Green Light in the Dark

by AStrangeHopefulDreamer

AU in which Sirius Black had a daughter with Marlene McKinnon. Following the death of her mother and godparents and the imprisonment of her father, Aurora Black is moved from home to home with various members of the Black family until she finally arrives at Hogwarts and finds not only new friends, but a true home. (Please keep comments respectful and think before you type.)

106. Merlin and MacMillan

Aurora found herself pleasantly surprised to have been invited to Merlin's Day again this year. Certain things had changed — her lack of letters from Pansy and Draco in the past few weeks being one of them — but at least she was still firmly a part of society. They did not suspect her operating with a fringe secret society in direct defiance of the Ministry of Magic, at any rate, and she rather enjoyed knowing that she had one over on the purebloods who thought they knew all that happened in their world.

Potter, allegedly, had been invited too, but he made no mention of such a thing in his letters, which were becoming more and more frequent. It seemed Granger and Weasley were keeping to their pact of not telling him anything — though she had to admit their blind loyalty switching to Dumbledore had thrown her view of the trio off somewhat, even if she understood the necessity of it. She hadn't really though them capable of keeping things from Potter. She hadn't thought that they would ever be willing to; their trio had always appeared so unshakeable, so firm, so that there was never a rift between them, never a secret unshared, never a thought that did not belong to the other two as well. Even in their rocky third year when Aurora had perceived Hermione's anger at the two boys, the loyalty was there, only subdued by personal pride. It was strange to watch, as they reckoned with themselves. She wondered how long it would be before they exploded. She hoped Potter would explode first, yet, she couldn't help but feel some pity.

She supposed it was because she knew how it felt, to feel closed off from the world, like your entire universe had shattered and now was keeping the shards of its secrets hidden. She knew how maddening it was searching, begging for answers and finding none.

Every so often, her mind would wander to her father's motorcycle and the thought that it could very easily get her to Little Whinging. Easier than the Knight Bus, better to blend in with than a broom. It just seemed silly, to keep him out of the loop. And he would no doubt keep the Weasleys' and Granger's attention off her, which she was sure would make them less annoying. Her father clearly itched to do something about it, too.

But it was an itch that neither of them was allowed to scratch. Aurora sought to bide her time; there was no point in going behind Dumbledore's back just for feeling's sake, just because she was annoyed and frustrated with the whole world and mostly her own deep-rooted inability to act.

Her father, she was sure, merely knew that said time would come, in his usual explosive and impulsive manner. The only real mystery was which would happen first.

Potter hadn't wanted to come to Merlin's Day, anyway. His reply to her letter about it was curt: I can't be arsed with the sort of people I'm sure go to those things and anyway if you think I'm going to risk rubbing shoulders with Lucius Malfoy you can sod off.

It didn't do anything to endear him to her, and she did not reply. Still, she could understand why. She really should have thought about the fact that Potter was not used to making nice with the people he knew detested his existence.

Aurora, on the other hand, was learning to manage it.

This year, unlike the last, she was not invited to join her friends before the celebration outside, though it was not much of a surprise. It did, however, give her an opportunity.

Lords MacMillan, Stebbins, and Vaisey had written to her as a collective, trying to persuade her to endorse a Progressive candidate for the forthcoming election in Cornwall, in order to shore up their own faction's numbers in the Assembly. Candidate endorsements, from hereditary lords or ladies, were commonplace, but she couldn't help but feel they were a natural way of causing strife between whomever did end up elected to a particular seat. Yet, she tentatively agreed.

In return, the three would convince the Progressive party which they headed to vote with her against a new bill proposed by the Ministers' Council on press regulation, which sought to prevent any Ministry-affiliated person from speaking to the press without the explicit written permission of the Minister. This was ostensibly to prevent needless gossip, but they all saw through that. They would propose instead, regulations on the privacy of subjects of the news, such as teenagers who had done nothing except exist, and kiss someone, which should not be at all scandalous. It might have been ambitious, but Aurora was hopeful. Everyone had had some poisoned quill turned towards them, after all.

In addition, the lords were going to help work on legislation with the Direct Democrats to legally and enshrine in law, the right of Muggleborns to hold significant Ministry positions and Assembly seats. MacMillan had agreed readily, but Stebbins and Vaisey were more reluctant. The Progressives didn't see a coalition with the Direct Democrats to be politically viable, and not many really cared all that much about the issues to begin with.

The other concerning talk was about Dumbledore; Fudge allegedly wanted to have him removed from the Wizengamot. She understood some of the support for this; he had held the same role for years, after all, and many thought he might be losing his touch. There were many in power, not just him, who she thought out to be replaced by newer talent, younger wizards with an eye to the future. But she had a terrible suspicion that his replacement could only come from within the Minister's Council, and that she did not want. The judiciary and legislative bodies had to remain separate, but Fudge was forever muddying the lines of the Ministry's constitution and clamouring for power. She dreaded to think of that line disappearing altogether.

And so, that year, Aurora arrived to the Greengrasses' Merlin's Day Ball armed with her wand, every shield jewellery she could find, lilac dress robes, and the allyship of Lord MacMillan at her back. She and Leah had prepared for the ball together at the MacMillan Manor — a grand fortress set in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands, Moray to be exact, the seat of their assembly power. It wasn't so far from Hogwarts, really; according to Ernie, Leah's brother, it was barely two hours' to fly, shorter with a racing broom.

"We'll have to go a fly together some point this summer," he had said, in a rather pompous sort of voice, "I'm a good racer; trying out for Seeker this year."

"Against Diggory?" Aurora asked, eyebrows raised.

Ernie shrugged. "I see no reason why not. A bit of healthy competition's good for everyone, wouldn't you agree?"

That, she did concede, and had had to wish him luck, making a note to let Draco know of the potential change to the Hufflepuff line up. Then she remembered what her cousin had said on the train last month, and could think of him no longer. Her stomach tangled itself in knots at the very thought that she would see him again that afternoon, that she would have to act normal, that she would have to look not only at him but at his father, his smug face, knowing exactly what he did and who for, and that he would never face any consequences.

When they arrived through the Floo in the front foyer of the Greengrasses' Manor, she could hear the ball was already in full swing outside. String music echoed around the walls inside as well as out, a lively, spritely tune, and above it rose gossip and chatter.

"At least we don't have to introduce ourselves this year," Leah said to Aurora while they waited for the Lord and Lady MacMillan to come through from the fire. "Though it'll be Louise's turn soon enough." The youngest MacMillan girl, just turned twelve, grumbled something incoherent under her breath.

"She looks delighted," Aurora remarked drily, and Leah snickered.

