The end of the summer holidays came in quickly. Endless hours spent in the library suddenly slipped away; time lost its meaning, reduced to rushed and cramped annotations in the margins of old books, hasty notes scrolled on parchment and nearly spilling off the page onto the desk. But Aurora understood a few things.

The first, that the curse on her did not act alone, and could not be entirely of Bellatrix's doing. The Transmogrifian had not worked in the way that it was supposed to. It had not killed her, had not broken down her body or spirit or soul. Something inside of her had fought back.

The second, that whatever curse was on her family, stretched back to Hydrus Black and still affected all of them. Short lifespans, rumours of madness. Perhaps it had affected her Uncle Regulus, too. It had likely affected her grandfather Orion, too; for what else was this 'deathly pact' her grandmother noted?

Third, she knew that Regulus had sought to protect her, even in his final days, and perhaps he was doing so now, against Death's own wishes. If her uncle could defy Death, then perhaps he had helped her to do so, too. And he had done all this with an understanding beyond that of ordinary wizards; with foresight, and the knowledge of how Death truly functioned. He had known about Hydrus' curse, she was sure of it.

As an early birthday present, she had asked her father if he might help her procure an Endless Trunk. They were rare, and their legality questionable, but there it sat outside her bedroom at Arbrus Hill on the evening of August thirtieth, a new Slytherin scarf laid gently over the top. Her father stood behind it, looking very pleased with himself.

"Figured I should give it to you before we head to Grimmauld Place," he explained. "Save Molly Weasley asking questions." He winked, and Aurora grinned, taking the scarf. It was soft in her hands, not just wool but cashmere. "Consider that one a treat to get you through your O.W.L.s. Winter always feels colder in fifth and seventh year."

"Thank you," Aurora said, beaming as she hugged him tightly. "I love it."

"You're welcome," her dad said, squeezing her shoulder. "Now, I know I said I wouldn't ask questions about why—"

"Books."

He sighed. "Frowned upon books?"

"Borderline banned books, actually."

"That's alright then," he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. "At least you're using it to break the rules somehow. Go on and get packed then. We're expected in an hour."

She and Harry were staying over at Grimmauld Place for the next two days, so that the Order could make sure Potter was safe on his way to the station. As if her father was incapable of looking after them himself. Still, Potter seemed cheerful enough about it, and Aurora didn't mind so much. She got to do a last-minute scour of the library, and she had plans to listen in on the Holyhead Harpies match with Ginny tonight.

The trunk gave her plenty of space to stow away her books, hidden in secret compartments. In theory, she should also be able to jump into the trunk and wander about, but knew that if she did that now she would get distracted trying to build a library and they didn't have the time for that right now. Once the books were in, she pulled a shelf over to hide them, in which she placed her regular robes and school supplies, and the assortment of books and trinkets which it would have been suspicious for her not to have.

They made it to Grimmauld Place just in time for dinner, which was delicious as always. Afterwards, Aurora and Ginny managed to convince Hermione to tune in to the Harpies match on the radio with them. The three girls were sprawled out in Aurora's bedroom on the top floor, the radio giving them commentary. There were a lot of lulls; they were playing Caerphilly Caterpults, who were rubbish, and listening to the Harpies score over and over again was satisfying, but got dull an hour and a bit later.

Eventually, Hermione huffed and picked up the book she had brought with her. Ginny glared at her.

"D'you think the Harpies are headed for a win this season, then?" Ginny asked Aurora over the monotonous commentary.

"They could win," Aurora said hesitantly, "but I feel like I say that every year, and then we don't. I mean, we lost out to the Tutshill Tornadoes, for Merlin's sake! Anything could happen. But we should win."

Ginny hummed her agreement. "I don't think that Orville penalty should have been given in that match in May."

"Right?" Aurora sat up straight, feeling vindicated. "From what I read, Howl barely touched him, he just went down! The ref's cousin played for the Tornadoes' junior team, too."

"No! I didn't know that!"

"Mhmm. It's corrupt, I'm telling you! They want anyone to win but the Harpies, so obviously the board wouldn't look into it." Ginny let out an annoyed snort.

"Bastards."

"Ginny!" Hermione scolded, looking up, scandalised.

Ginny waved a hand as if to bat her away. "It's a disgrace. I mean, the Tornadoes are fine, but we're way better than them! And everyone bloody supports them now cause they think they're the next big thing."

"Don't even get me started. My cousin's obsessed and he wouldn't have given them a second glance this time last year!"

