By the time Aurora left the library, Dumbledore was getting ready to leave. He lingered by the door, speaking with her dad and Harry, and greeted Aurora with a polite nod. "Lady Black," he said. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

She gave a tense smile. "Yes. Thank you. Is Reisen…?"

"In there with Tonks," Harry supplied, pointing over his shoulder to the front parlour. "We'll, uh, be through in a moment."

That was her signal to bugger off again. She gave Harry a customary glare, before sweeping into the parlour, where Dora was sitting in a newly reupholstered armchair, with Reisen perched on the sofa just across from her, legs crossed elegantly at the ankle.

"—there is one, but—" Dora broke off, looking at Aurora in relief as she entered.

"Lady Black," Reisen's smooth voice cut through the uncomfortable silence.

"Aurora." Dora leapt to her feet. "I was just going to head out, too. I'll see you at ours for tea, tonight?"

"Course, we're all coming. Give your mum and dad my love."

Dora grinned and ruffled her hair, before hurrying out into the hall. She closed the door behind her.

"Miss Reisen," Aurora said, watching her face closely. She looked rather collected, but there was a quiver of nerves in her eyes. She did not yet know where they stood together, Aurora could tell. She wondered again what exactly her father had told his old acquaintance.

"Lady Black," Reisen said in her polished voice. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Aurora gave a tense smile and sat down opposite her in the armchair Dora had just vacated. "How was your journey?"

If Reisen was surprised by the small talk, she did not show it. Instead, she seemed quite happy to complain. "It was ghastly," she said, rolling her eyes, "I had to apparate across the channel, which is always a risk — and I despise apparition, I have far too delicate a constitution for it, really — and then I arrive here, and the entire island seems nothing but grey and rain and cloud."

Aurora blinked, unsure what to do with this. "Well," she managed, "at least you knew you were in Britain."

A faint smile crossed Reisen's lips. "Ah, it did not used to be so terrible. I had many happy summers here as a child — your father has told you, of course, all the time we spent together back then, before things turned… Sour."

Aurora pursed her lips. "No, actually, he hasn't. My dad doesn't like talking about his childhood. If you know him as well as you think, you'd understand why."

Reisen raised her eyebrows, seeming intrigued. "I did not say that to offend you, Lady Black. Truly, I have had many lovely memories in this home. It is my understanding you grew up here, no?" Grudgingly, she nodded. "I recall Walburga threw the most wonderful parties."

Aurora almost laughed. It was absurd to her to think that her grandmother had ever thrown a party in her life, let alone a good one. "That doesn't really sound like my Grandmother."

"No." Reisen's smile faded. "I suspect she rather changed, after Regulus and Orion passed. I can feel the change in the house itself. It's colder, somehow."

Aurora did not know what to do with that. Reisen glanced at the door, uncertain, then turned her attentions back to Aurora. "I'd like to get to know you," she said. "The last time I heard from Regulus, he was writing to tell me about you. You should have been my niece, in a different lifetime." The thought made her feel cold. "Of course, it's so strange to think now. He was terribly worried about you, you know, but look at you. You're seventeen in September, aren't you?" Aurora nodded, wordless. "So grown up. I've a nephew the same age, Alexandre, and I can hardly believe how quickly he grows, especially when he's at school so much."

"Oh. Right."

She nodded along in uncomfortable silence, and Reisen's smile strained. "Sirius told me all about how you grew up. It sounds like quite the ordeal, always moving about like that."

"It was," she said flatly, wishing her dad could have just kept his mouth shut. "Do you have anything constructive to say about it, or are you just trying to make small talk?"

Reisen blinked, then leaned back on the sofa. "He didn't say you were so difficult."

"That's an oversight. He knows I'm difficult." She leaned forward, crossing her legs over again. "My dad told me that you knew my uncle well. Tell me about him — you're obviously itching to."

"What makes you say that?"

"You've already brought him up, and my grandparents. I'm curious for a different perspective on them all."

Reisen gave a cold laugh. "Regulus was a close friend. We were to be married, our parents decided that for us. It was never romantic, not really, but I was optimistic. And then, of course, the war — he joined the Death Eaters, I was sickened by it, but I had no choice other than to support him, at least outwardly. He scared me at first, how passionate he was about it, but when the reality hit… Well, even the most hateful don't always have the capacity for murder. At his core, Regulus always cared about family first — family values, you know, but also, the preservation of a dynasty. He feared for his own life. Then, you were born. He was worried. He knew his cousin Bellatrix wanted you dead. And then, he was the one who died, and you lived."

