For hours they were huddled in the assembly chamber, each wand inspected thrice over. There was no conclusive evidence to hold anybody; not a single wand bore traces of a spell that could have killed Vabsley. It was too clean, Aurora thought, looking at Avery and Bulstrode's smug faces either side of her, and trying not to shake at the knowledge that they were right there and it could have been them and she wasn't safe. Three lords were taken for questioning in the end; the elected lords Lannis and Cowrey, who had both expressed contempt towards Vabsley beforehand, and the hereditary lord Yaxley, already rumoured to be connected to Voldemort and vehemently opposed to the bill itself.
And the bill did not pass. That was the worst part, somehow; they got what they wanted, in the end, anyway, and a man was dead for nothing but feeding fear.
Aurora wished someone would have pointed the finger at Avery and Bulstrode and shoved them in Azkaban to rot. They had to be guilty of something, she thought, something had to stick eventually. They couldn't be allowed to smile and smirk while a man was dead, and the only people with any real power had voted to let innocent people keep in dying without even giving them the courtesy of a warning that their lives in danger and they were at war with an invisible enemy.
She and Harry were guarded on all sides as they left, hours later, exhausted and clutching their wands because their lives did depend on it. Even as they left, Kingsley and Dora on either side, her father guarding their backs, Aurora was watching every face in the crowd trying to catch any hint of who might have been behind this, known about it, benefited from it.
They went straight back to Grimmauld Place, where an emergency meeting of the Order had been called. Harry, of course, tried to insist on joining.
"We were there when Vabsley was killed," he told her dad. "We should be able to talk about it! It's our amendment to the bill that caused all this!"
"I know," her dad said, "I don't make the rules — I'll tell you what I can later."
His gaze flicked to Aurora's, worried. "They can't just lock us out of the room. I'm almost seventeen and we're both at the centre of this now."
"If it were up to me," he whispered, glancing over his shoulder to the end of the hallway, where Kingsley was waiting by the kitchen door, arms folded. "You know I'd have you both in there. But it's not up to me. I'll tell you all I can."
"And what if you miss something?" Harry demanded. "What if we miss something?"
"Just trust me," he whispered. "Ron and Ginny and Hermione are all upstairs in your room, Harry — go and join them and I'll fetch you when we're done."
"I want to say my piece," Harry said, eyes flashing, "I want to tell Dumbledore—"
"Dumbledore isn't here," her dad told him, and Harry blinked, surprised.
"What do you mean? Isn't this a major development?"
"Yes." Her father's jaw tightened and she recognised the flash of anger in his eyes. "But he has other matters to deal with."
"That's bullshit," Harry said. "Does he even know what he's doing?"
"No," Aurora scoffed, "'course he doesn't. That's why he's never around."
"He has his reasons," her dad said, in a poor attempt at diplomacy. He grimaced as he said it, like it still hurt to say. "We can figure this out ourselves. What I need you two to do, is stay safe upstairs until I can debrief you. Just — stay where I know you're safe, please." She saw it then, then tremor of fear on his face. Gone, a moment later, but definitely there. "We'll fight this like everything else. But not everyone can know."
She wasn't sure that she trusted that promise, but it seemed to be the best they were going to get. She put her hand on Harry's shoulder and said, "Come on, your friends will be worried about you."
With her father's approving gaze, she led Harry away and up the stairs, despite his grumbling. "We should be in there," he said, anger in his voice, "it's not fair."
"I know," she said, already weary of saying it. She didn't know if she could rehash the story of the feeling of panic in that tiny room, of the darkness and the sudden light, of seeing Vabsley dead. Part of her, despite the frustration of not being trusted, was glad she was not allowed in the meeting. She did not want to have to explain what she had seen. She didn't even know where to begin.
But it was an inquisition upstairs too. Hermione and Ginny and Ron wanted to know all the details immediately, clamouring for the story like it was another piece of gossip and they were the same as those journalists outside the Assembly chamber. A man was dead; not a particularly beloved man, not a bright one, not really an innocent one, but a man who did not deserve to have been murdered, in service of an ideology that was set to destroy their country.
She took up court on the armchair in the corner of the room by the empty bookshelves, and crossed her legs perfectly still, wishing she had someone of her own to tell. She had barely even gotten to see Leah before her mother was upon Ernie and whisking all the family away, and she needed to hear her anger reflecting her own.