Ernie said with an air of haughtiness, "She'll have to get used to the idea. As will you, Leah. You know, just because you're not being formally introduced doesn't mean you don't have to act like a lady just as much as last year, if not moreso."

"Funny how no one asked your opinion, Ernest," Leah snapped back, and Aurora pressed her lips together to hide a smile. "Just because you don't get any ladies doesn't mean you have to act like a git."

Ernie turned red and Aurora stared pointedly at the floor, praying for the MacMillan parents to come in so that she didn't have to get caught in the middle of the siblings' fight. Her prayers were answered two seconds later, in a dazzle of green flame, from which both Lord and Lady emerged, clad in complimentary soft blue and white; Lord MacMillan had a thistle head tucked into the top pocket of his robes, which Aurora imagined couldn't be very comfortable.

"Shall we find someone to announce us, then," Lady MacMillan asked swiftly, sending at once the atmosphere between her children, "I'm afraid the Greengrasses are too often distracted to loiter to greet their guests. Come, all of you — Lady Black, do you mind arriving outside with us, or would you rather wait?"

"Oh, I don't mind at all," she said, pleased she had suggested it. This way, it would be clear that she had made a form of alliance, rather than being a tag-along out of sympathy. "Thank you, Lady MacMillan."

And she had to admit, she rather liked being addressed as Lady Black. It made her feel like an equal and gave her renewed courage to step out with them, into the dazzling sunset around the gardens of Greengrass Manor.

This year, Lady Greengrass had put even more effort into her decorations. Gold appeared to be the theme; the leaves of trees were painted as such, the fountain of champagne seemed even more dazzling and brilliant, tiny suns dangled between branches and swirled around guests, and tall, thin pillars rose from the ground, offering up selections of canapes invariably topped with gold leaf. Aurora imagined this was what the mansion of King Midas must have looked like, in his heady climb towards luxury and insanity both.

It seemed, somehow, rather fitting.

"Lady Black," Ernie said as soon as they reached distance of the dance floor, around which she could already spy Narcissa Malfoy in deep conversation with Lady Greengrass and Rosebelle Parkinson, and see Pansy, Draco, and Lucille with their heads bent together in a corner, conspiring. "Might I have this dance?"

It was the last thing she wanted to do, when her friends were so close and yet furiously out of her grasp. But it had to be done, and Ernie was a nice enough boy, and she needed his father's goodwill. So she put on her best smile — a sweet one, not cold or haughty or amused — and extended a hand towards him, which he took with a light in his eye. "Of course."

Ernie MacMillan wasn't a terrible dancer, an accolade Aurora felt she had already given out far too many times to boys who were not worthy of very much more. He held her all the right ways and led with painstakingly correct steps, and never once let conversation stray too uncomfortably beyond pleasantries of exams and school subjects and her family's health. Even the assembly elections received only a small look-in, an acknowledgement of his father's position and his assurance that one day he would fulfil the role just as his father would have wanted.

Aurora wished she had Ernie MacMillan's certainty. "I am sure Lord MacMillan has prepared you well," was the most she managed to say in response, feeling the words tasteless on her tongue. Yet Ernie beamed and puffed out his chest as though proud.

"Of course, there are challenges to leadership — you know that — but I am confident in our future. So long as Dumbledore is in it — do you know, he and my grandfather were rather personal friends?"

"How interesting." A strained pleasantry. She would much rather have been speaking to Ernie's sister, who was currently having what appeared to be an incredibly dull conversation with Lord Abbott's grandson. "I'm sure he must have been quite fascinating."

"Oh, Grandfather was," Ernie said, though she had meant Dumbledore. "Marvellous man. Always had a story to tell, always a new spell to reveal. His library was really quite something."

That, Aurora latched onto. "Oh, mine too. The Black Manor's library is splendid, I could lose myself for days."

"Oh, then you must see ours next time you visit," Ernie said as he spun her under his arm, with such conviction that there would be a next time. "Puts all others to shame, I'm sure."

Though unreasonable, his comment made Aurora a bit too defensive of her own library, and she smiled thinly back. She was sure the MacMillans' collection was lovely, but the boy had a talent for making everything into bragging.

"I look forward to it," Aurora said diplomatically, and Ernie grinned, his hand clasping hers a little tighter as they glided across the dance floor. The world behind him was a blur of golden light and sequinned robes — a fashion trend she seemed to have overlooked this year, to her annoyance, without Pansy telling her every point of the season. It swayed and then stilled, swayed and stilled, around her, consuming with bright light and joyous laughter, from which she felt strangely detached.

Her gaze landed on a cluster across the clearing as they slowed. The Nott family stood together, each of them with defiance on their faces, though each defying something different. Lord Nott looked as though he defied any of the crowd to speak to him; Theo looked to be defying his grandfather, standing apart from him, shoulders set. And his mother looked to be defying death itself.

Her breath caught when Theo raised his head and saw her, and her hand tightened around Ernie's. Ernie took her holding his hand as a sign of something more, pressing closer with his same confident smile. "Aurora?" His voice cut through the humming in her head. "Lady Black?"

"Yes, MacMillan?"

"I asked, would you join me for a drink after this dance? It may be a good idea for us to get to know each other better."

She tried to stop her gaze drifting to Theo again, and smiled, strained. "Of course. That would be lovely."

She almost felt bad at the grin he gave her, knowing he did not realise how much of her was only forced politeness. When the dance finished, they did not part as she wished they could, instead diverting to a table of flute glasses which, when they picked them up, filled with a golden liquid which smelled of apples.

"No wine for us then," Ernie said, laughing.

Aurora forced a smile and took a sip, then turned to watch the rest of the guests.

Narcissa Malfoy caught her eye with a searching look, and Aurora gave a small smile in return. It was not reciprocated; she tried not to let that sting. Near his mother, Draco stood chatting to Pansy, his hand light upon her arm. Pansy let out a laugh that twinkled over the crowd, and a pang hit Aurora's chest, a want to be with them. She almost moved, almost went to them, but stopped herself. Not yet. Later, when they acknowledged her. Later, when she could not feel the hard stares of Lords Nott and Malfoy and Avery, when Lord Travers was not sizing her up from a nearby tree and Lord Carrow not narrowing his eyes in suspicion, or at her audacity to show her face.

But she belonged here just as much as any of them did, she reminded herself, and looked to Ernie; Ernie, who accepted her power and her for what they were, Ernie whose family were more than happy to be seen with her and were truthfully — were it not for the sentiment of family and friendship accrued over the years — the sort of people she would much rather be associated with, politically. There was no point to begging for scraps of attention and toleration from the likes of Travers or Avery or Carrow. Not when she would never ally with them anyway, never agree with their politics.