"Why did he die?"

Reisen fixed her with a cold, stony look. "If I knew that," she said, with a snarl in her voice, "I would have stopped it from happening."

The door clicked open, and Aurora breathed in a sigh of relief at her dad's appearance. Tension has thickened the air already, and she did not like the look on Reisen's face, or the unpredictability of her words. "Sirius!" Reisen said, beaming, expression completely changed. "Is everything quite alright with Mr. Dumbledore?"

Her father and Harry exchanged meaningful glances. "Perfectly so," her dad said, inching into the room. "You've met Aurora, now, then?"

"Oh, yes — your daughter's a lovely young witch." Aurora did not like how she spoke about Aurora like she was not in the room, and as though she was only her father's daughter, and nothing else. Lovely young witch. The phrase made her scowl. "I was just about to ask — will you be attending your Merlin's Day celebrations? I remember it being quite a highlight of the social calendar, and a lovely young lady such as yourself would never have missed it in my day."

"Yes," Aurora said, glancing at her dad, who had a frown upon his face, "we think so, but we can't be sure yet. I need Lady Greengrass to confirm their security measures. Just in case."

"And will you have an escort?" Reisen asked, like this was the most pressing issue of their time. "You'll be courting by now, won't you — oh, Sirius," she added with a laugh, seeing the frown turn to a scowl, "don't look like that. She's almost seventeen. Regulus and I were engaged by then."

"Regulus was also a marked Death Eater by then," her dad spat back, "Aurora tends to make smarter decisions than her uncle."

Reisen's smile wavered. "I'm not suggesting a hasty engagement. I'm merely curious. Aurora's a young woman, I'm sure she doesn't share the details of her romantic life with her father."

"I'm certainly not sharing them with you," she told Reisen, thinking of Theo, thinking of the impossibility of admitting to anything resembling a romantic life, thinking of the look on her dad's face when she had told him about them. "I'm not courting anyone. I have far bigger issues."

"Of course," Reisen said, "I fully understand." For a moment, Aurora thought she might shut up, and then she said, "Do you know, my nephew, Alexandre, is about the same age as you — of course you do, I just said so." She laughed and Aurora's stomach turned. "His mother is always trying to get him to attend such events back home, but he's decidedly unenamoured with any respectable French girls, and a terrible recluse, only ever holed up with his books."

"I'm not having him as an escort," Aurora said bluntly, "if that's what you're trying to ask."

"Oh, I'm only drawing a comparison," Reisen said with a light laugh. "Teenagers are funny things, aren't they, Sirius?" She looked up at her dad, and saw the flash of annoyance warring in his eyes.

But for once, he swallowed his temper down, and said only, "Aurora and Harry ought to get home. They've summer homework to do. And I think you and I've some research to get on with. Sooner rather than later."

Aurora took the chance at escape immediately. She and Harry said their goodbyes and hurried on through the Floo, not to Arbrus Hill, but instead to Tonks Cottage, where Andromeda and Ted were waiting, with the radio and gossip and normalcy. But when they had gone through to the kitchen and she and Harry were left to their own devices, he asked, "You looked rattled by something when we came into the parlour earlier."

Aurora shot him a flat, annoyed look in response, but could not lie. "I was. I didn't like the way Gisela spoke. She's… Very false. I think she could be a great help, but I don't trust her, and — well, she doesn't seem to like me."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "And you care about that?"

"No, but, I think it's odd that she turned hostile when I asked about Regulus's death. And I mean, obviously, I understand it's not a nice topic, but she was discussing him quite happily until we got to the particulars."

"Do you think she's hiding something?" Harry asked.

Aurora chewed on her lip. "I don't know. Maybe. Hopefully my dad can work it out — and I didn't like her quizzing me about courtship either. That was just weird, and she's obviously been given instructions to try and match me with her nephew, which is ridiculous." She gave a shudder, and Harry laughed. "Don't — I don't want to talk about it. And anyway, what were you talking to Dumbledore about? That's a much more pressing issue."