"They had to have done it wandlessly," Harry told the others, once he had gone over the whole sickening story. "Right?" He looked to Aurora but she still could not shake the memory of Vabsley's lifeless face, still marred by confusion. "Otherwise they would have caught them — and they did it wordlessly, so they must have been really powerful." He paced up and down, wearing the carpet, while the others listened attentivelly. Aurora turned to the window, watching the outside world go by; a pair of oblivious children ran about in the park, sword fighting with twigs fallen from the trees above them.
"There must be some sort of Trace in the chamber," Hermione said, "surely? Though I can't imagine people often duel in there—"
"They do," Aurora cut in, voice hoarse, not looking over at them, "but not recently. But usually that's out in the open — honourable conduct. Lords of the great families usually consider themselves bound by such things." But perhaps it was not a hereditary lord at all. There were other purebloods, others who followed Voldemort's cause. Perhaps some who felt disenfranchised by their family's lack of station, and had cause to lash out, if they worried Muggleborns might be equal to them, and they themselves so below the ruling families. "Whoever did this wanted it to be frightening. An unknown enemy. It could be anyone."
"And that's the thing, isn't it?" Harry said, turning to her. "Did they mean to hit Vabsley? He wasn't even really on our side — he kept arguing with me."
"That's because you kept flouting Assembly honour conduct," Aurora pointed out, before realising just how silly that sounded in the light of what had just happened. "But I don't think this is about us. It's not about the party."
"They just wanted to hit anyone they could in there," Ron said, frowning, "right? And it happened to be Vabsley."
"They meant to get me."
"You don't know that—"
"Of course I do! Who's the one person Voldemort wants dead the most? Me!"
"Yeah," Ginny said, rolling her eyes, "but he wants to do it himself, doesn't he? He didn't send a random Death Eater into a completely dark room to cast a spell he just hoped would hit you, out of dozens of other people. I know what you're doing, Harry," she told him, with a defiant set to her jaw as she stood in front of her, ceasing his pacing, "none of this is your fault."
"If I hadn't pushed, if I hadn't kept saying his name—"
"You said yourself," Aurora reminded him, "we have to do what's right. We can't be cowards about it. Whoever did this, would have done it because of the law. And really, I don't think it's just about the bill."
She exchanged glances with Hermione, the only one she trusted to understand her point, and she nodded. "Voldemort wants the Ministry, and all of us, to be afraid of standing up to him. That's what that was about."
"He killed Vabsley. He's a Moderate. I was surprised he was even there, and he was likely only swayed because he and the Minister knew that they needed you on side, Harry."
"So it is my fault!"
"God, you're self-obsessed," Hermione muttered. "If we assume the killer was a Death Eater — which we don't know for sure—"
"It's pretty bloody likely, though."
"—then they targeted Vabsley because he's the Minister's Council's main representative in the Assembly. He leads the Assembly, he's the right-hand of the Minister, he's the highest Ministry official they could get in that room. It's a warning to the Ministry, not to the Progressive Party. It's so much bigger than that."
Dread turned Aurora's stomach, as silence fell in the room. Harry looked at her, and she nodded. "I agree. They want us all afraid. They want us to bow to him, and to centuries of pureblood rule. Today was a defiance of that, yes, that had them angry. But ultimately... It's the Ministry that has the final say. This wasn't about stopping the bill in the Assembly, it's about spreading fear. The fact we don't even know who did it makes it worse."
"You don't think it could be Malfoy?" Harry asked, and Aurora almost choked. "He looked awfully smug before."
"And he looked like he was going to vomit when they pulled the body out." Most people did. Draco was as pale as a corpse himself. She had been watching him, too. "He also can't do wandless or wordless magic, and I know he turned in his correct wand. I saw it."
"How do you know—"
"I spent almost every day with Draco the first four years at Hogwarts," she reminded Harry. "Trust me, I know what his wand looks like, and I know what he's capable of. Don't just accuse Draco because you dislike him. There are far worse monsters in the world."
