The news was in the Prophet a few days later, that Lord Abraxas Malfoy had passed away, at the rather young age of seventy-nine. The family had thought they had more time, Aurora knew. Wizards often lived well beyond a hundred years, or at least they had, once upon a time. It seemed recently that more and more of them were dying young.
Lucius was lord now, which meant Draco was the official heir. Aurora did not fail to notice how people flocked to him in the wake of the news, desperate to offer condolences and gain endearments, including Professor Umbridge. She watched him at breakfast, for once quite miserable with the attention he received. For all Aurora hadn't gotten along with Abraxas in recent years, she was still capable of remembering him as one of the stoic figures in the corner of a dining room, who looked upon her at her great-grandfather's behest and encouraged her friendship with his grandson, her only true friend for so long. The meaning of family was warped by now, but for a while he had at least been on the fringes of it, and it was strange to think that she would never see him again, hear his voice, and that the people she had loved would mourn him far away from her.
Perhaps that was what made her split off from Gwen and Leah and Sally-Anne as they waited outside Potions, while Draco had only Pansy with him, and tell him, "I'm sorry to hear about your grandfather."
Her cousin stared at her, surprised more than angry. That was something, at least. "Thanks," he said stiffly. "I…" He stared at the floor. "We don't know when the funeral's going to be yet."
"I see." She hadn't felt it was appropriate — or safe, quite frankly — for her to attend. She waited, wondering if Draco would extend an invitation properly, make clear the boundaries, but he did not. "How are you feeling? And your parents?"
"It's… Fine. We're fine." She knew he was lying, but it was no longer her place to tell him so, or to presume that she could comfort him. Still, her instincts made her put a hand on his shoulder, and to feel relief when he did not shrug it off.
"Pass on my condolences, would you?"
"Sure. Thanks, Aurora."
She withdrew her hand, with a small, sympathetic smile, and then returned to her friends, who were watching her with raised eyebrows. "I had to say something," she explained, not liking the weariness in Leah's gaze. "It would have been wrong of me not to."
"I wouldn't waste my breath trying to comfort him over someone like Lord Malfoy."
"I know you wouldn't," she told Leah, voice strained, "but I grew up around them. I — I just had to. It doesn't mean anything more than that. Sentimentality, that's all. Someone's died."
Gwen and Leah exchanged significant looks, verging on annoyance. She turned away, cheeks heating, and stewed in silence until they were let into the classroom.
There was an unsteadiness between them after that, Draco's gaze no longer so harsh, and Aurora no longer so nervous. The rest of her old group — barring Pansy and Daphne and Theo — still had little to say to her, but there was less overt dislike in their tone, no doubt due to her cousin's leadership. Perhaps Blaise had been more correct than she had given him credit for, back at Halloween. They all did revolve around him and follow his lead. This time, she was glad for the reprieve it gave her.
Even Quidditch practices were easier, though Draco did miss a couple. They all knew the importance of pulling back together now, with their next match against Ravenclaw rapidly approaching. Many a cold and dark night was spent on the pitch, soaring through the sky with icy wind breaking against her cheeks and rain plastering her hair to her face.
One such night, Aurora returned to her dormitory absolutely drenched and shivering, trying desperately to dry out her hair, which curled erratically around her shoulders. The dormitory was deserted, and once she had gotten herself back into a comfortable state, she went to refocus her mind on reading about Castella Black, from the books she had found in Grimmauld Place over the Christmas holidays.
She flipped to the back of Castella's journal first; she had read a few months' worth at the very beginning of her documentation, in November of 1826, the year her elder brother, the Black heir Castor died, and she married her cousin, Dionysus Black. It had been full of melancholy lamentations of lost youth, mixed in with a seemingly naive hope that she might make something of herself, even trapped in a marriage with a man who barely let her out of the house unless she was on his arm. But the end of her life was what called Aurora to her, the drama of her young and violent death.
The date was the twenty-seventh of October, 1854.
It is with a heavy heart that I write of the recent struggle between my sons, which seems only to worsen every time that I speak with them. Castor and Marius have little love left between them. My husband appears oblivious, or else apathetic, even as the spectre of death hurtles towards our family and threatens its very existence. They will tear each other apart over this, I know it. Castor believes Marius has duped him, undermining his credibility within the Assembly to clear the way for his own ascendancy after their father's death, and he will see no sense of other way, nor will Marius reason with him, too stung by the accusation.