There was a pause, silence broken intermittently by the clatter of teacups in the kitchen and the sound of Andromeda's knitting needles stitching in the corner. Harry lowered his voice as he said, "He wants to give me private lessons this year. He hasn't said explicitly, but I reckon he thinks that, if I'm the way we have to win the war, he should be preparing me for that."

"To kill Voldemort," Aurora said, raising her eyebrows.

Harry seemed to pale noticeable. "Yeah. That." He glanced down. "Obviously, I want to. I just don't know if I actually can."

"Well, the rest of the world does."

"Do you?" When he looked up at her, she could see in his eyes that he meant it, genuinely wanted her approval, and that made her squirm.

Saying no would be quite a blow to his morale — if he was going to kill the most powerful wizard in the world, he would need to believe he could do it first. But he was also just Harry — fifteen and obnoxious and impulsive, and angry as he often was, she didn't know if he could kill. Not yet. It was as Gisela had said. Not everyone could be a murderer.

"You're a pretty powerful wizard when you want to be," she said carefully, "your Patronus work demonstrates that. But I don't think anyone can know if they have it in them to kill, until they try."

He swallowed, nodding as he seemed to digest this. "Your dad says I shouldn't have to do this."

"He's right."

"I don't know if he believes in me."

"He does," Aurora said simply, before even thinking about it. "He just worries about you. Like parents do."

Harry glanced away at that, cheeks slightly flushed. "Well. I'm excited to learn from Dumbledore, anyway. I need to get better at fighting, and he's the best person to teach me." She could tell he was forcing himself to be brave this time; he did that, sometimes, when his voice teetered just on the edge. He was never a coward, but sometimes — though she knew he would never admit it — he could be afraid. "I think he's dying, though."

There it was. Aurora sighed. "He is very old."

"You saw his hand today, didn't you? All shrivelled — he didn't tell me how it happened, but it's obviously bad. And if it's something to do with Voldemort, if he's killing him, slowly…"

"Don't think about that," Aurora chided, "we're stronger than just Dumbledore, Harry. The Order won't fall apart without him, and neither should you."

She knew it wasn't that simple. When he turned, angry and scared at the same time, she knew that Dumbledore was not just the Headmaster, for him. He stood up abruptly, fists clenched, and said, "I'm going to help Andromeda with the gardening."

She let him go.

-*

Aurora did not know if she could stomach going to Merlin's Day at all that year. Even as late as the day before, she considered feigning illness and rescinding her acceptance of Lady Greengrass's invitation. It wasn't just the physical danger and the threat of Voldemort's forces appearing, though she did doubt Lady Greengrass would let such a thing happen on her watch. But she was afraid of just seeing Pansy or Draco or Lucille or even Theo, of the reaction that would stir in her. Her father had insisted on coming with her and Harry, in an attempt to show solidarity and protect them, but she knew both of them would be miserable. And Leah was going and she knew that would be hell for her, and really the only thing that might convince her to go, was that it was expected of her. Part of her wanted to go as a show of defiance, too. To show that she was not afraid and she would not be cowed; yet, she was sure, she would show her true fear the moment she spoke to any lords.

At least this year, she had bullied Harry and her dad into coming with her. Well, bullied Harry, at least — her dad probably wouldn't have let her go if he didn't know he himself was right there in case she needed him, as much good as he would be, still walking slow and casting carefully.

As they waited for the Floo connection to open up as a direct link — one of many new procedures this year — Aurora's dad paced up and down the floor, while Harry tried to comb his hair down in the hallway mirror, just outside the lounge. Aurora merely waited, tapping her fingertips against the mantelpiece.

"I haven't been to this in years," her dad said, pausing his pacing for a moment to glare out the window, and then resuming the practice. "Ran out of it once."

"Why?"

"Mother tried to make me dance with this horrible witch, Eleanor Avery."

"And you just didn't feel like it?"

"Pretty much." He shrugged. "I wasn't one for courtship, as you know. I'm more than happy to drag you off to run away if you want to."

"And why would I want to do that?" He gave her a long, heavy look, and she huffed. "I'm not as dramatic as you are."

"Well, just give me the signal. I don't like the idea of you dancing with anyone."

"That sounds more like a you problem."

"So, you are going to be courting?"

"Dad, you can just ask that, you know. You don't have to dress it up with an anecdote. And, no, I don't intend to, but I also can't really turn down anyone suitable who's interested. I just… Don't want to."