She was going to be in danger anyway, in the days and years to come. She did not have to be foolish, announce herself and gain scorn; but she would never be safe with them no matter how much she tried to prove herself. That was her curse but it was also her blessing.

"I realise I don't know very much about you," Ernie was saying, "apart from what Leah's told me, of course. I did admire you in Duelling Club last year, though."

That did please her, and she turned to him with a genuine smile. "You were rather good too, I found," she told him, watching him grin. "Did you enjoy it? It seemed there was quite a mixed opinion of Professor Moody."

"Oh," Ernie said, "I thought he was brilliant! Rather… Unconventional, perhaps." She let out a small laugh. "But brilliant nonetheless. The sort of stuff he showed us, we'd never be able to get with another teacher — not even Lupin, I'm sorry to say."

"No," Aurora found herself agreeing, "if only because I don't think Professor Lupin—" how strange it suddenly felt to call him that in company "—would have dared to put us all in such a volatile situation. Not as fourth years, anyway, I believe he did have some sort of informal practice sessions for N.E.W.T. students. But it was excellent training. It's not every year you get an Auror to teach you — I am sorry to see him go, aren't you?"

"No, but that's what's so brilliant about Defense Against the Dark Arts," Ernie explained. "I mean, I know everyone says the position's cursed, and given the last four years, it probably is, but sometimes that can be good. We got such a variety between Lupin and Moody, didn't we, and both were brilliant in what they specialised in."

"Yes," Aurora remarked, "as opposed to Quirrel and Lockhart, who were brilliant only in failure."

Ernie barked out a laugh, throwing his head back as he took a drink. "S'ppose it does have its drawbacks, too."

"Mhm."

"I hear Dumbledore's struggling to find a teacher this year."

"I daresay he always is — curses aren't very popular."

"My father believes Fudge may try and put his own candidate forward. Given how tensions are between the two of them."

She couldn't blame him. It was such an important institution, after all, and for it to be run almost solely by one's current opponent, was not good for Fudge's political longevity with the next generation. "How interesting." Aurora took a sip, as Leah bounded up to them, an annoyed look on her face, dragging Hannah Abbott behind her.

"Oh, those ghastly boys," she complained, grabbing a glass and making a great show of inspecting it. "Crabbe and Goyle — I can't stand them!"

"What happened?" Aurora asked, and Leah let out a derisive scoff.

"What didn't happen?" Hannah said, herself taking a glass and glaring at the dance floor. "Creeps, the two of them, and dreadful dancers."

"I don't know how Crabbe can insinuate I'm unsuitable when he's expected to be a Lord and can't tell his left foot from his right." Aurora winced. "I don't know how you stand them."

"They're quiet around me," Aurora admitted. "And I tend to let it wash over me." They'd never dare say anything against me in front of Draco, she wanted to add, but the sight of her cousin across the floor stopped her.

"Our fathers are talking," Leah said darkly, moving on swiftly. "Again. Lord Vaisey, too — do they ever take a break?"

"Leah thinks Father wants her to start associating with Felix Vaisey," Ernie informed Aurora in a rather matter-of-fact way. "She's not happy about it."

"I'd rather find someone suitable and then approach Father than have him simply choose someone on a political whim. You never know when these things will change."

Aurora searched for Felix Vaisey then — a tall, blond boy from the year below them, a fellow Slytherin, though she did not know much else. "I never heard of him being disagreeable," she tried to assure Leah, who scowled.

"Precisely. There is nothing wrong with Felix Vaisey and it is infuriating."

Hannah's mouth tweaked in amusement. When she caught Aurora's eye, she found herself replicating the same. "I think I see him coming over," Hannah said, and the way Leah turned around was almost comical, trying to shield herself with her brother. Ernie, for his part, merely laughed and sidestepped her.

"Felix is a fine lad," he told her, "a dance won't kill you. Aurora and I will dance in solidarity, won't we?"

Had he not been so confident in the assumption, and were it not — by the twinkle in his eye — said with the aim of aggravating his sister, Aurora might have been annoyed. As it was, she found herself agreeing, even smiling, as Hannah rolled her eyes.

"I suppose I shall have to find a cousin or something, in that case, if you all leave my company."

"I do spy the Edris boy," Ernie offered, "the eldest, the Ravenclaw, what's his name?"

"Lewis," Aurora supplied, and Ernie gave her an appreciative look like she had just passed a test. The boy in question was a Ravenclaw just a year older than them, by all accounts rather quiet, though his father was a force in the Assembly, one of the Progressives' best speakers.

"I shall call him over," Ernie said, "try not to glare at Vaisey, Leah."

"I don't glare," Leah said, face brightening. "And I've nothing against him — unfortunately."

Hannah snorted and Ernie gave his sister a scolding look as he headed away, passing Felix with a brief nod and handshake, in such a way that he was even handing Felix over to his own sister. As he approached, Felix bowed his head first to Aurora, with a murmur of, "Lady Black," then to Leah and Hannah.

"I was going to ask Miss MacMillan for a dance," he said, predictably. Hannah bit her lip and withheld a laugh; Aurora did the same. "But I fear I shall tear her away from her friends."

"Oh, we're dancing too," Hannah said, "Ernie's just bringing Lewis Edris over."

Leah sent her a foul look when Felix looked the other way. Aurora tried not to think about how long she would have to keep to Ernie and this same circle today. They carried through another three dances, Hannah with the surprisingly attractive Lewis Edris, and Aurora tried to keep up with Ernie's circular chatter, wishing for the easy conversation of better known companions.

She found it when they started a progressive dance, and Ernie passed her on to partner after partner, everyone weaving in and out. She caught a snippet of conversation from Blaise Zabini, a swift twenty-second outpouring of whispers from Draco, and then as the song came to an end, she was met with Theo Nott and a confused, strained silence.

"Afternoon, stranger," she said after a couple of seconds in which neither could find anything to say, "I didn't think I might see you."

"My grandfather insisted. Daphne said she was unsure if she would be seeing you, in fact, Lady Black."

"Oh, I would never dare miss Lady Greengrass's Merlin's Day celebrations."

His lips quirked up. "None of us would, I'm sure."

No more words. A turn, a moment's waltz, and then she was spinning away again, back to Ernie MacMillan with steady hands and a willing smile. As the song ended, though, she caught her cousin Draco's eye and knew their time had come to an end.

"A pleasure, Mr. MacMillan," she said, curtsying ever so slightly as he swept into a bow and kissed the back of her hand. "If you'll excuse me. I'll see you soon."

Draco was waiting for her in the shadows at the edge of the dance floor. She approached with trepidation, and could not stop the first words slipping out, "Have you become illiterate over the holidays?"

"What?"

"My letters," she clarified, coming to his shoulder with a light scowl, "you haven't been replying."