Ginny shook her head, as the roar came over the radio, "And Candace Tarwen has spotted the Snitch! She's headed down for it, steep dive that — Jones' Bludger whacks Orin Campbell, knocking the Caterpult Seeker well out of the race — and she's done it! Tarwen has the Snitch! That's Caerphilly forty, Holyhead four hundred and eighty!"

"Yes!" Aurora and Ginny high-fived, caught in the thrill. It had been a done thing, but still — this strong win pushed the Harpies up to the top of the league, where they rightfully belonged.

"Well done," Hermione said drily; it seemed she only took an interest in Quidditch when her friends were playing.

"It was always ours," Ginny said with a smirk, "and we'll definitely beat the Cannons next week."

"You'd better bully your brother relentlessly when we do."

"Oh, I will," Ginny promised, grinning. "It's my favourite activity."

Then she flopped over the side of the bed and pulled out Aurora's box of nail polish, which had been sticking out from beneath the bed all day. "Can I use yellow and purple for the Harpies?"

Aurora raised an eyebrow. "You can do that if you really want to. I think it'll look hideous on nails." Ginny didn't seem to care about this; Aurora got the feeling she probably wasn't doing her nails for beauty purposes. "No, I'm thinking a nice deep blue, maybe with a couple of silver."

"I'm going with the Harpies. Alisa Fair, in my dorm, she's a big Caerphilly fan, and also a major stuck up pest."

"Oh, well in that case you have to."

Ginny grinned and they started to dig out the appropriate colours from the box. Hermione pretended not to be interested, rolling her eyes over the top of her book, but grudgingly allowed Aurora to put a dusty rose shade on her nails, and admitted she didn't hate it.

They weren't so different, Aurora thought, feeling that nail painting was a sacred rite of friendship. It had been a successful day, she decided. A good omen for the year ahead.

Of course, her good mood had to be spoiled in the morning, when she was awoken by the sound of a Hogwarts owl pecking on her window and then Hermione letting out an unholy shriek on the floor below her.

"For Merlin's sake," she muttered, letting the owl in with a scowl. It pecked her finger and Stella hissed at it, lurching forward. "Back, Stels. It'll eat you easier than you can eat it."

The owl hooted in agreement, cast a disdainful yellow eye around the room, and flew off in a fury.

Her letter was fairly light. The book list was as expected, with the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook listed as Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard. Aurora had come across it before. It was rather dense, but well-written. Unfortunately it gave little indication as to who the teacher would be, though she wondered if perhaps they would have a theoretical focus this year. Theory was useful, especially in the run up to exams. The rest of the letter was as usual, though the timing of it was annoying. And yet, she remembered as she set it down, prefects should have been announced today.

The thought came to her slowly, coldly, seeping through her. Somehow she had taken it for granted; of course, who else could be made prefect, if not her? She was the natural candidate from Slytherin; the top of the year, a born leader, popular, on the Quidditch team…

Dumbledore hadn't made her a prefect. She'd never told him to, or asked him to. She just assumed he would, because why wouldn't she be the perfect candidate?

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs made her turn sharply, and tie her dressing robe tightly before a knock came on her door. "Who is it?" Her voice came out frail.

"Hermione! Can I come in? I've been made a Prefect!" She was already in the room by the time she said, "Have you got one, too?"

Aurora gave her a cold, blank stare in response. It took a moment before Hermione got the idea, and her face fell. "Oh. Oh, Aurora, I'm so sorry."

"It is quite alright," she said stiffly. "Congratulations to you — Prefect! It's a great honour. Do you know which boy was chosen?"

Hermione frowned at her but said, "It's Ron, which is — well, I think it's brilliant."

"No, you don't."

Hermione flushed. "I did think it might be Harry, but of course, Ron makes perfect sense. He's very good with people, you know, he just needs a bit of a push to be a better leader. We could work well together."

"If you don't murder each other first," Aurora said, catching the reticence in her voice. At least Potter couldn't hold this over her, she thought, then scolded herself. Thinking only in antagonistic terms would not make her feel better. She shook out her hair and folded her arms. "I suppose this is why you started screaming earlier?"

Going an even deeper shade of red, Hermione said, "I was just excited, that's all. My parents, well, they'll be really pleased. This is one of the few things about school that they can understand."

"Of course," Aurora said, though the mention of Hermione's parents made something twist inside of her. It had always been expected from every member of her family that she would excel in Hogwarts, she would be the best and recognised as such. Arcturus, Lucretia, Walburga, Orion, Regulus, Andromeda. All had been prefects of Slytherin house. Aurora had imagined she would join them, because how could she not? "That's wonderful."