"I see." Her father hummed lightly and then, said, in a tone of forced casualty, "Will this Theodore Nott boy be there, do you think?"

She glared at him. "I don't know. We haven't spoken. I'd be surprised, though."

"Really?"

"He wouldn't go to any of these things if someone didn't force him, and as far as I know, right now, no one can." She should have checked. Should have asked. Should know by now, who was actually supposed to be taking care of him and his siblings, who had the power to make them attend gatherings like this. She should have asked Robin, at least, even if she couldn't stomach writing to Theo himself. Guilt swam over her, not for the first time. But she reminded herself that this was for the best. They shouldn't be friends, anyway. "It doesn't matter, though. I don't care."

"You never did tell me what happened with you two."

"Nothing important," she said coolly. "And all that did happen, is far over with now."

"He came to the Ministry with you."

"I know. I won't let him do it again."

"Harry says—"

"Dad, please. I don't…" Her eyes were smarting and she did not want to smudge her mascara. "Please just leave it."

He sighed, but nodded, and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Alright. But, still — the second you want out, tell me. For any reason, big or small."

Before she could reply, the Floo roared to life. With relief, she shouted, "Harry, get your arse in here, now!"

He was still in the process of trying to comb his hair as he rushed into the room, and did not seem to have made a bit of improvement. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered, annoyed, as she dragged him into the fireplace, and sent it up into green flame.

Greengrass Manor still sparkled, but it did not breathe the same this year. Aurora could not discern what the theme was meant to be, and neither, it seemed, could anybody else. It was a strange, hazy day; grey cloud hung over the manor, and even in her emerald gown, felt like she melted into the scenery.

Part of Aurora had expected there to be some sort of separation among the guests, between her side and Voldemort's, but there was no such thing. People seemed more nervous, but they mixed as usual. Their faces were strained, their laughter false, but still — there was no easy separation of sides. It made her more nervous, in a way. She did not know who she should be near, who it was safe to be with.

Her safest bet was Leah's family. Leah looked thoroughly miserable; she had written to Aurora the last night, saying she did not want to come, had begged her mother to let her stay home, but Lady MacMillan had insisted, as had Ernie. From the red rimming around Leah's eyes, the fight had gone on this morning, too.

Se held her hand out for her friend to take as they joined them, Harry slipping over to Ernie immediately. "Hey," Aurora said in a gentle voice, squeezing Leah's hand, "how are you?"

Leah looked her in the eyes, and her lips trembled as though she was about to burst into tears. "I hate it here," she hissed, ushering Aurora out of earshot of the rest of the group. "I told my mother I didn't want to come, but she forced me, because we still have to put on appearances. But look at them all!" She waved her hands and gestures towards the little cluster of people by the band; Travers and Yaxleys and Averys and Carrows. "It's like it hasn't even affected them at all! Malfoy's even here, with his own father in Azkaban for —" She broke off, breathhitching on a wet sob. "But he isn't even bothered by it! He's fine! And everybody's just fine with them being here."

"I don't think everyone is."

"The Greengrasses were, and everyone else who's here, is here. Is that not enough?"

"Leah," Aurora said, "we're here, too."

"And a lot of good it'll do. If we all get killed." She kicked a nearby tree, and it was testament to her anger that even in open-toed shoes, she did not flinch. "I can't stand seeing them all. Little rat bastards."

"I know," Aurora told her, squeezing her hand. She chanced a glance over in that direction, seeing Draco and Narcissa speaking quite amicably with Corban Yaxley. Probably he was another Death Eater, too. Or maybe he was just too forgiving; she would be more surprised if he did not like them. It struck her, then, too, that she had been too unpopular and controversial to attend the Parkinsons' gala last year, that her invitations to Merlin's Day had been questioned many times, and yet, here were the families of convicted murderers, quite merrily getting along with their peers. Like it meant nothing. Like society did not care. And perhaps it didn't.

"I don't really want to be here either," she admitted to Leah, "nor do Harry or my dad. I can't imagine we'll stay very long." A sudden draught came through the trees, and Aurora shivered.

Before her, Leah stiffened, staring at something over Aurora's shoulder. From just the look on her face, Aurora was already dreading turning around, but when she did, it was only Daphne, marching across the clearing towards them, with an unnatural, beaming smile upon her face.