"Oh." He looked around them furtively, then took her arm and guided her further into the treeline. "Yeah, I know, but it's probably best if you don't shout about it. Come on, Pansy'll cover for us."

Pansy was just approaching, Daphne and Theo in tow, and gave a withering look as they slipped away into the shadows. With anyone else, Aurora would have been apprehensive, nervous, but Draco she trusted. Mostly.

"My father didn't want me writing," he explained. "Because of the election — politics gets messy, he said, as you well know."

She raised her eyebrows. "So he believes me given to political sabotage? He is not standing fo election, is he?"

Draco scoffed. "No — but Grandfather has his candidates to support and Father says we have to be careful with our circle at the moment."

That stung. But it also was not unexpected.

"So that circle does not extend to me, does it? Your oldest friend, your own cousin — and may I add, I have declared no sides in this election." Yet, anyway.

"Yeah," Draco said, shaking his head, "that's why you came here with the MacMillans."

"Well," she said in a clipped voice, with a withering look right at him, "it seems plain enough that I could not come with the Malfoys."

That made him flush, annoyed. "You still didn't have to go behind our backs!"

"I haven't gone behind your back," she said defensively. "I haven't made any statement against you or your family. I am allowed my own opinions, Draco — it doesn't mean I shall be permanently estranged. And anyway, your own mother is in talks with the Greengrasses, and they are not politically aligned with your family either, are they? Nor, I hear, are the Parkinsons, so, pray tell, what is the difference with me? What sets me aside here, Draco?"

The words rushed out of her, hot and quick, lava from an erupting volcano. It was a question that she did not know if she wanted to hear the answer to, yet one that she desperately had to ask, desperately had to confront her cousin with.

The look on his face was stricken, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Why is my negotiating with Lord MacMillan different to your mother negotiating with Madam Greengrass?"

"Well, they're MacMillans. And you're… Father doesn't want us talking anyway. You've made it worse, doing that."

"Your father would not want us talking regardless. And why is that, Draco? Why the sudden change, do you think?"

The colour drained from his face. He knew exactly what she was talking about. But his fear would not let him admit it out loud.

"You're being silly. Look, it's only until this election is over. Pansy's coming round for tea in a couple of weeks, you could join us, I'm sure Mother wouldn't mind extending the invitation."

"And your father?" She raised her eyebrows. "Will you and your mother follow his word if he objects?"

That, Draco could not answer. Indeed, he looked perplexed by her even asking.

"Draco," she started softly, "the fact that we're even having to speak like this... I know it's difficult, with your father. I know you have to do what your grandfather wants, but you're in denial and even though I'm your family—"

"My grandfather thinks you're irresponsible," he said sharply, cutting her off. "That you shouldn't hold office." She scoffed. Irresponsible was a convenient excuse for her age. The suggestion that she didn't know what she was doing fit nicely with ideas that half-bloods didn't belong to proper society; that they couldn't understand it fully. "He thinks you'll lead me astray?"

"I, the girl who regularly has to remind you to do your homework before you forget and let your grades slip below an E? Lead you astray?"

"It's what my grandfather — and he doesn't agree with your politics."

"I don't agree with his. Difference is, I am familiar with the term tolerance."

Draco's lips pursed as he looked her up and down, frustration brewing behind his eyes as she challenged him. "They don't think it's politically sound to associate with you right now."

"And why's that?"

"Because… Because you are too close to Harry Potter. I tried telling them, I did, how much you hate him and only put up with him for familial harmony, all that stuff you always say. But my father doesn't like it. And Fudge doesn't like Potter anymore, either. Really, you should be careful."

Aurora smiled wryly; it seemed she always had to be careful. "Thank you for your honesty," she said at last, yet knowing there was still more to it. That Fudge was not the only threat to Harry Potter at the moment — far from it. She had to wonder, if Voldemort was back and Bellatrix managed to escape, if they wanted her dead, would Lucius do it? Would he be able to look in the eye a girl whom he had known since the age of five, and sentence her to her death?

A shiver passed through her.

"I promise I will write," Draco said, "I just… Your letters seemed off, too."

"Off?"

"Like you're, I don't know, annoyed at me."

She bit back a bitter laugh. Of course she was annoyed and of course he would fail to understand. Draco would never understand; it had pained her to have to come to realise that.

"I am, rather. I know what you said to Harry Pottet on the train."

He went white. For a moment, his face fell, but he recovered swiftly and said, "I didn't say anything to Potter on the train."

Her stomach sank, cold. "Don't lie to me."

"What did he tell you?"

For a moment she was silent, stomach churning. Nausea washed over her, splashing like cold water over her cheeks. "You — you were taunting him about the Dark Lord's return. You said him and his friends would be the first to die, because they were... Muggleborns. You made it sound like you wanted it to happen. For them to die."

Draco's features twisted into a furious sneer. "You can't listen to him, Aurora. He doesn't know what he's talking about. He thinks he's better than me, but he isn't. This is the thing — this is the problem!" He paced around, hiding his face from her as he did so. "He's turning you against me, now he's got an in. He's turning you against your family and friends and we can all feel it."

"Right." Her voice was a faint echo. There was a sort of buzzing in her ears; a million bees repeating the word, lie, lie, lie. She had heard him, with her own ears. And it didn't have anything to do with Potter, not really. It had everything to do with the fact that she had never really allowed herself to see him before.

"He wants to take my family — our family — down. It's the Weasleys' doing, too. They've no respect – but I know you do, Aurora." He paused, and his eyes met her. That pure silver was so familiar and yet there was a coldness to it she had never truly felt before. "Potter will never trust you, or like you. He'll never understand you. He just wants to use you to hurt me, to find out secrets about me, from you."

"I'd never tell him anything," she said immediately, almost without thinking. She daren't allow herself to think about it after she said it either. She didn't want to know if she was telling the truth or not. "I keep my friends' secrets, Draco; you know that."

The lie made her ill, but he was lying, too. In that moment it felt like something had quietly broken; a thread that had been fraying for some time, and now snapped, and soon would bring the whole web falling down before they even knew it.

"You know I value my neutrality," she said, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. "MacMillan made me an offer and I took it; in exchange for my support, he and his faction will vote with me on an upcoming matter. It is one ball, Draco. It doesn't mean anything."

"Ernie MacMillan seemed to think it meant something, the way you were dancing."

She laughed humorlessly. "That was the point, dear cousin." Aurora reached for his hands, but her change in tactics made her stomach churn. "Draco, you know I'm always on your side? And whatever your father and grandfather say, whatever they try to hold against you… I'm family, aren't I?"