It seems to me such an awful thing, to tear apart two brothers. If I could have my brother returned to me and hold him in my arms once more, I would burn the world down to keep him there. I would do the same for my children, seven lost to me already. These two must live, or there is no hope left for the Black dynasty. But they will not see that, will not see past their own pride.
I found today, the key I have been looking for. I must bind these boys to one another, whether they wish it or not. Dionysus told me last evening that he has heard tell the boys are to hold a duel on All Hallow's Eve, to settle the matter of inheritance — as if inheritance matters when one is dead and one in prison, and our family fortune wastes away to nothing with nobody to care for it! I cannot let this happen. My husband says to let them have their fun and their youth, but I know better. They will not stop until they have destroyed one another.
Dionysus would not allow me access to the study, but I found my way in anyway. It is I who hails from the main bloodline, not him, however much he would like to forget his wife's seniority and deny me to the rest of the world. In there I found the ring of our First Lord. The immortal ring, my father called it. I do not know that I would call it as such.
But I have found a way to prevent my sons from harming one another, to force their loyalty against death. Fate will not like it, but this family should not be beholden to fate.
I am to conduct the ritual the night before All Hallow's Eve, when the spirits of our ancestors begin to cross the veil. My husband would not like to know this, but he never shall read these words.
Castella Aria Black
Aurora sat back, puzzling over the final words. There was no more to the diary. Whatever Castella had done, she had not been able to record its success. But she was certain that the blessing and the first lord that she mentioned, had to be Hydrus Black. The blessing functioned in the same way, forcing and binding loyalty between siblings of the Black family. It was a spell that seemed to have been passed down through generations.
And the ring…
She did not want to tempt herself with hope, but there was every chance that the ring in question was the one she had been working to understand all these years. If it was connected to the blessing, perhaps it wasn't cursed — perhaps it was reacting to her, if Regulus had used that blessing on her and—
She didn't know what to think next. Her thoughts had hit a wall, but her heart still beat fast, hoping. If only there was a way to know. The last pages of the journal were blank, and the revelio spell she used turned up nothing. But she returned to Castella's grimoire, to the spell marked there to call a spirit forth from the veil, and that hope burned up in her gut again.
"Julius?" she asked, running the pad of her thumb over her pendant.
The snake hissed back lazily. "I am cold, Lady Black."
"No, you're just annoying. Do you know anything about a ring owned by your father, that has something to do with the blessing—"
The next hiss sounded more like Julius was trying to blow a raspberry at her, like a petulant child. "You are obsessed with this blessing, Lady Black."
"Just answer the question."
"And you are perpetually irritated."
"Julius."
"Lady Black." A low hiss. "My father had many rings."
"I have it here." She dug around in her bedside drawer, finding the little wooden box where she kept the ring, safe from her. It was cold to the touch, as she held it up to Julius. "Can uou see it? Actually — can you see? At all? I'm not sure that I ever asked."
"Of course I can see. In a manner of speaking. I know what you are showing me, and yes, I recognise the ring. But I cannot recall if it belonged to my father, or one of his descendants. Many heirlooms have passed through our noble house."
"But it could be his? Could be related to the way the blessing works — I don't know how, but can you feel it? You said you could feel other things before, souls and spirits—"
"There are spirits within. But there are traces of spirit within every enchanted item. It may have belonged to my father, or have been attributed to him later, or the blessing may have been used by many others."
Aurora sighed. It gave her little, but at least it was something. "And Castella Black? Do you know much of her?"
"Oh, yessss." Julius drew out the final word with relish. "We like her. She gave us a feasssst."
"A feast?" Aurora asked dubiously. "In what way?"
Julius' emerald eye winked at her in the light. "She was fun. Exciting. And she made death wait for her. We liked that, we fed off the magic she created. She made us stronger. She was kind."
"How did she make you stronger?"
"With her blessing," Julius said simply, "with her spirit."
"Do you think I could find her? That she might have some sort of ghost or other spirit form?"
"If she were a ghost, you would have met her already."