"Morning, Lady Black," she called, quite cheerful. She seemed to float across the grass, periwinkle blue dress drifting about her ankles like a thin cloud. "Leah. How are you both — you look divine!"

It took Aurora a moment to find her voice. "Well, thank you. It's a — a good turnout, today, isn't it?"

"I think so! We're very glad, considering everything, that everyone still has time to come together as a community. Today's going to be special, you'll see — my great-aunt says we all need a party right now, don't you agree."

"No," Leah said bluntly, and Daphne's face fell. "I'm not really in the mood for partying."

"I'm… I was really sorry to hear…"

Daphne trailed off, as Leah turned on her heel and walked away, slipping into a space between her brother and sister. "I didn't meant to," Daphne started, then stopped, biting her lip. "I just want things to be normal."

"We all do," Aurora assured her. "But nothing is."

Daphne worried her lip between her teeth, and tucked a strand of her behind her ear, a nervous little quirk she had. "Pansy might be coming today," she told Aurora in a whisper, "I thought you should both know. And — and Theodore, but I don't know for certain, it's all — he says you haven't been replying to his letters."

"Why is that any of your concern?" Aurora asked, voice icier than she had intended for it to be.

Daphne's response was a tight, nervous smile. "I just thought I should mention it. But anyway — I won't steal anymore of your time. Please, help yourself to drink and food and, please, have a dance." Nobody else was dancing, even though the band was valiantly trying to play a foxtrot. "There's no need to be so worried. We've plenty protections in place, and we're all perfectly safe. Even Potter."

For some reason, it was those two last words that made Aurora nervous. There was no hint of deception in Daphne's eyes, but Aurora's stomach dropped and cold wariness slipped in. With a smile, Daphne turned and went over to join her cousins, and Aurora looked up, seeing Theodore beginning to come down the stairs into the garden clearing. His light brown hair shone like brass in the weak sunlight, and when she caught his eye, she felt her whole body flush.

This was awful, she decided, an awful decision on an awful day, and she was surrounded with awful people, and all she wanted was to run. She hurried back towards the safety of her group, which had been joined by the Vaiseys, among them her Quidditch teammate, Felix. He grinned when he saw her, raising a hand.

"Lady Black! How about that Harpies game?"

Thank Merlin for some normal conversation. "I didn't see it," she admitted, closing in to his side, catching Harry's eye as she did so — he was stuck in a conversation with Lord Abbott and looking thoroughly bored. "I did listen on the wireless though — I couldn't believe Jones' last minute goal."

"It was brilliant," Felix told her, beaming, "never seen the likes — did you hear—"

The rest of his words were drowned out by the rushing in her ears as she caught sight of Pansy Parkinson, standing between Draco and Theo, in a set of frilly lilac and white robes that Aurora had helped her to pick out many weeks ago, her hair pinned back in a style they had learned how to do together, smiling like she did when they were friends. That was what made her chest tighten and her anger roar. The sheer audacity took her breath away.

But when Pansy looked back at her, her smile faltered. For a moment, just long enough for Aurora to feel a brief flicker of triumph, that she had had an effect, that she could make Pansy stumble. Draco and Theo looked over their shoulders; Draco's gaze was hard and angry, and Theo's soft and apologetic, and both broke her heart.

She could not think of it. But she could not draw her gaze away, either. In that moment, every awful thought she had had about Pansy and Draco resurfaced, as did every fear about Theo betraying her. Each of them seemed to see right through her.

She swallowed tightly and turned away. Her dad was watching her intently, like he knew exactly what her mind was doing. She smiled shakily, and he saw right through her too.

"We should dance," she told Felix, trying to fight through her nerves. He stared at her as though she had suggested they light their heads on fire.

"Excuse me? You — you want to dance with me?"

"Oh, don't be silly about it, Vaisey, you're here and I'm terribly bored and we'll both have to take a turn at some point." I'm fine, she wanted to scream to everyone who had seen her today. I'm fine and I'm happy and I will make myself believe that, too. "You don't have to, if it's really such an imposition."

"What's this, Felix?" A woman who could only be his mother hurried over, silver dress trailing in her wake. Aurora inclined her head in respect. "Lady Black, a pleasure. Did I hear you say you two were going to dance?"

"I suggested the idea," Aurora said in a low, sweet voice. "Someone ought to brighten this place up. Dancing can be an act of defiance, too, can it not?"