Hermione kept talking, until Aurora found herself being led downstairs to eat breakfast. As her father and Remus congratulated Ron and Hermione on becoming prefects, Aurora found it difficult to avoid the knot of bitterness growing inside of her. At least she could see Potter felt the same; he was arguably doing an even worse job of hiding it than she was.

She said little at breakfast, and was glad to get out of the house for a bit to go to Diagon Alley with her father, even though Molly Weasley accompanied them. When they got home, though, her mood soured further by the fact the Order was holding a party for Ron and Hermione, to celebrate.

She went to the library instead, picking through the shelves, and feeling like a disappointment. She couldn't make prefect on her own merit, she couldn't figure out the curse on her and her family even with a whole summer, and she was losing any grip on power or her self that she had once had. Sometimes it swept over her in such a wave of guilt, that feeling like she had failed her family, that she was tearing apart their legacy, bringing it into ruin by simply not being good enough.

Not clever enough, strong enough, pretty enough, elegant enough. Not knowing quite when to bow her head and when to stand her ground. She picked out a couple of spare personal tomes — Castor II's personal diaries, the biography of Dionysus I — and fooled herself into thinking she knew what she was doing. Then she sank into a warm chair at a bay window, pulled her knees to her chest, and sat in silence, staring at the Muggle park across the road. It was nearing dusk, but children were still playing, laughing and cheering and swinging each other round, making up worlds of fun in their own heads. They were carefree in a way that she could never remember being. Maybe long ago, before this house, before the weight of expectation put upon her. Before she knew what it meant to be Heir Black or Lady Black, back when she was Rory or Aurora and she was simply allowed to be.

She supposed it shouldn't be such a big deal as it was. Now that Quidditch was starting again, and she had her O.W.L.s, and considering the general state of the world, perhaps it was for the best that she wasn't a Prefect, especially if she intended to juggle ballet club too. But she still wasn't happy about it. It shouldn't have been a surprise, considering how her own head of house loathed her.

Yet, she felt that Arcturus — and the rest of her family — would have wanted her to be prefect. It was another accolade, a way to show some superiority. Maybe that thinking was precisely why she hadn't been made prefect, though she would have to reserve judgment until she found out who the Slytherin prefects actually were.

Hearing footsteps, Aurora straightened up and wiped her eyes before looking around, just in case. It was only her father, come to find her from the party.

"If you want me to celebrate Gryffindors…"

"You're upset about not being made prefect, aren't you?"

She scowled at him. "Am I that transparent?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. I'm your dad, I think it gives me an emotional-sensory superpower. Listen, you know it doesn't matter to me if you're prefect, Rory. I'm not disappointed in you or anything. Your mum and I weren't prefects either."

She stared at him. She knew it was meant to be comforting, but all it did was cause her to run through with sharp, lurching anger.

"This isn't about you and mum," she told him, hearing the angry tremor in her voice as she whirled around and planted her feet firmly on the floor.

Her father winced. "I'm sorry — what I meant is… You don't have to be perfect to be brilliant, yeah? Don't beat yourself up about it."

"Why not? I should have been good enough!"

"I know this is important to you," he told her, "and you have every right to be disappointed. But it's alright. Everyone knows how brilliant you are, and prefect isn't the be all and end all. You don't have anything to prove, Aurora. And that's probably why. You're good enough already."

She shook her head. "I know, but — I wanted that to be recognised, you know? I don't know why I wouldn't be made prefect, and... Everyone wanted me to be the best. And I'm not, but I feel like I should be. And I don't know why they haven't made me prefect. I have the best marks of all the Slytherin girls, I earn far more house points than the likes of Perks or Davis. I know I've gotten into trouble for some things over years, and I know Snape hates me, but doesn't Dumbledore make the prefect decision?"

"I don't know why they made their decision," her father told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Though it was a bloody stupid decision if you ask me. It's alright to be disappointed, but hey, it isn't going to stop you being you, is it? You've got your O.W.L.s this year, and I just know you're going to ace them, Aurora. And hey — just because you're not prefect doesn't mean you won't ever have a chance at being Head Girl, or Quidditch Captain."

She nodded, throat tight. "I know, it's just... Maybe it was presumptuous of me. But I really wanted it."

"You wanted to be the best," he said, nodding, with a faint smile.

"That doesn't sound awful of me, does it? Merlin, it probably does. Maybe that's why." She sniffled. "Because Dumbledore knows I'm an arrogant bitch."

"You are not," he said sharply. "Don't say things like that, Aurora. It doesn't make you arrogant to have ambition and believe in yourself!" He ruffled her hair, brought her in closer for a hug. "I'm sure they'd all be proud of you, you know, Arcturus and the rest. Of everything you've already done."