His nod was mechanical, well-practiced. The words were practiced, too, though; words she had had to repeat to herself a dozen times before, trying to convince herself that was what mattered, that it was the truth, like she and he hadn't changed and departed irreversibly from one another.

"Family," he repeated, with a glimmer of a smile. He held his hand out to her, taking hers. His touch was distressingly warm, comfortable, familiar. Her eyes burned; the trees seemed to retreat from around them, and her chest opened up into emptiness. Lie, her mind told her again. A lie.

Aurora forced a smile. "I love you," she said, and that — no matter how painful now — was at least the truth. "But your grandfather, his friends, they're wrong about me. But it's not just my politics they dislike, Draco. It's my blood. It's my very existence that they think undermines theirs because they think I am inherently lesser." Draco flinched at the precision of her words, like he had been slapped. But he came up with no argument against it. "I am not safe in alliance with them. I will stand with you as long as I can. But that's you. And that's not unconditional. I need you to understand me. To listen to what I am telling you."

She watched his mind spin as he looked at her, as he weighed up loyalty and rebellion, the cousin stood before him and the father waiting for his reappearance. All she could do was hope to paste over the cracks in their relationship, to hope that would be enough to hold, for now. To hope that she could, quietly, subtly, steer him towards her and away from them. Towards the better person she still believed that he could be.

"Draco?"

"Yes." His voice came out rather hoarse but he nodded furiously, taking her hands. "Yes, Aurora — I get it. But your blood means nothing to me."

"You're not the rest of the world, Draco." And neither was she.

Her cousin's eyes were eager and she hoped that meant he wanted to learn, wanted to understand and to fix the splintering between them. But that was too optimistic, and she knew that too. She had always hoped he was not so bad as people thought, but he had confirmed what she had been being told and then he had lied. He had turned it around on Potter as he always did and she wondered, how much of his personal hatred of Potter was a front for what he stood against?

She had once hoped that she could save him, in a way. From himself, from his family. She had thought she could salvage their friendship.

But the trust had been well and truly broken and she did not know how to fix that. If she even really wanted to.

Draco didn't have anything more to say to her assertion. She wondered with a knot in her stomach if he realised she wasn't the rest of the world either, if he was beginning to recognise that she was not the exception, a miracle of the Black family's making.

"We should get back," Draco said instead, and she could not ignore the pit of disappointment that opened as a result. "My father and grandfather will no doubt want me to meet someone. Or fifty someones."

And Narcissa had not so much as hinted at her own meeting someone. Aurora tried not to be disappointed by that. After all, she had the MacMillans now — on a practical level, that was much more important than that side of her that still craved Narcissa's praise and appreciation. Even if her mind, her rational side, knew she should not need it, and did not want what came along with it.

When she followed Draco out of the treeline, Narcissa was watching them. She gave only a faint smile before drifting away to converse with a woman in scarlet robes, and Draco was called away, giving her an apologetic frown. Most of her friends had been called away — only Pansy and Blaise remained, both looking rather put out.

Aurora felt like she was going to be sick. Draco was acting like all was normal, nothing changed. He was laughing and smiling and did not give her another glance. Nothing had ever changed.

Pansy raised her eyebrows with interest as Aurora approached. "Well?" she asked. "Lucius's feathers suitably ruffled?"

Aurora rolled her eyes half-heartedly. There was still that faint ringing in her ears. When she looked down, the ground seemed to spin. "All is well." It was not. "Thank you for covering for us, but I think Narcissa noticed."

"Narcissa knows everything," Blaise and Pansy said at the same time.

"This is true. Anyway — how are you both? It's been forever."

If they noted the tremble in her voice, they did not mention it.

"I've been splendid," Blaise said with a lazy grin. "One week in Spain, one week in Morocco, not a single stepfather in sight. Estelle was living for it."

"Yes, what did happen to the last man?" Her voice was too high, too shallow. Pansy noticed this time, she knew she did, but she did not ask.

"Oh, we lost him in the Alps. Really tragic. These divorce lawyers do choose terrible places to live, but when you've decided to marry someone who's been through seven husbands already, you're not going to be a good client, you're just very blind to the colour red. Personally, I think they're all trying to get as far away from a potential Estelle case as possible."

"I'm glad to know she's available."

"Oh, I'm sure she's up for a dance, Lady Black."

"I'd be honoured," Aurora said faintly, not really paying attention.

"You don't sound it."

"I assure you, I am."

"I'm not convinced."

"Well go and find someone else to be convinced by then," she snapped, not entirely sure what that was supposed to mean — just that she liked the way the words broke out of her, and cracked in the air.

Pansy and Blaise stared at her. "That made no sense," Pansy said.

Aurora scowled. "What did you two really talk about there?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired." Not entirely a lie. "MacMillan's annoying."

"Well, I could have told you that," Pansy said, shaking her head. "Anyway, shall we find another boy? I want to go and dance."

"You two just go on," Aurora told her, waving her hand. "Like I said, I'm tired."

Pansy frowned at her. "You always dance."

"I know. I'd just like to sit this one out."

She needed time to herself, needed to process instead of feeling like any stray thought might just slip from her lips at any moment and poison the air between her and her friends. "I'm fine," she assured Pansy. "I'll join the next one, or as soon as someone asks me, but really, my feet already hurt and and I want to nab one of the seats over there."

Pansy wrinkled her nose, following Aurora's gaze to the very sparkly gold chairs nearby, which faced out onto the dance floor. "Daphne put glitter on everything."

"I love it," Blaise said cheerfully. "I must congratulate her."

"Please do," Aurora said drily. "Now, go and dance and leave me to inspect the chairs."

"Inspect the chairs," Blaise muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he linked his arm with Pansy's. "Parkinson, she's inspecting the chairs."

"Daphne's work should be appreciated," Aurora said, though she did not get a reply. They were already heading off, and after a moment, Aurora went to find a seat to watch. Draco and Theo were taking to the floor with the Carrow sisters; Aurora watched Draco as his gaze landed on her and then glazed right over as if she wasn't there.

Cold rolled through her stomach. She could only half pay attention to her friends. She had seen all these dances a million times before, and yet she had never before felt so stuck on the outside. It was probably her own fault, she mused; after all, she was the one who hadn't wanted to dance, and that was entirely her own fault. Still, watching it made her suddenly feel isolated. She was alone in a crowded space, and it had been the case all too often recently and she also didn't feel that she could be with anyone, that she could dare to talk to her friends properly. She could not be open, she could not allow herself to be truly content. Everything was wrong and tilted off its axis, and feeling sorry for herself was a lot easier than actually doing anything about it.