A smile spread across Lady Vaisey's face. "I quite agree, Lady Black — go on, Felix. I shall have your father and I join you, and the others — I'm sure Lord Abbott's granddaughter will be happy to dance with Ernie — Lord—" The word stuck in her throat. "MacMillan. And little Leah with Potter, wouldn't that be lovely — we must show a united front." She took in a deep front and stared around. "This is our night as much as anybody else's."

It wasn't anybody's night, Aurora wanted to scream. This whole thing was a vile show but they all just had to play their part. It would not settle anything but their own pride and yet she wanted to grasp for the straws of power that it gave her.

And yet, taking Felix Vaisey's offered hand, she felt guilty, like a traitor of sorts — to herself, to Theo, to melancholy and sobriety. But still when she saw Pansy catch a glimpse of her, she felt a vindictive thrill, that she could pretend she was okay, and hopeful about the future and her faction's chances. She could pretend she was protected. That could be good enough for now.

When the dance was done, she felt deflated — Felix chattered in her ear about the Quidditch season, and Leah and Ernie argued over points of legislation coming forth, and she was stuck, trying to listen to both, but with her head buzzing with white noise. Nothing made sense. Nothing was right.

Across the clearing, Lucille Travers had arrived, and the sight of her made Aurora's blood boil. Her uncle still had not been caught and put back in Azkaban. He could be anywhere, and so could Bellatrix, so could any of them, and there was not a hint of remorse on any of their faces.

"I can't believe Nott's showing his face," Ernie said at her side, and Aurora jumped at the sound, unnerved. She hadn't even noticed he was beside her still. "You'd think he'd have some humility."

"If you mean Theodore—"

"Of course he means Theodore," Leah spat, coming to her other side, a glass clutched tightly in one fist. "Look, he's gone back to cavorting with Malfoy and the rest again." Aurora did not think that Theo's behaviour, shrinking back in the treeline, with stunted smiles and tight looks, really qualified as cavorting. "I told Mother we shouldn't come. Did you know he'd be here?"

"No," Aurora said softly, "I didn't expect it, to be honest. It's never been his scene." What was he playing at, she wondered? What did he think he was achieving? He looked miserable, it was obvious to her, if not to everybody else.

"This is precisely why we had to come," Ernie said over Aurora's shoulder, "to show they can't get away with it. Mark my words, Leah, they'll have the wind knocked out their sails soon enough once the Assembly's through with our bill." Aurora admired his optimism. She doubted very much of the bill would go unamenddd, stripped down and tamed so as not to embarrass the history of the Ministry, or the Wizarding world at large. She had little expectation that any good would really come of it.

"I'd rather they had their teeth knocked out now," Leah muttered, and if she ignored the sight of Theo, Aurora could agree. But he glanced back at her, and it knocked the breath from her lungs instead, replaced by a pang of longing. They should be stood together, away from everybody else; she should be able to bring him to her friends, her family, and he should have been on her side. Everyone should have known that.

But they couldn't, and she set that rule. Yet, even when he met her gaze, his expression softened, and he gave a hesitant smile, and Leah scoffed. "Wanker."

"He didn't—"

"He shouldn't be here, anymore than the rest of them," Leah snapped, "and the Greengrasses shouldn't still be enabling them while claiming to support the Ministry. They're all snakes, every last one of them."

She said the last part too loud; Lady Talbot turned from her conversation with Lord Colvert, looking quite affronted, but it was clear that Leah did not care. She stormed away, and her brother followed, leaving Aurora on her own, cold, watching Theo as he turned back to speak with his sister and, to her surprise, Lord Fawley. She had never seen them interact; indeed, she had rarely seen Fawley, who seemed allergic to doing his job and showing up to the Assembly, and prevaricated on every decision put to him anyway. Then again, he was the closest thing Theo could probably find to a legal guardian at this stage. At least he was able to speak to them, openly, now, as he had wanted to for so long. If nothing else, they had to be at least a bit better than the Notts.

Eventually, once he had broken away, seemingly in search of another drink, Aurora managed to steel her nerves and weave her way through the busier clearing to stand beside Theo in a shadowy treeline, where few would think to look. She had to speak to him, had to know, and had to stop those long looks across the clearing. At least, she hoped, this conversation would not be a long one.