"But what if she's not a ghost. I mean, I felt Regulus' spirit, and you yourself said you could feel something in his room at Grimmauld Place!"
Julius mulled this over for a moment. "I do not know if what you want to attempt is safe, Lady Black. Meddling with death, and with fate, is greatly dangerous."
"I had gathered that. But there is a spell. Her spell. What if she wanted me to find this?"
"She was dead over a century before you were born, child."
"What if she just wanted someone? She wrote this diary, even intending that her husband would never find it, but she wrote it in a way like she wanted someone to read it, to know — it's not some hazed outpouring of thoughts and emotions, it's a narrative, she wanted it to be recorded, and what if she just wanted her words to live on? What if she just wanted to be remembered?"
Julius was quiet. Faintly, in the silence, she could hear her bedside clock ticking closer to curfew. "That is what we all want," he whispered, voice too human. "If you wish to try and speak with her, I will aid you, and protect you from any wrath that comes from the spirit realm. But you must be ready, Lady Black."
"I know," she said, grip tightening on him. "It was only an idea."
She tried to put Castella out of her mind for the next few days, but the question of her spirit rang in her head. That was, until she received a distraction on the first Monday in March, when the new issue of the Quibbler ended up on Leah's empty breakfast plate, alongside a letter from her father.
"Potter's given an interview," she said, staring. "About You-Know-Who."
She tensed, trying to feign surprise. "What about him?"
"How he came back, and why, and about seeing Karkaroff…" Leah trailed off, paling, and looked up at her with wide eyes. "He's going to be in so much shit for this."
"I imagine he knows that."
"My dad says the Ministry and Assembly are both scrambling over it."
"So's the Gryffindor Table," Gwen noted from Aurora's side, nodding. Aurora followed her gaze, and Leah turned, to see the gaggle of owls squawking around Potter, who was clutching his own copy of the magazine, and seeking trying to decide how to deal with all the letters he was suddenly receiving. A thrill went through her and pulled at her lips, as she felt the new buzz of intrigue around her, the possibility stretching in front of her, of the truth being revealed, and then being vindicated.
"Let's see it, then," she said, and Leah turned the Quibbler around so she could see.
HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN.
"Oh, Fudge is going to hate this."
"And Umbridge, by the looks of her face."
"Good," she said, relishing their teacher's purple face and struggle to keep her sweet composure. "Can I duplicate this? Something tells me these are going to be in high demand, and I want to read it properly."
"Sure," Leah said, and Aurora went about conducting the charm so that she had it tucked safely away in her satchel by the time Umbridge had reached Potter and interrogated him. She could only hope that he would not be immediately punished, but even Umbridge had to admit that he had not broken any school rules. Hopefully. She wouldn't put it past her to try and get him done for something.
Sure enough, by lunchtime Educational Decree Twenty-Seven had passed, and a sign was put up in the Entrance Hall to inform the student body that possession of the Quibbler magazine, or reading and discussion of its recent article, was strictly prohibited.
"How I do love personal freedom," Aurora said cheerfully to Leah, who was scowling at the sign.
"This is ridiculous. They can't do that, that's got to be illegal." She turned her scowl to the doors of the Great Hall, beyond which Umbridge sat. "I'm bloody fed up of all of this! It shouldn't be allowed, any sane person must know that this isn't right!"
"Fudge passed it," Sally-Anne Perks pointed out. "I imagine there's someone making sure he doesn't totally jinx himself with these things."
"I hope they do a wretched job and he gets strung up before the Wizengamot."
"Please tell me wizards don't actually do public hangings," Gwen said, staring at the sign with concern.
"No. Usually. It's just an expression. Come on, let's get into the hall before a decree's passed against reading anything for more than thirty seconds."
Reluctantly, the girls followed her inside, to the Slytherin Table, which was abuzz with furious whispers about what on earth the Quibbler was and what it could possibly contain. Aurora had already read it, pleasantly surprised by how closely Rita had stuck to Potter's own words and story, with a little emotional embellishment just to agitate the public further against the Ministry. It was good; it had to be read.
"How many times do you think we can duplicate that magazine without getting caught?" Aurora asked Leah in a whisper.