This next year would be a nightmare, she already knew. Maybe going into it with a negative approach was not the best idea, but it was just realistic. She would have to deal with Potter and the Weasleys and whatever strange familiarity they were trying to bring to her, and the political situation was a mess and she was sure would only get worse. And she no longer knew who she wanted her friends to be, or who she wanted herself to be.

And she had O.W.L.s on top of it all. Much as she liked to pretend she was on top of everything, the prospect of exams terrified her. She didn't know she would cope. She wasn't sure that she had ever really learned how.

"Lady Black?" a soft voice said at her shoulder, breaking her from her thoughts. She snapped up, vision coming back into focus, to see Matilda Nott standing by her, a curious look on her face.

Aurora leapt to her feet, saying quickly, "Madam Nott." Then she remembered she was not nine years old anymore, and therefore did not have to stand to greet every adult — especially those who were not lords or ladies — and her cheeks flushed red.

She inclined her head, then Matilda Nott went o stoop into a curtsy, and Aurora hastened to stop her.

"There's no need for that, please. You've seen me as an eight year old, the formality doesn't quite work."

Matilda Nott, to her relief, smiled as she straightened. "I suppose you're right on that count. Might I still call you Aurora?"

"Of course, Madam Nott."

Her eyes twinkled. "Oh, but then you must call me Matilda. No pretensions of seniority here, I'm afraid, I've seen enough pretensions to last me another year." There was a pain behind her eyes as she said it.

Aurora smiled but asked quickly, "Would you like to take a seat, then — Matilda?"

Madam Nott laughed, but she nodded, and Aurora could tell she was relieved as they went to the seats nearby, each surrounded with their own circular string of fairy lights. When they entered its perimeter, the music softened, and Aurora realised she couldn't hear the people even just behind them.

"A muffling enchantment," Matilda said airily, easing herself into a chair. Aurora followed suit, though couldn't bring herself to emulate the elder woman's forced breezineds. Watchful gazes were still upon them, and she worried what the consequences might be. If the Notts weren't meant to associate with her, just as the Malfoy's weren't… She didn't want to make Matilda's position worse. But she had come to her. "Carina finds herself rather ingenious. She always has. Personally I think we'd all be much better entertained if the fairies were the ones speaking. They'd certainly be less dull than Lord Abbott, don't you think?"

Aurora stifled a laugh. With a faint, yet strained smile, Matilda leaned back. "You know, Aurora, just because you ally with someone doesn't mean you always have to pretend to like them. I make a great show out of detesting Lord Avery and I've yet to see it make a wreck of things — though perhaps he merely thinks it's a show. These lords can be rather blind. Ego, I think, causes it."

"Well, we all have ego."

"And yet we both know that neither you nor I are ever permitted the kind of self-indulgent flattery that the men around us have accustomed themselves to."

That, she could not disagree with. "At least we have subtlety," Aurora said, watching as Lord Abott's eldest grandson tried to entice a witch to dance with rather exaggerated gestures, while Hannah watched on in embarrassment.

"Indeed." Matilda turned, a shifting of heavy skirts. Aurora wondered how she did not boil under the material, the deep blue velvet of her gown which felt unfitting for summer, like she was defying the seasons themselves. Perhaps she was merely defying society. "I see Lucius Malfoy has not learned such arts."

He was, of course, waving around that terrible ostentatious cane which he held his wand in, the skull on the top glittering with diamonds. Incredibly rare ones, apparently, because an ordinary, merely exceptionally rare stone simply would not do. Lucius was in conversation with Lord Parkinson and one of the MacNair brothers, something which made her shiver. Those conversations she would never be privy to, and her mind fight between desperately needing to know everything that was being said and every threat that she might have to swat, and being terrified of what she might hear and have to come to know.

"I suppose we all have our… Preferences. Flavours."

Matilda let out a short laugh, which turned quickly into a cough. Startled, Aurora turned back to her, alarm snatching at her chest, but Matilda held a hand up and steadied herself. "Quite alright. Forgive me — my chest does not hold up quite so well."

"Can I get you anything? Or should I fetch—"

"I am fine," Matilda said softly. Her gaze drifted around the clearing, and Aurora followed it to where Narcissa Malfoy was stood, in conversation with Lady Thorel. The look of forced calm on her face was one Aurora knew well, the ice cold pleasantry and the glimmer of amusement that came with her always self-assured superiority. "I had thought I would see you with Mrs Malfoy this evening, you know. I must say, that was something of a coup with the MacMillans. A delightful piece of gossip."

"There's nothing to gossip about." Aurora found her voice growing sharp, and tried to soften a little, letting herself relax. Matilda Nott was not passing judgment, at least not on her. "It's an olive branch, more than anything else."

"Hm." Matilda smiled faintly. "Well, good on you. It is not often I see a young woman so certain of herself." Aurora almost wanted to laugh at that, for more and more often now she felt anything but. "Though I would advise — don't let gossip be such a terrible word. You can use it, too, for your own advantage. And goodness knows those wretched old men need something to surprise them. With any luck it might cause a few of them to drop dead."

At that, Aurora could not contain her splutter of surprise, the words catching her off guard and the sound of her own shocked laughter catching in her throat. "I'm… Not sure…"

"Oh, you know it's true. Better them than me, I would hope." Something like a scowl crossed her face for just a second, and Aurora got the impression she was hoping for that much more than she would admit. It was odd, how freely she seemed to speak, but perhaps she merely thought Aurora would never repeat it. She was right, after all. And from the way she looked at Lords Nott and Malfoy and Rosier, conspiring in a corner, it seemed that they had common enemies, anyway.

Aurora said softly, "I have been concerned by their opinions of me. Lord Nott and the others around him."

Matilda raised her eyebrows. Aurora did not know if she knew what Theo had told her back at school, about what Nott and the Carrows and Parkinsons and Averys all had been saying about her. But she did know that, at least according to Theo, Matilda had been disapproving of such opinions. "I was too, once. I've since discovered that certain lords like people to only conform to their own preconceptions. They want the witches around them quiet and compliant. They hate Lady Caradas too, you know." All but confirming that they hated Aurora herself. Not a surprise, really, but the words made her nauseous anyway. "I think you know how they think of you already. Lord Nott dislikes my family, too — the Fawleys. They were divided over the war, see, and had I not already been married by that time I certainly would never have seen him or his son again. But my father-in-law does not like what he cannot control. He never will. None of them will."

Aurora nodded but remained silent. Matilda eyed her for a moment, her gaze scrutinous and unsettling. "It is easy for me to say, I suppose, but do not let their opinions of you define you. They will lose their importance in time. It is something I wish I had cared about less. Besides — your generation seems far more… Open, from what my Theo tells me." Somehow the sound of Theo's name startled Aurora, like she had half-forgotten who Matilda was. It made her look, seek out her friend's silhouette across the clearing. He was standing with Daphne and the Carrow sisters, but he was looking back at her, eyes sharp and nervous.

