father's wand. "It's a letter," she whispered, "or an attempt at one. Or..." She frowned as she moved onto the next paper. "This is a will." Her father's head snapped around. "Regulus's will, I think. Maybe. The letter looks complete."
"What's the date?" her father asked, voice trembling slightly. "Regulus always dated his letters. He dated everything. He was meticulous about his record-keeping."
"The letter says the seventeenth of September." Her stomach dropped. "1979." Just shy of two weeks before she was born. "The will's dated the fourth of November, of the same year."
"Just before he died." Aurora nodded, and picked the two scrolls up carefully. Heavy grey dust came away on her fingertips. "I don't know why it's stuck down here."
"Do you think Arcturus kept it?"
It was a silly question. Aurora doubted that her great-grandfather would ever leave something so important lying out on a table. He couldn't have known about it, then.
"I don't know, Aurora," her father said, running a hand through his hair. His gaze seemed to darte verywheee except from those written scrolls and the truths they might hold, of a brother he didn't know how to remember. "Seems an odd place to keep them, though."
Aurora nodded. "Do you think I should take them? It's a bit..." Creepy, she wanted to say, but couldn't. Her father shook his head.
"They're left here. In your house."
"Yes, but they're personal. It feels wrong, somehow, like I'd be disturbing the dead."
He raised his eyebrows. "It's up to you."
Her stomach turned, but she rationalised with herself that it was no different to taking and reading something of Lord Hydrus'. And she had read plenty of letters and correspondences of historical figures for class; but this felt too close, too personal, and she wasn't sure how to reconcile that yet. Never mind the fact that she did not know which version of Regulus she would find, or if she wanted to find him at all.
But it could help her. She had to be practical. Still, as she took the old parchment, she whispered under her breath, "Stay happily with your spirit."
A cool breeze struck up again, like hands roaming over her arms. She shivered, and looked down at the letter, trying to keep her composure as she read the address line and the first paragraph.
"We should get home," she told her father, "we're to meet the Tonkses for tea, remember, and then Dumbledore's visiting."
Her hands still trembled around the parchment, and her father gave her a funny look, but didn't press her further. They would have time to go over this later, but for now, as they silently made their way out of the room and back upstairs, Aurora was concentrating on keeping herself together, and trying not to let her mind go into overdrive wondering about how she could possibly discuss this properly, about what she might find to shatter yet more of her childhood memories.
"Aurora," her father asked, when they got home and she immediately headed for her own room, "we are going to discuss this, right?"
She nodded. "I just want to read it first, myself, so I'm more comfo- familiar, with it. And then I can think about it and be more useful."
"It might help if we dealt with it together from the start. Why don't you want me to help?"
She swallowed, and shook her head. "It's... The letter feels too personal."
"Oh." His expression fell, into a cold neutrality. Uncertainty, and guilt, curled Aurora's stomach. "I see. You don't think Regulus would want me to read it then, is that it? It's too close to the family — the family you know, not the one I did."
"No," she defended instantly, cheeks blazing, "it just — you might not like it."
"You think I can't handle—"
"It was addressed to Narcissa Malfoy." The words came out biting, and cold, and she felt sick as she said them. Her father stared at her blankly. "And I just... Want to understand, myself, first."
The Malfoys were already too complicated, without getting her father's feelings thrown into the mix. And whatever Regulus had been writing to his cousin about — seeking help, from the look of the first few lines — would only upset her father. She was sure that he could not see things as objectively as she wanted to. Because though she did not dare say it, certain things did hit too close to home, and he didn't understand them the way that she did.
"Let me get my feelings in order first," she told him, "before we see Andromeda, and before I have to deal with Dumbledore and try to come to some arrangement."
"You don't have to hide things—"
"I took you there today, to the manor. I'm not hiding it. I just need to process things alone. So do you, so don't pretend otherwise."
He held his tongue this time. Aurora pushed down the stab of guilt, and hopped up the first few steps. "I'll be down soon."
She hurried up the stairs, into her own room, and locked the door. This letter had never been sent, and she didn't know why. Only the letter itself could tell her.
My dearest cousin Narcissa,
No doubt by now you have heard about my brother's wife being with child. The child is due at the beginning of October (I have suspicions it will be a girl, though it is of little consequence really). As you are surely also aware, this puts me in a difficult position.