Her friend grinned back at her. "Enough to thoroughly distress Umbridge, I'm sure."
"How about animation?" Sally-Anne put in, voice hushed and conspiratorial as she leaned over the table. "Dancing magazines could be a real immersive experience, you know."
"Even better if we could get it to talk a little," Gwen said, grinning as she caught on.
Aurora tried to hide her smirk. "I think we have ourselves a plot, ladies."
"You've both got copies, right?" Gwen asked, and they both nodded. "Come on, if we eat quick and get to the dorms I bet we can get these covering the school by the end of fifth period."
They all wolfed down their lunch, buzzing from the strange excitement of having something to do, to contribute, even if it wasn't much. Aurora was heady from the encouragement she received, the feeling that they were all in it together, following her even though she didn't tell them to. That they all just felt the same, were united in their goal and their opinions, even Sally-Anne, who had little association with Aurora beyond their mutual friendship with Leah.
They gathered in Leah and Sally-Anne's room, having torn out the pages of Potter's article from Leah's copy of the magazine. It was easier to rebind and then duplicate a few pages than the whole thing, and Sally-Anne was apparently quite an avid fan of origami, folding the pages up and into intriguing shapes — swans and flowers and many, many, somehow, in the shape of a lightning bolt. Aurora could not even conceive of how she managed it, but she did, and by the end of lunch they had almost fifty finished, whether folded or not, to send out through the school.
"We can hide these up on the Astronomy Tower," Gwen said, "on our way to Divination. Then if we can make them fly, and find students…"
"No one can possibly ignore it," Aurora said gleefully, "even if they wanted to."
She left the three others with the papers, having to rush off separately to Arithmancy. But when she left the classroom and walked to Defense, it was impossible to miss the magazines whizzing past in the corridors, being snatched out of the sky by curious hands attached to laughing faces, the headline and quotes from the interview blaring out for all to hear the news, before vanishing into thin air just in time for them to avoid being caught.
Umbridge was furious when they entered the classroom, outright glaring at Potter, who, to his credit, was at least not holding one of the Quibbler copies. Their Professor insisted that every student turn out their pockets and bookbags to prove they did not have a copy in their possession, but no one did. Nevertheless, on the way to dinner, Aurora heard it being quoted all over the place, people whispering and staring as Potter went past, but this time not suspicious of him. They were curious instead. It made Aurora's heart soar. They had a chance, they had gotten through. This was the perfect time to do more, to seize the opportunity and public opinion, to claw the narrative back from the Ministry.
The idea was so alluring, so dizzying, that she almost missed the way Theo sat alone at dinner, the way he tensed every time someone looked his way. Her heart sank. He didn't deserve this, she knew that. Every look was because his grandfather had been named in the article, piling onto the suspicion after his father's role in the prison break. The exhilaration of opportunity faded in the wake of her friend's suffering. He left dinner early, and Aurora followed, making her excuses to the girls, who all remained giddy and oblivious.
"Hey," she said, slipping into the window seat in the common room when she found Theo, brooding. He spared her one heavy glance then looked determinedly out the window again. "You okay?"
"I don't know," he said, voice heavy. "I wasn't expecting that article today. I can tell people are whispering about me."
"I know," she said with a soft, sympathetic smile. "It must be awful, I know I went through just the same thing."
"Yeah." He swallowed tightly, a frown creasing his forehead. "You did." He turned, lips pursed, a look in her eye that she didn't like. "So why didn't you warn me?"
Aurora took a moment to register what he'd said, a reaction she hadn't anticipated and didn't feel equipped to respond to. "What?"
"I know you were with Potter and Granger in Hogsmeade, which is the only time he could have given that interview, and I know Lovegood was there too, I saw her when I went to look for you. And you weren't exactly shocked when you saw this, were you? I know Potter tells you more than you let on, so you at least knew, even if you weren't in on planning it. Right?"
"I — yes." Theo let out a low sigh, and looked away. "But I couldn't tell you, Theo. We had to keep it secret, to avoid it leaking, or anyone trying to stop us, and I didn't know what she would write. It's Potter's story anyway, I just… Gave him the means to share it."
"Exactly," he said sharply. "You did this."