"I like to think that we are," Aurora replied, "but many generations will have thought the same before, and come back to the same inevitable conclusion that they are not."

Matilda laughed. "You may well be—" She choked off on a cough for one alarming moment, and Aurora jumped. "Right. Still. My Theo's already better than his father, and grandfather. Better than me too, I suppose." She could see that. "He speaks highly of you, you know. I hear you're quite an exceptional student."

"Oh." Aurora's cheeks flushed. "Well, he certainly gives me fair competition."

"I'm sure he does." Matilda's eyes glimmered, as her gaze was drawn back to Theo standing across from them. "He was quite adamant in your defense at Easter. I daresay it gave his grandfather a fright."

Her gut churned. She knew certain things had been said about her by Lord Nott and his companions a few months ago, and Theo had given her the gist of things eventually. But she was unsure the extent to which he had defended her, as his mother put it. Only that the consequences of whatever it was that he had said had been rather harsh.

"He's suspicious of our conversation now," Matilda added in a conspiratorial tone, nodding in Theo's direction. He seemed to be making his excuses, then left the little group, headed towards them. Aurora resisted the urge to look nervously at Lord Nott. "I'm sure he thinks I'm putting all sorts of dastardly ideas in your head about him. Or that I'm embarrassing him in front of his friend."

"Oh, I'm sure Theo would never think so," Aurora said without thinking. Matilda glanced at her in surprise, and her cheeks flamed. "I only meant, well, he really does think the world of you. I know we teenagers aren't the best at saying so, goodness knows I haven't let my father know nearly enough. But I know Theo… He's certainly never embarrassed by you."

Matilda considered her for a moment, in the quiet, before Theo reached them. Aurora wondered if she had said far more than was her place, if she ought to have kept her mouth shut, but then Matilda said in a soft, surprised voice, "Thank you, Aurora."

Silence lingered a moment more before Theo reached them, his smile bright if slightly hesitant. "Mum. Lady Black."

With a small chuckle, Aurora replied, "Mister Nott."

Theo grinned. "I hope you haven't been telling Lady Black terrible things about me?"

"Quite the contrary," Matilda Nott said with a smirk, "Aurora here has been telling me what a little rebel you are at school. Chatting in History of Magic, dear me."

With a slight flush, Theo shook his head. "I'm so sorry to let you down by ignoring the most exciting professor ever to have died."

"Mm, I'm sure you are." Matilda smirked. "Though I'm sure you'll make it up to me somehow, dear — has Theo told you, we're escaping to the south of France in a few days' time."

"He mentioned it," Aurora said breezily, though he had not said any more on the matter since the Hogwarts Express. "I'm sure it'll be lovely this time of year."

"Well, it's not Britain, and that's good enough for me."

Theo looked like he was trying not to laugh; his mother showed no problems with finding humour in her own words, and Aurora let out a small scoff of amusement. "Rather fair. More reliable weather, at any rate."

"One would hope," Matilda said drily, "though I always find Britain reliable for its hideousness, in any form." She broke off slightly at the end, into a cough, and Theo darted forward to catch her by the shoulder. She waved him off, but sank into her chair. "I'm fine, darling, I promise."

"Mum, you're—"

"Theodore," Matilda cautioned, cutting him off, "don't cause a scene, I'm quite alright. Your grandfather's looking. Just let me sit. I'm sure I can hold it together."

Theo worried his lip, but acquiesced, though not without a nervous glance over his shoulder at his grandfather, who was indeed watching their interaction. Lord Nott's gaze made Aurora shiver, but she refused to show that to the two of them.

"Now," Matilda said, though she spoke with shallower breath than before, "I believe Narcissa Malfoy is coming towards us, and she will no doubt have any multitude of things to say to me. Do me the honour of dancing, the two of you?"

Much as Aurora wanted to stick around and hear whatever Narcissa Malfoy had to say, Matilda Nott had a firm instruction in her eyes. So Aurora nodded politely, and turned to Theo, who was still staring at his mother.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Theo, I have coughed many times before and I surely will again. At any rate, I shall have Mrs Malfoy."

"Exactly," Theo said, a comment which puzzled Aurora, though she didn't want to comment on it.

His mother sighed and waved him on. "Go, dance — it's rude to keep a lady waiting."

"I really don't mind if you want to stay—"

"No," Theo said, voice somewhat shaky, "let's dance. It's been long enough since we spoke. And if it'll make Mother dear happy—"

"Oh, darling, it would delight me!"

Theo tutted, but it was with a fond look in his eyes that he turned from his mother to Aurora and held out his hand.

"Is one dance enough to halt scandal, Lady Black?"

"Oh, Mister Nott, I am sure there would never be any scandal with us around."

"Good," Theo said with a smirk, leading her away, "though I find I don't particularly care either way."

"I did say you were something of a rebel."

"Oh," he commented, with a glance at his grandfather, "I think this far surpasses our History conversations."

"At least this is Mother-approved, no?"

That made Theo laugh, and Aurora found herself pleased by the sound, wrought from him unexpectedly, the sort of free laughter that drew one in, as though to a warming hearth. "She likes you, you know. I'm glad you spoke to her; I think it put her at ease. She hates all this, especially at the moment, being forced out. But she likes you."

"Really?"

"I could tell. And she thinks you're sweet?"

"Sweet? Merlin, Theo, whatever have you been telling her?"

"You do remember you've met her when we were children, yes?" There was a spark of amusement in Theo's eyes, a lift to his lips. Aurora remembered all too well the occasions she'd been allowed to mix with people, a little girl weaving between the robes of nobles at balls and dinners, searching for the few other children she knew, often causing unsuspecting lords and ladies to spill champagne or mysteriously lose her favourite canapés.

"I do," she said, "and I think I was something of a terror back then. Leading you astray, playing hide and go seek in my library."

"Exactly. That's why she liked you."

Aurora gave an appreciative laugh, as they reached the dance floor and Theo spun her, then went to clasp her hand and waist in the appropriate position. Her breath caught slightly as she asked, "Do you often talk about me to your mother?"

Of course, that pause in breath was only due to the movement of spinning. Nothing else.

"Oh, I talk to Mother about all my friends." Theo's smile was soft when he looked at her, and Aurora became more and more aware of his hand at her waist, the warmth between the two of them. "She's really rather opinionated when you give her the chance, but people rarely do."

"Yes," Aurora said, voice fainter than she would have liked, "I did get that impression. She's quite funny, too."

"She'd be glad to hear you say that. She thinks she's hilarious."