Again, Aurora nodded. The words didn't mean as much as she thought her father wanted them to, coming from him. Now, as on many occasions, she wished that Arcturus or Lucretia or Ignatius had been here to reassure her. But they could not, and her father was trying his best. This particular thing, this wasn't the sort of issue that he could comfort her on, in the same way, because she knew it had never mattered to him as much as it did her or the rest of their family, and even though he was trying, his validation wasn't the validation she craved right now.

"Thanks," she said quietly, leaning into him for a moment before turning away. "I should probably go and congratulate Hermione and Ron then. I know Hermione's really pleased."

He smiled, clapping her on the shoulder. "Seems it. Your godbrother's being moody about this, too, I think."

"He's been moody about everything," Aurora corrected, sighing. She picked up her books, holding them right to her chest. Her father glanced at the titles and gave her a sympathetic look. "I'm not surprised. He's used to being the golden boy. Every teacher loves him except Snape, and Snape has no hand in choosing Gryffindor prefects, does he?"

Maybe it was all Snape's fault, she thought. That would be convenient for her to believe.

"Harry's got a lot going on right now. You both have," he said quickly, when Aurora opened her mouth to protest. "Come on, if you're alright. I've something I want to show you and Harry, too. Moody found it earlier, he mentioned it, but I wanted to be the one to show you it."

Curious, Aurora followed him through to the kitchen, which had been done up in Gryffindor red and gold to celebrate. It was disgusting; she wrinkled her nose, and her father caught her eye, shaking his head. "Play nice, little Slytherin."

"I'm always nice," she muttered, putting on a fake smile for everybody else's benefit. "Who says I'm not nice?"

"Just a warning," he said flippantly. "See, there's Harry."

He was near Remus and Dora, both of whom were bent in an intense and concerningly close conversation. Harry was, for his part, clearly trying very hard not to glare at anybody. Her father waved him over and Aurora scoured the room for something to eat or drink and at least look busy so she didn't have to deal with him too much.

"Hey, Sirius," Harry greeted, with a bracing and glaringly fake smile. "Enjoying the party?"

He shrugged, looking around. "Not really my scene. Music isn't loud enough. Now, come sit and look at this, Moody found it for me." He pulled out a photograph from his pocket, unfolded it, and turned so that they could both see, one leaning over each shoulder.

It was an old photograph, brown and moving clunkily. "The original Order of the Phoenix," her dad said wistfully. "We joined up straight out of school, as you know."

"That's my dad," Potter said, pointing to a young man who very well could have been his double in a couple of years' time. The similarity now was haunting. "And that's my mum, next to him?"

Her father hummed, nodding. "That's Frank and Alice next to them, the Longbottoms... Remus on James' other side, see, he's trying to hide — thinks he's not very photogenic. And beside him, me and Marlene."

Her mother looked just like she remembered from the few photographs she had already seen; wicked grin, wide, dark eyes, flowing curls. She was curled into Aurora's father's side, their fingers intertwining. He had a smile Aurora had never seen on him before, entirely carefree, a wild and sharp edge to it. A pang went through her chest when she saw the date in the corner; August, 1981. Just a couple of weeks before her mother died.

"She was beautiful," Aurora said softly, taking in her mother's smile. She didn't know how they managed it, to be so happy in the midst of a war. She wasn't sure that she could smile like that anymore; perhaps she had to learn how.

"Yeah," her father said with a shaky sigh, "yeah, she was."

They fell into quiet contemplation then. Harry's gaze kept darting between the picture and the floor, his face pale, as though he didn't know what he was supposed to be looking at. In truth, Aurora wasn't sure how she felt about the photograph either, but she didn't understand why Potter was being so strange about it. "Who else is there?" Aurora asked softly. "You said some of my mum's other friends joined, didn't they?"

"Dorcas and Mary. They were roommates with Marlene, Lily, and Hestia. Hestia wasn't in the Order last time — too busy training to be a Healer—" she detected just the barest traces of bitterness in his voice "—That's the two of them there, just in front of Marlene and I."

They had their arms round each other; one short with light brown hair and rich curls, the other taller with darker skin and braided black hair. She knew Dorcas had been killed by Death Eaters, that she had fought, and knew little of Mary's fate. She didn't particularly want to ask either; if she wasn't here now, Aurora couldn't see her having had a decent end.

"Anyway," her father said, clearing her throat, sensing Potter's unusual discomfort, "I just thought you two might like to see it, that's all."

"Thanks," Potter said, though he didn't sound like he meant it. Aurora frowned sideways at him.

"It's been fourteen years," her father said heavily, and Aurora got the sense he was showing them the photo more for his own sake than theirs, "and not a day goes by that I don't miss them."