A momentary silence fell as the others chewed this over. Down below them, the Order ambled about in the kitchen. Aurora itched to find out what they were saying but she knew there was no use even trying the Extendable Ears; every time the Order met they seemed to layer on another enchantment to keep their prying at bay. Even if she was in there, Aurora felt, what could she do? After the events of the day, a sense of hopelessness started to set in. She had not achieved anything with her bill, except angering more people and getting another killed. She might well have just expanded the target on her back, again, and it would have been worth it if she had succeeded, but she hadn't.
A man had died in the same room as her. She had watched his corpse being dragged out of the darkness. Thinking about it now made her head feel fuzzy, her throat clog with bile. It could have been her. It could have been Harry, or Theo, or Ernie. It could have been anyone.
Soon, it could be everyone.
"I'm going to see if the meeting's over yet," she announced. A tense quiet had fallen over the four of them and she got the distinct feeling that they would be more comfortable if she were to leave. "See if my dad's got anything to say."
She doubted it, but she went anyway. When she closed the door behind her, furtive whispers started up again, and her heart plummeted. It was fine, she told herself, she didn't need them to confide in her. They were probably just entertaining themselves with conspiracy theories, or trying to blame Draco. Merlin, she hoped he wasn't involved. Even after everything, she couldn't reconcile the idea of her cousin as a killer.
Downstairs, there was movement. She crouched on the first floor landing, listening out for low voices in the hallway. "—I know Dumbledore wants us to lie low, but we have to fucking do something." That was her dad, voice needled with irritation.
"You're just restless, Sirius," came Kingsley's low, calm voice. "This is a risky adventure with little clear reward—"
"The reward is taking out as many of those bastards as we can," her dad spat back. "Yes, I'm restless — you would be too! Listen, this is what the Order's for, isn't it? Espionage. It's no use us all sitting around waiting for the next attack and thinking about what we'd do differently. We've got to do something."
"Sirius—"
"You can come with me, or you can leave me to do it on my own. Either way, I'm going."
A tense silence. Another voice broke in, one she had not heard in a long time. "We should run this by Dumbledore first," Remus said, laced with nerves.
"No one knows where he is," her dad spat back, "if we delay, we'll lose our chance. Come on — we know what we're doing, we have to take the opportunity. It's not or never."
"Kingsley's right," Remus said, "you're restless, Sirius. But this isn't some prank in school. This is real life, and it had consequences—"
"I know this has consequences, thank you very much," her dad said stiffly, "and I know this isn't school. I'm not a child, not in this war or the last."
"You could have fooled me." The detachment in his voice made anger flare in Aurora's chest; who did he think he was, to come around here after weeks of barely any contact, to condescend to her father?
"Sod off back to the meeting then," her father growled, "if you're not with me."
Tense silence, then a pair of footsteps receding down the hallway. The kitchen door closed with a slam.
"Kingsley?" her had asked, voice tight. "Are you in?"
He let out a long sigh. "I don't think it's a good idea," he said, "and it's risky. But, it could be very rewarding."
"I'm going no matter what you think."
A pause, then a sigh. "I'll see you this evening."
There was no reply from her dad; she heard his footsteps recede down the corridor, and she crept down the first few stairs, trying to get a look at Kingsley. He was staring back up at her, eyebrows raised.
Heat flushed to her face and she scurried down the last few steps. "Kingsley," she greeted, "I was just coming to see if dinner was close to ready. The boys get annoying when they're hungry."
"A convincing lie," Kingsley said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "unfortunately, I've gotten quite good at realising when someone's spying on me. Come on." He jerked his head in the direction of the drawing room. "How much did you hear of that?"
She flushed. "Enough. What are you and my dad doing tonight?"
"I can't give you the details," he told her. "Something we probably shouldn't be, and that I would never approve as an Auror. But, this isn't the Ministry."
"The Ministry's crap anyway," Aurora said, and he smiled.
"I'm trying to fix that, I promise."
"So what are you doing, that isn't Ministry crap?"
"We've got a tip-off about a potential Death Eater attack tonight, and an idea of who will be there. If were right, we'll be able to save lives. If not, we could be walking right into a trap. Especially considering who the suspects are."
"Bellatrix," she said, knowing it at once. Kingsley nodded. "He wants to kill her. He thinks that if he does then he'll keep me safe."
"Do you disagree?" Kingsley asked, in a conversational sort of tone, as though this was rational.