"She is. I see where you get it from; you've a similar way of speaking at times, I think, though you can be blunter."

"Mhm, the highest of compliments — being told I speak like my mother."

He said it with only feigned sarcasm, and Aurora grinned. "I can't be too nice to you, Nott. The world would end."

"Greengrass Manor would simply implode."

"Precisely. And how could we ever do that to poor Daphne's family?"

"Oh, she'd be delighted, actually — apparently she was roped into the decorating this year, that's why the lights look so shit."

His words caught her off guard and Aurora barked out a sharp laugh. "Poor Daphne!"

"It's true and I'm sure she'd say as much herself. I've barely gotten to see her, have you?"

Aurora shook her head. "I've been with the MacMillans most of the day, unfortunately. Well." She tilted her head, and Theo's gaze was attentive as they spun amidst the dancing crowd. "They're not so bad. Just unusual company."

"I saw you were dancing with Ernest a lot." There was a slight harsh inflection to his tone when he said the name, and Aurora wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Yes," she said, drawing out the word, uncertain even what she thought of the admission, "he is an alright dancer. Still a Hufflepuff, though." Theo gave only a small smile. "His father and I have a lot of political things to discuss; this makes it a lot easier."

"I suppose there's a reason these things are popular, after all."

"Other than Daphne's lovely lighting?"

Theo grinned and tugged her just a little closer. Aurora's heart skipped and she tried not to smile too much. "Oh, that's just an added bonus. Makes for better conversation, see. If the fairy lights were good then we'd have nothing to complain about as we stand in the perfect lighting."

"Whereas the fairy lights are obviously intended to be the focal point of the entire day," Aurora played along, "and thus must dominate the conversation."

"Certainly, Daphne Greengrass would have one believe it is so," Theo said, and Aurora laughed again.

"Oh, I really don't think it's so bad."

"No, it isn't, but I enjoy teasing her. Especially in front of Blaise, if you see him."

"Oh, don't tell me she fancies him again?"

"Again?" Theo raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know this had happened before."

"Oh, all the girls have fancied Blaise at some point or another," Aurora said dismissively.

Curiosity sparked in Theo's eyes.

"Is that right?"

"Well, Daphne and Lucille certainly have. Millie and Pansy I suspect, but neither would admit it."

"And you?" His voice came out oddly strangled.

"Oh, I've never had enough time to fancy Blaise. He's too flirtatious."

"Right. That's an… Odd reason."

"Well, it would never be serious. Anyway, I wouldn't want to step on anybody's toes. But enough gossip — have you read the book I sent you last week?"

He paused for a moment, surprised, and Aurora noticed the way his gaze went to find Blaise Zabini at the edge of the clearing, where he was indeed chatting up an older girl. "The Trial of Astrology?" he asked, still not looking her in the eye. It was a miracle he managed to spin her in the right direction. "Yes, I got about halfway through so far. I didn't expect the recommendation."

"It seemed like your sort of book," Aurora replied, tugging his attention back to her. "I found it interesting; the way certain magic was so accepted in the public Muggle world, and then simply ceased, whereas others had been hunted for years."

"I suppose people with power have always sought to keep that which enables them close," he said, "and damn the rest."

"It's a more nuanced picture than Binns gives at any rate," she said, causing Theo to chuckle.

"And Trelawney — she'd have us all believe the stars guide every move we make."

"You're telling me they don't?" Aurora asked. "Why, I am shocked. I do think there's something in it, though."

"Oh, as do I," Theo agreed, "or else it wouldn't have prevailed so long. But I find the way Trelawney teaches it somewhat lacking, is all. Too rigid."

At that, Aurora found herself laughing — it was quite the opposite of the criticisms she had heard levied at their Divination Professor before — but Theo remained serious, a small frown creasing his features. "I always found Trelawney rather... Eccentric. I can't imagine her being at all rigid."

"Well, no, the clothes certainly don't lend themselves to that idea — I know I'm not the most fashionable, but I do know enough to judge her on that." Aurora laughed. "But she seems to believe only her interpretations are correct, and she'll only give one, when really, that isn't how Divination works. She can be rather dismissive — and she doesn't like me."

"Why?" It was hard to imagine any teacher disliking Theo.

He shrugged. "Apparently I'm a bad omen, because I broke a saucer in our first class. She's never forgiven me, so it must have been one of her favourites."

"She wasn't impressed by your charm, then?"

Theo let out a small laugh. "Oh, my charm? I'm fairly certain Trelawney's never paid attention to it. More intrigued by whatever's going to kill Potter."

Ordinarily, Aurora would have laughed, but the joke fell flat this time, and it seemed Theo realised that as soon as the words left his mouth. "How is... Potter?"

"I don't know," she said as breezily as she could. "I haven't seen him. But I doubt he's well."

Theo's mouth fixed into a grim line, and he looked somewhere over Aurora's shoulder. She followed his gaze when they turned, spying Lord Nott and Carrow in deep conversation. Her stomach flipped. "Have you heard anything?" she found herself asking, and Theo's gaze darted around them, to the swirling figures, listening ears.

He leaned closer and his words ghosted against her skin as he whispered, "My grandfather won't say anything directly. But it's an open secret, that Potter was right."

"And do you know—"

"What he's up to? No. I don't think my grandfather trusts me with that sort of information."

She thought perhaps that reflected better on Theo, even if it was inconvenient. "I suspect I'll hear more soon. The night of the elections, a whole lot of us have been summoned to Malfoy Manor. I don't know why. I'm not planning on going, since I'll be with Mum, but Grandfather is, and all of his... Circle, are bringing their heirs with them."

The thought chilled her. "Do you think you could find anything out?"

He regarded her with curiosity then, lips slightly parted, brow creased in a frown. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "if not from my grandfather, then from other sources." His gaze slipped back over his shoulder towards his mother and Aurora felt a pang of guilt for asking; but any information she could get could be valuable, and she trusted that Theo supported her. "Which, speaking of, I fear we're about to be separated."

"Like misbehaving children?" she asked with a tone of disdain, and to her relief, a small, amused smile appeared on his lips.

"MacMillan and Flora are both approaching."

"Oh, bother."

"I thought you were seeking political conversation?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

The music faded and swept to a halt, and Theo led her to the edge of the dance floor. His hand was warm in hers, and when she spied Ernie MacMillan, she was loathe to let go.

But duty called and they were getting enough eyes on them already, and if she and Theo wanted any information out of his grandfather, they would have to keep suspicion down. "Tell your mother it was lovely to meet her," she told Theo sincerely as they made to depart.

He gave a small, sad smile. "Thank you."

And not knowing what else they could say, Aurora gave that same small smile in return, and joined MacMillan again, hoping this all was worth it.