The Dark Lord is mocking of the situation, as is hardly a surprise. I am sure Lucius has relayed this to you himself — he has certainly been willing enough to jest about it in our gatherings. But I am concerned. Not because of the nature of the child's birth — I don't believe that passing judgment on that will do us any good — but because our Bellatrix seems to have taken this even worse than the birth of Andromeda's girl.
She told me she wants the child dead, and the mother too. She means it, and the Dark Lord encourages it.
In truth, Narcissa, I am scared. I do not see a future for us for so long as this goes on and the Dark Lord rises to power. Our world as we know it is crumbling, family against family, everybody falling, and yet he is untouchable. There is something wrong with him. I have observed it, a emptiness of the soul, and absence inside of him. Perhaps it is the price one must pay to become a Dark Lord, to trade a part of oneself for power. I am sure many more of us have done so in less noticeable ways, myself included.
This war is fruitless. This cause, I have come to consider, is meaningless. Our own Lord is a half-blood, I have come to learn, and he is more powerful than anybody, except perhaps Albus Dumbledore. I cannot confide this to anybody but you. Mother and Father would be furious, my brother would be gleeful, and my grandfather is already too ashamed of what we have all become.
I cannot let Bellatrix kill this child, Narcissa. You may call me weak, and I know that Bella would. But the child has done nothing wrong; its parents may have been on the wrong side of the war, but this is not the child's fault. But it is not just sentimental concern, but practicality. So many of our old families are dying out, their heirs swept up in this war, and I fear neither Sirius or I will last much longer. I fear what may happen if the House of Black falls into Bellatrix's hands. Our dynasty must endure; we were once the most powerful family in Britain, fighting at the sides of great kings, yet subservient to none but magic itself.
The only person now that I can turn to for help is yourself, and your husband. The Malfoys are one of few families to rival our own, and I know you are hoping for an heir soon. Help me to stop Bellatrix, to save her — and our family — from herself and her fury. She has lost herself, Narcissa. She will listen only to you.
We need you. This is not the time to worry about blood; this is about family and dynasty, and we all know that anything can be believed so long as the lie is sufficiently dressed up.
I fear I am not long for this world. But as an heir of the House of Black, it is my duty to be better than my brother, and prepare this family for the future. It is your duty to be better than your sisters.
Yours,
Regulus Arcturus Black
Aurora sat staring at the letter for several minutes before she could begin to understand her own thoughts. Even so early, before her birth, Bellatrix had been plotting Aurora's murder. And yet, at the same time, Regulus Black had been plotting to save her. Not necessarily out of any moral duty, she felt. The realisation that his motivations may have been more dynastic in nature came as an unexpected blow. It had been foolish to set up any expectations, she knew, and yet, a part of her had wanted to believe the good in him. Maybe that good would have been realised, if he had had more time, if he had been steered ever so slightly in another direction.
He had not, and she had to accept the reality.
He had never sent that letter. Aurora had no way yet of knowing if he had ever sent anything similar, but she did have to wonder, if Narcissa's actions towards her in her childhood had been a result of whatever conversations she had had with Regulus before his death.
How much of her life was real? It was a question she did not want to answer. She had for so long had so many questions, and now it was clearer than ever that answers were not satisfying. It was down to her to take this evidence, to scrape together what little knowledge she had of her past, and to put together something resembling faith.
She turned, with shaking hands, to the will. It had no witnesses signed to it, and as it had been apparently forgotten in a basement for a decade and a half, she had little faith in its legal significance. Yet, she could not stop reading, intrigued by the insight into his life and possessions. He had left a treasure box to Kreacher, some silverware to Narcissa. Everything else went back to Lord Arcturus, but he was specific about not letting certain things fall into the hands of his parents, or cousin Bellatrix. It specified some clothes, jewellery, a locket and an enchanted dagger. She did not know what had been done with those, if anything, or even where they might be.
And yet, there was one thing left to her.
To my niece, Miss Aurora Euphemia Black, I leave my personal library, curated and kept at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. I grant this in the hopes that it may guide her education, as a future Lady Black, in a role I will be unable to fulfil myself, for the enrichment and safeguarding of our family and legacy, which shall fall to her hands.
She read this, and she sighed, and she knew which way she had to go.