"Theo, people need to know the truth! I couldn't stop Potter, I couldn't get him to leave out the unsavoury details about your grandfather's involvement just to spare you a few harsh glances in the corridors!"
"You could have told me!" Theo almost shouted the words, cheeks reddening. He reined himself in, shaking his head. The common room was quiet, but that made it all worse. His voice was almost a whisper as he continued, "You knew this would impact me, you could have given me a warning! I know why this had to be done, but I — you're meant to be my friend! You were furious when Pansy hid this from you!"
"That is not the same thing!"
"The principle is the same! I wouldn't have told anyone, I wouldn't have tried to stop you — I would have understood, Merlin knows I don't care for my grandfather's reputation, but I know you knew about this, you know everything that's going on with me, every struggle I'm going through, and you've been the one to comfort me, and then you let this happen and don't warn me! You went behind my back!"
"It wasn't my story!"
"Your story is Potter's story! Your side is Potter's side!"
"I am not on any side—"
"Yes, you are! You're on the side you need to be on, you're on the right side, and I know that, but you can't keep denying it! You can't keep pretending to be on the fence! You can't do this and be a hypocrite—"
"I am not a hypocrite!"
"Yes, you are! But I don't care about that, I — I just thought you trusted me, and that I could trust you."
"You can trust me, Theo, but there are things more important than your feelings."
"I know that, but that doesn't mean I'm not hurt when you disregard them! You, of all people, who knows what it is to be stared at, to be judged based on someone else, someone you hate, no less!"
"I didn't — I thought — Potter needed to tell the truth. We need people to know You-Know-Who's back."
"I'm not saying you didn't, or he didn't! I'm saying that as my friend, I thought you would have shared this with me. You know," his voice tightened, "like friends do."
"Theo, I'm sorry." She didn't know what else to say. She hadn't felt distance between them in so long, and yet now it was like it opened up in front of her, a gaping chasm. "I didn't know exactly what would be in there, and… Well, I didn't think."
"About me? That's fairly obvious, Aurora."
"I never wanted to hurt you. Theo, you have to know that, I — I didn't want that, I'd never want that, and I don't want us to fight, I don't want you to be angry with me."
"Except I am," he said, voice sharp, and Aurora felt anger and guilt both twist inside of her chest, dangerously close to her heart. "It feels like you betrayed me. And I know why, I don't need you to explain. I just thought we were closer than this."
"We are. This — this is okay, we're okay, right?" He stared at her, as though considering, and her heart broke. "Theo, please, I — I'm sorry I hurt you, but I need…" That wasn't fair, she knew, to tell him she needed him, that she couldn't lose him, when she had hurt him. But it had been necessary, hadn't it? Collateral damage. But she didn't want him to be. She should have told him. In hindsight, it was clear. "Please."
"I should get on with my homework," he said, standing up and not meeting her eyes. "I can't think about this forever."
"Theo, please, don't go! I'm sorry."
"I know," he said, turning to her. "I know, I just..."
"Please don't hate me." Her words came out unexpectedly soft, and horrifyingly desperate.
He blinked, surprised, face falling into a frown. "I don't," he said, simple and quick and sincere, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "I could never — I just need some time."
"Away from me."
Guilt curled bitter and hot inside of her. Of course she would do this eventually. Of course she would ruin everything they were building, would ruin them, their friendship. "I'm sorry," she whispered again. "I — I do care, I promise—"
"Aurora." Theo's voice softened again somewhat. "I know. And I don't hate you, I just have to... I want yo be on my own for a bit. Tonight."
Because she had hurt him. She had done this. She hadn't thought herself capable of hurting someone, or at least, she hadn't thought someone would care enough about the trust between them, that they would care, and that she would care in turn. But here they were. And she had ruined it, she convinced herself.
Her instincts told her to grab his hand and hold on, tight, to spill out apologies until the air was thick with the word sorry, to fall over herself trying to fix a problem she had still only half-seen, from one side. But she only brushed her hand over his, and let him curl his fingers around hers, in a silent promise.
"I'll see you in the morning," he told her, and then he was gone, and she was cold, eyes smarting and chest twisted tight, for the first time knowing what it was like to stand at the edge of a cliff, unable to see the sea below, but only to hope it was a kind one.