"I don't know. I don't feel like I'll ever be safe."
It was too vulnerable a thing to admit, but she felt Kingsley had already guessed. She shoved the drawing room door open, ushering him inside. He let the lamp with his wand tip, and closed the door behind him. The room was so cold, still, even with the weak dying sunset creeping in through the frosted glass.
"I saw a dead body today," she said flatly, "so did Harry. Neither of us are safe until this whole group — the Death Eaters, all those people who agree with them and support them — are gone. Vabsley was killed and the Ministry don't even know who did it, do they?"
"I can't comment on an ongoing case." She fixed him with a piercing, angry look. "We have our suspects."
"Everyone's acting like this is normal procedure! Someone was murdered while voting in the Assembly chamber and you're just sitting going through suspects."
"Believe me, the Auror Office is working hard. I have to get back soon, as does Tonks."
"And then you'll go to this place, that you don't want to tell me where, and try and avoid being killed?"
His mouth quirked up in amusement. "That's an apt description of my job, yes."
Aurora did not find it amusing. "Bellatrix almost killed him at the Ministry."
He still wasn't fully healed, no matter how he protested that he was fine, and Aurora knew it. Plus, two Order members against a whole group of Death Eaters was not good odds at all. "You were trying to talk him out of it. But you gave in."
"It's quite difficult to argue with your father," Kingsley said, eyebrows raised, "as it is arguing with you."
"I'm worse," she told him, folding her arms. "I'll talk him out of it."
"You're not the one responsible for him, you know," Kingsley reminded her, and something about the words sat wrong with her. Like he was reprimanding her, or her dad, or both, like he thought something was wrong with them when she was just trying to hold their family together.
"Then why did you tell me?"
He raised his eyebrows. "You asked, Aurora. You're a bright girl — do what you will with the information."
She pondered this, leaning back against the dusty, empty bookshelf. "Thank you," she said stiffly, "for trusting me." There was a glimmer of something like triumph in Kingsley's eyes. It made her feel like she was under a microscope. "I should speak with him."
She made to leave, but as she did, Kingsley took in a breath, and she turned, seeing his mouth parted in unsaid words. "You should know," he began slowly, "your dad is worried about you."
"He's always worried about me."
"You haven't spoken to him much in a while. I told him that's mostly being a teenager, but he's not convinced. It would do you both some good to communicate with each other."
"What's it to you?" she asked, nettled. Presumptive so-and-so.
"I care about Sirius," he said, so simply that Aurora couldn't quite understand it, "and I think it is a shame, that you are both struggling."
He had no right to even know they were struggling, to think about it for a moment. Aurora tried to withhold a glare, as she said, "Right," and tugged the door open, hurrying down the hall.
Her dad was back in the kitchen, and she couldn't hear a word from within. Annoyed, she started pacing, counting down the seconds until, impatient, she rapped on the door. The air stilled, as the same silence reigned.
Then Molly Weasley opened the door, eyebrows raised. "Aurora, dear. Is everything alright with the children?"
Children. They were sixteen, for goodness' sake. "Yes. They're fine I just..." She made a good show of biting her lip, looking nervous. "Sorry, it's silly, and I didn't want to interrupt, but, could I just speak to my dad?"
Vulnerability worked well on Molly Weasley. Annoying as she could be, she was a mother first, and the first sight of a child's distress sent her hurrying to coddle her. It wasn't hard to bring the fear she had been trying to suppress for the last seven hours to the fore again, making her lip trembled and her eyes fill with unshod tears. Aurora's dad was summoned immediately, brow furrowed in worry, and she led him out with a spring in her step.
"What's wrong, Rory?" he asked immediately, as Kingsley slipped back into the meeting and the door closed behind him. "Has something happened?"
She fixed him with a piercing look. "You're being reckless."
Taken aback, her father stared back at her as he headed towards the stairs. "Am I, now?"
"I know you're going somewhere you shouldn't. I overheard you and Kingsley." His cheeks flushed. "I should tell you that I don't want you to go."
"Aurora," he said heavily, "I have to—"
"No, you don't. From what I heard, you're not even supposed to go, you just want to! And I can guess why."
"Oh, yeah?"
"You think Bellatrix will be there and you can have a rematch, or get some revenge, or you think you're trying to protect me."