A beat of silence, and then Potter asked, "Do you really think there's going to be another war, just the same as it was?"

"It feels like it may," her father said slowly, "I suppose."

Aurora bit her lip. She couldn't help but look at Peter Pettigrew, standing with the rest of them, fitting in perfectly. No one knew he was a traitor; she could see in everybody's eyes, they loved each other, trusted each other, didn't think they could ever hurt each other. He was standing next to her mother, and despite how Aurora remembered her father claiming in the Shack that night that her mother had never liked Pettigrew, she certainly didn't show it here. They all looked perfect together and it broke her heart.

She swallowed tightly, looking away, turning to Dora in the hopes she might retrieve her from the conversation, but her cousin was obliviously laughing about something with Remus Lupin, and did not seem to notice her plight.

"Thank you, Dad," she told him, clasping her hands together. "I, er, think I ought to go say congratulations to Ron, I haven't spoken to him yet."

"Oh." Her father's face fell slightly. "Are you alright?"

"Of course," she said, standing up, "yes, I'm fine. I just have to be polite. I'll be back in a moment."

She hurried away, looking over her shoulder to see her father saying something quietly to Potter, who still looked uncertain. She said only a quick congratulations to Ron, who looked surprised and muttered a suspicious thank you, before she swept in on Dora and Remus, who had been seemingly oblivious to the fact that there was a party going on around them. She didn't want to think about the implications of the way they were looking at each other and caught up in their conversation. It was disconcerting and weirdly soft and she did not like it at all.

She spent the rest of the party trying not to be moody as her father said. Potter seemed to be doing the same and failing miserably, which meant every conversation involving the two of them died a slow and bitter death, until everybody stopped trying and started heading home or to bed. She held on longer than Potter mainly out of spite, but was glad when she could finally be alone. Her father walked her up to bed, lingering in the doorway.

"You are going to be alright when you go back to Hogwarts, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. Are you?"

"What do you mean?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You don't like it here, even when you're not staying over. I'm not oblivious and neither is Harry. I just worry about you."

"I'll be fine. I'll keep busy."

"That doesn't sound fine."

"Aurora. This is what I want to do, this is where I want to be. It's where I need to be, too. Don't worry about me, yeah?"

She sighed, shaking her head at him. "You'll come and see me on the first Hogsmeade weekend, right?"

"You don't have to check in on me."

"But you will see me, right?"

"Of course I will. Whatever you want, sweetheart." He drew her in for a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of her head. "You're so young. I just wish I could shield you from this."

"Then why'd you show us that photo?"

He took a long moment before he said, "I needed you to see it, to know. I needed you to see your mother — and Harry, his parents."

"Do you really think it's going to be the same as last time?"

"Maybe. I hope not. I hope to God that — that you never have to go through what I did. Which is why I'm fighting. In the hopes that by the time you and Harry are old enough to join the Order, it won't be needed any longer. But I need you to be prepared too, to know what you're looking at. Whether you join the Order or not, you need to know what war does."

"I do," she said, "we both do."

"And I hate that you've learned the way you have," he told her, drawing back slightly. He ran a hand over her hair, rubbed her shoulder gently, but he didn't break the hug until she did. He never broke the hug first, always clung on for as long as he could. "You keep me updated on everything at Hogwarts this year, won't you?"

"Of course."

"Everything?"

"Well I can't tell you the details of the Slytherin House initiation ceremony, but I'll do what I can."

"Initiation ceremony."

"Yeah. You don't know about that?"

"What do they make you do?"

"Well, that's obviously a secret if I can't tell you."

He frowned at her, then sighed. "Well, you can tell me everything except that. You be good?"

"I'm always good. I'm perfectly behaved."

He sighed, squeezing her shoulder. "I'm going to miss you, sweetheart."

"I know. But I promise I'll be back for Christmas this year."

"I can't wait," he told her, beaming, and kissed her forehead before stepping back. "Goodnight then, Aurora. I love you."

"I love you too," she said with a small smile. "Goodnight, Dad."

He closed the door behind him with a soft click, and Aurora set about finalising the packing of her trunk before she got ready for bed. Downstairs, people were still coming and going and chatting away to each other, and she struggled to get to sleep amid the noise. When she did fall asleep, it was an uneasy slumber. Her mother's face was everywhere, and Peter Pettigrew everywhere else. He morphed slowly into Draco, then Pansy, then Theodore, each one cold behind the eyes, whispering and hiding things. She woke with a start at three o'clock, heart pounding and head blaring, wishing hopelessly that such a thing could never be true of her friends.