"I'm always trying to protect you," he said drily, eyebrows raised, "that's what a dad does."
"Yeah, but..." How could she bring herself to explain, through the lump in her throat, that it made her feel horribly vulnerable and yet elated that he cared, but terrified her. He was risking himself for her, but he didn't seem to realise that if he died, she would lose it. And she knew that she would. The thought filled her with dread, every passing day feeling like they had cheated death. "I just don't want you hurt."
"I'm not going to die, Aurora."
"You've said that before."
"And I'm still here, aren't I?" He grinned, grabbing ahold of her shoulder. "Could a dead person do that?"
Aurora batted his hand away, starting up the stairs to her room. "That's not funny. And you almost weren't here, and it was really scared and I just... Just please don't. Just do something easy, and out of the front line and don't die, please!"
"It's not that simple."
"Please." The word fell from her lips in a hush, a scared little whisper. His face fell, and his gaze turned heavy. "I just don't want to lose you, Dad."
"I know." As they reached the top of the landing, he reached out, and she let herself be pulled into his arms; always warm, always safe. "I don't want to lose you either, sweetheart. That's why I'm fighting, alright?"
She let him hold her, too tired to pretend she didn't need comfort from him. "Please just be safe. I..." Her throat closed up as she tried to force the words out. "I need you alive."
"I'm doing everything I can," he told her gently, "I'm trying to do everything I need to."
"I know," she insisted, curling into his shoulder, "I know what you're trying to do, I know it's important." Dimly, she realised, she was sounding like Andromeda had to her. But her dad was throwing himself into battle, and for her, and she couldn't let him die for her. "You think the world needs you, you think I need you to kill Bellatrix — but I need you alive."
She felt him tense as his arms wrapped around her, and he whispered, "You don't want me to go tonight."
"No. I don't. It doesn't sound like you should."
"We have a real chance to intercept. We can save lives."
"Let someone else do it."
"No one else will. Dumbledore won't give the order — he says it's too risky."
"It is risky!"
"Aurora," he said, looking her in the eye, "there are lives at stake. I stand a much better chance than any of the muggles they're going to target."
"It's a Muggle target?" she asked, and he nodded grimly.
"From what we know of the plan, they're going to attack the main bridge in Edinburgh. There's a sizeable Wizarding community there, but it's mostly tucked away, out of sight. They're going to blow a hole in the Statute of Secrecy while they're at it, let out all the dark creatures that have been marinating in the dark vaults for decades and let them loose on the muggles."
Her stomach turned. "And no one else can stop them?"
He shook his head, and clutched her shoulder. "I'm going to come back alive."
"If Bellatrix sees you, she'll kill you."
He grinned. "Not if I kill her first."
"That isn't funny. You almost died already. I... I just don't want to lose you."
"I'm not really planning on dying," he said, expression softening. "Hey. I won't be alone. I promise if I think I'm going to die, I'll get out of there pronto. I know Edinburgh well, even the Muggle parts."
"There's a family house there," she reminded him, "Silver House, Charlotte Square. I — I'll make sure you can go there." He stiffened at the words. "Then I'll be able to keep you safe, and if something happens, I'll know."
He sighed, but nodded. "Alright. If it gives you some peace of mind, we can come up with a plan so you know I'm safe. And you and Harry can stay with Andromeda tonight, or at the Weasleys."
"I'm not staying with the Weasleys," she said quickly, "they're too loud and there's too many of them and it'll just stress me out more and I won't be able to sleep at all."
"Alright — Andromeda's, then." He squeezed her shoulder, eyes dancing. "You'll be alright. And so will I. Now..." He glanced towards the hallway. "The meeting should be wrapping up. How about we hand Harry off to Molly, and you and I go for fish suppers before I take you to Andromeda's, hm? We haven't spent time just the two of us in a while."
She shrugged, looking away. "I don't mind."
"I do," he said, voice soft. He curled an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a hug, warm and comforting, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You know, you still haven't told me what happened that day at Black Manor."
She withheld a groan. "Can I tell you when we're home?" she asked, feeling that the dark wallpaper of the hall was encroaching on her, every painted petal a watchful eye or listening ear. "I'll feel better about it there. Here it's... It's too much."
"Of course," he said, holding her even closer, so close she felt for a moment that everything would be alright, and she might be able to feel that embrace forever. "Wherever you're comfortable."
-*
Molly Weasley was only too happy to take Harry for the night, as suspected, and Aurora's dad was only able to explain to them that the Order was trying to devise a plan on action around better identifying Death Eaters' political targets and goals, before he was whisked away with the others to the Burrow.
Her dad, true to his word, let Aurora pack at home while he got them dinner from the chip shop in the village, twenty agonising minutes in which she imagined everything that could possibly go wrong, half-forgetting to pack, and throwing in three pairs of shoes before she remembered she was only meant to be staying for the night. When her dad returned, he called her to the lounge, where he had set out the dinner in its cardboard and newspaper wrappings.
He waited for her to speak first, which she was grateful for. She managed to get a few bites down, rendered bland by the pit of anxiety in her stomach, before she managed to say, "So. About the Manor." Her dad sat up straight, attention fixed on her, fork abandoned with the fish still speared. "I spoke to Arcturus' spirit."
To his credit, her father did not look terribly surprised by this. "And what did he say? Other than telling you that's a terribly stupid and dangerous thing to do."
"You've no right to lecture me about stupid and dangerous," she told him flatly, "and... Death intervened. Arcturus told me I have to do some ritual to be fully accepted by the ancestors. He told me to go on the Winter Solstice. Do you know anything about it?"
Slowly, he shook his head. "I know my father mentioned a ritual to me, once. Likely the same. He said the ancestors would reject me." He tilted his chin, a flash of defiance in his eyes. "I'll never know — ran off before I was old enough to do it, I suppose."
That made sense. "Do you know if my Uncle Regulus did it?" He shook his head. "I think he might have. But I can't tell. And... Well, after Arcturus told me this, Death showed me some things. I didn't know, but." She could not get the words out. Her dad frowned, and set his supper aside to come and sit by her, pressing his arm around her shoulder.
"What happened?"
Wordless, she shook her head, glaring out the window. Merlin, why couldn't anything be easy? Why couldn't she speak, why couldn't she admit that Arcturus was not the man she had thought of him as, the ideal, her great-grandfather, the most important person in her life and of course the most virtuous, most wonderful. Her father already knew that.
"He killed his cousins," she said in a shaky voice, and her father's face fell, stony. "One was a squib and the others blood traitors. I — I don't know if it was part of the ritual or because of it, because he had bound his will to Lord Phineas." She took in a cold, sharp breath. "I want to talk to his portrait. Phineas. He's at Grimmauld Place, I should have taken the chance earlier, I just—" Didn't think; didn't want to know. "And Arcturus told me something. He knew Bellatrix wanted to kill me, and my mother, and you. He had Regulus put that blessing on me." Her dad's hold stiffened around her. "But he didn't try to save her or you. He knew, and he thought he could benefit if you were both out of the way." Her eyes burned as she spoke, the words clawing their way up her throat and past her lips. "He's part of the reason she's dead. They only saved me because they thought I could be useful. I could continue the line. I wasn't pure but they could pretend I was." Like Arcturus had tried to tell Lord Carrow, Lord Nott, Lord Selwyn. They had all seen through it. They all saw right through her. "To satisfy death, one of the family had to die each generation. Regulus knew he would die anyway — that's what he said — so he cast this blessing to save me, because I was the last chance of keeping the family name."
He did not look surprised, only angry. "The bastards," he whispered, the words sharp. "Of course they did!" He let out a derisive bark of a laugh, eyes flashing with anger as he slammed a hand down on the arm of the sofa. Aurora flinched. "I should have fucking known my little brother wouldn't develop a moral backbone of his own. No — of course it's all about preserving the fucking family line." His eyes were crackling now, like lightning, as a flush of fury that Aurora hadn't seen in a long time rose to his cheeks.
"It sounded like Arcturus knew he was going to die, too — that he was going to leave—"
"He was too much of a coward to carry out what Voldemort wanted him too," her father snapped before she could finish her sentence, "he was just soft. He swapped Lord Arcturus for Lord Voldemort and back again — he just needed one of them to tell him what to do." There was a bitter anger to his voice; Aurora had never hear him speak quite so explicitly about Regulus, and the anger and resentment made her nerves stand up. "And Marlene — dear God, I fucking knew it."
Silence opened up between them, and the pit of dread in Aurora's gut grew. "What... What do you mean, you knew it?"
He gave her such a pitying look that it made her want to curl up into the sofa cushions. "I had my suspicions," he said, voice disturbingly flat, like he was trying very hard to keep his emotions out of his voice. "Nothing went on in that family without our lord knowing about it." He said our lord with mockery dripping from every syllable. "I was never naive enough to think he might try and protect any of us."
"You didn't tell me," she accused, heart pounding, "you — I kept believing he loved me, that he was a good man!"
"Would you have listened?" he asked, voice brittle. "If I'd said to you, that I thought..." He broke off, breath catching. She didn't have an answer. "You loved him," he said. "I didn't want to take that from you."
She wished he was shouting; wished he would emulate that sting of grief and betrayal as she did now, that they could rage and process it together. But he already fucking knew.
"That wasn't fair," she spat instead, "you should've said something — you —" She would never have listened. She knew that, even through her tears. "He was a murderer! He let my mother die, he would have let me die if I was a squib, like he killed his cousin!" But he had saved Marius. Cast him out of the family, yes, but he had saved his life. Only out of guilt. Only out of shame. Still, was that not a fair motivator? It meant Elise was alive today. It meant they did not have more blood in that family clearing, feeding those yew trees. The same trees from which her own wand was made.
She flung herself out of her father's grasp and leapt to her feet, pacing around the room. There was a nervous energy in her that needed to escape, burning down to the tips of her fingers.
"You don't have to do a thing he expected of you," her dad told her, voice quick and sharp, "you can go to his grave and tell his spirit to fuck off and I'll gladly join you."
"I can't do that," she spat, "I basically already did. I — I thought he just loved me! I thought he just wanted to be kind!"
"There's never been room for love in that family," he dad scoffed, "or kindness. They've only ever wanted one thing."
That didn't help. The anger in his words just made Aurora feel more hollow. "I could never be what he wanted," she whispered, "could I? I've spent all my life trying to live up to what he wanted from me. It was always worthless. I'm just..."
The daughter of a dead woman, a mudblood, expendable. Her only worth to Arcturus was his blood running through her, the name she could one day carry.
"You weren't supposed to be called Aurora Black, you know", her dad said suddenly, voice thick. She turned to stare at him. "I didn't want to give you my name. Marley's family insisted she take my name, as is tradition, and she didn't want to upset her mum any more than we already had. But you — I wanted you to be Aurora McKinnon."
"Aurora McKinnon." She rolled the name on her tongue and it tasted like a life she would never have, gone up in smoke.
"I should have kept it. Maybe then they wouldn't have found you — maybe they would have changed it anyway. I should have hidden you somewhere, kept you from all of them." His hand tightened into a fist. "You might've grown up in some Muggle home, safe, without all of this pressure and horror and you could have just been — been treated like a child, instead of the fucking commodity that family thinks of their offspring as. But I didn't, and then I didn't come home, and I — I failed you." She watched, transfixed in horror as his whole face seemed to shatter and morph, his body going limp as he curled in on himself. "I was going to give you a better life than mine. I was going to show you all the love in the world. You should have been the happiest kid ever. And they took that from us and I didn't protect you, in the end — and that's why I have to do all this, Aurora."
Steel in his gaze, he raised his head and she knew exactly what he meant. "It's revenge," she said flatly.
"It's protection. It's..."
"I understand," she said, and found it was true. "Just — come back this time." She steeled her nerves and sat back down, curled against his side. "You haven't failed me."
"I have! What kind of father—"
"I know I'm loved," she reminded him, "I do. And everything else — it's not your fault Pettigrew betrayed everyone. It's not your fault Marlene was killed, it's not your fault our family are all psychopaths, it's not your fault no one fucking stuck up for you, or gave you a trial!"
"Kingsley said that, too," he said, shaking his head, "but I can't help feeling bad luck follows me about — it's the Grim, you know? My Animagus, maybe it is an omen after all." He dug his fingers into the leather of the sofa, knuckles stretched and white. "Merlin, fucking listen to me — we're meant to be talking about you."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not. Of course you're not." He let out a shaky, shrill laugh. "You're so far from fine, Aurora, don't pretend. I've seen you every day, even quieter than normal. You look like you're just holding in a scream all the time. And I'm really sorry that I don't know how to help."
Her lip trembled. "I'm just tired," she whispered, "of all of this. I don't know how I want you to help."
"Maybe we can figure it out, if you tell me when you need help."
"I never even know that," she said with a humourless scoff. "But — this thing, this ritual. I need help with that. I don't know how to do it."
"Don't do it," he told her, aghast, as if it was that easy. "Fuck them!"
"But if part of my power comes from that—"
"Oh, bollocks to that!" he snapped. "What, has he given you the old family magic adage? This whole idea of being connected to the ancestors, it's bullshit, it's how they try and defend their blood mania — nothing more."
"You know that's not all true," she said quietly. "What about Death? What about this pact, with him — what if that can protect me? I don't want to do it like everyone else," she stressed, when he was about to start shouting again, "I don't want to be bound to someone else's will. But if I'm Lady Black, then I can't be."
"You'll be bound to their legacy — this family's legacy. That's not something to be proud of."
"And I can use it. I can use their spirits, their power — I know there must be some way I can use this to my advantage. I just don't know what."
"I don't know if you can."
"I have to," she insisted, "I can't ignore it, Dad."
"Why not? That family's fucked, you know that — why do you have to abide by any tradition?"
"Because I just do! Because I'm still Lady Black and I might change what that means but I have to be as strong as possible. I just... I don't know what it entails yet."
"Murder, presumably."
"I don't know. But if I kill Bellatrix..."
"No," her father said, voice harsh, "I'm killing her."
"Dad—"
"I'm not having you take that onto your conscience."
"I doubt I'm going to feel much guilt."
"The magic involved eats at you, Aurora. Death is a complex thing and the soul even moreso. I'm not letting you do that."
"It's not—"
"No, Aurora. You don't have to do this. You're a kid, and you're my kid, and you know I let you have a lot of license, and I trust you, but on this, I have to say no. You don't have to do this ritual, and you don't have to find some way around it. You don't have to be clever all the time."
"But I am clever," she said stubbornly, and he sighed. "I can be clever all the time, and I can find a way!"
"You are far too much like me," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Aurora smirked.
"Then you know I'll do it."
"You don't have to, Aurora. What's the point in it, really? Beyond just this belief it might make you stronger, that you're buying into what that family thinks has kept them at the top of the food chain. If Bellatrix weren't an issue, would you still want to do this?"
She took a moment, the bitter retort of I don't know burning against her lips.
"I want to be better," she said in a small voice, the aftershock of her own words making her squirm, "I just — if I can't even change this, what can I ever change? And I want to prove I can, because Bellatrix won't think I can, because Arcturus won't have thought I could turn this house on its head. Our family's legacy rests on me. I can destroy it if I want to." The words sent a rush from her, the realisation that the power to spite everything that had made her who she was could be in her hands, if she was only clever enough, quick enough, cared enough.
They were also, likely, the only words that could convince him, the promise of burning that place to the ground. That was what her father wanted; she knew if he could, he would rather see Grimmauld Place and Black Manor as hollowed out shells. But there was no point in that, in destruction for destruction's sake. What would really make their ancestors turn in their graves was if someone in their line turned out to be a decent fucking human being, and actually used their power for good.
"I don't know if our ancestors will want to accept me," she whispered, noting how her father winced when she said 'our', "but I don't care. I'll make them."
There was a long moment of silence, stretched between them. "You take me with you. Whenever you do this — none of this going off on your own."
She didn't know how to tell him that might sign his own death warrant. But she needed someone.
"Alright," she whispered, "but that means you have to come back in one piece tonight."
He winced, but nodded, hand tense on her shoulder. "I will. I promise. Now, eat your dinner." He flicked his hand and his own box of fish and chips drifted lazily over. "It'll get cold, and the chips'll be crap then, and I know you won't eat them like that, but you need to eat something decent."
She smiled wanly, forcing herself to eat even though it felt like cardboard, chewed into mulch. When her dad left her at Andromeda's, she held him tight for longer than usual, and as the Floo took him away in green flame, closed her eyes and wished only for him to come back safe.