"Good afternoon," she said to him, keeping her gaze fixed upon the small knot of dancers in the clearing. "Nott."

He raised his eyebrows. "Have we gone back to surnames now, have we?"

"I thought that's for the best." She swallowed tightly. "How are you?"

A short laugh. "That's a long story. Probably better read in a letter." That was pointed. Aurora grimaced. "And you? Your father? Robin said he's doing better — I'm glad to see he's here."

"He's fine. Better. Thanks for asking." She did not want to ask and she knew he would not want to answer, but she had to. "What's going on? With your family?"

Glancing sideways at her, he rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you've noticed the Fawleys. Apparently, my grandfather stated that under no circumstances are we to be put in their care."

"Oh. But you're here with them—"

"We managed to get in contact. In the absence of any legal guardian, I'm in charge of my siblings, but my great-uncle's stepped up on some matters. It won't do much good. My mother's family..." He took in a breath and forced a smile. "Well, family's complicated, isn't it? I'm sure you're not here to hear me list my woes. Like I said — it's all better read in a letter. You have been receiving my letters?"

She considered lying, but couldn't bring herself to do it. "Yes. I just didn't want to reply. That's why I came over here, just to reiterate — we shouldn't be seen together, or in contact."

"You're the one who came over here." His voice was laced with annoyance, just a little, just enough for her to know. He was rarely annoyed with her, but she felt perhaps, she had earned this.

"I know. I just had to make myself clear. I… We cannot be together. We were foolish to ever think that we could, in these circumstances, and it isn't fair to either of us to keep pretending that everything is alright, and I don't have the space in my life for anything like a relationship anyway, so… That's that." She stared steadfastly out at the clearing, feeling a heat creep up her neck.

"That's that?" he echoed, voice hollow. "That's all you have to say on the matter."

"Theo, this is my choice—"

"I know that, but don't you think we should have some further discussion—"

"No," she snapped, "I've made my mind up, I made it up weeks ago." She couldn't bear to look at him, for fear of that mind changing again. "I just need to make sure you got the memo, Nott. We can't be fools anymore."

"I don't think we were fools," he said coolly. She could feel his gaze upon her, sharp and precise. "I think that you're scared."

"Of course I'm scared," she hissed, turning to him. Her heart shuddered and pounded in her chest, the moment their eyes met. She just wanted to cross the distance between them; touch his hands, his cheek, his lips, see if they still felt the same, now, in the dangerous daylight. "Can't you understand that I can't afford to be brave, Theo? Can't you realise that if it were you whose father was almost killed, whose own life was threatened, you would run from this, too? Can't you see that if this got out, we'd both be in danger. You'd be a blood traitor and I the disgusting little terror that drew you away from your destiny."

"I don't care about destiny," he said, an edge to his voice, "I care about you—"

"Then let me end this," she whispered, voice catching.

"At least let me be your friend again," he said, hand twitching, fingers reaching towards her, but restrained. "Let me understand what's going on in your mind, let me talk to you about my mess, like we used to—"

"No," she said, making her voice as cold and sharp and unchangeable as she could, "we can't go back to that."

"Aurora, my father and grandfather are in Azkaban—"

"You're not an idiot, Theo. You must know they'll get out, that their friends will do their work for them even if they don't. We can't go back. This must be a clean, complete break — it should be easy enough. We don't need to see one another again this summer, we can avoid each other at school. I'm sure you'll be perfectly happy — just a few words and Pansy and Draco and Daphne and the Carrows will be all yours again. It will be easy."

His eyes met hers, their deep blue storming and treacherous. "I don't particularly care for easy."

"You should," she told him, firm. "We'll both be better off for it."

She thought that was the last of it, thought she could leave with her shell intact. But he said, with a stare like he was trying to make sense of a puzzle, "You've changed again."

"Yes, people do that, Theodore, they change. That's human nature."

His gaze seemed to go right through her, as though she were half-invisible, and he could see her heart, her mind, her thoughts and feelings and most of all, her fears, and he unpicked all of them with a mere glance. "I understand why you won't be with me. I think it's perfectly rational. But I don't think it's what you really feel, or what you want."

"And how would you know? You can't tell me what I feel."

"Because I know you, Aurora. I know us. But." He drew in a cold, shaky breath, took a sip of his wine. "If this is what you want, I'll go no further in pressing you. The door is closed."

She hated the way he spoke, so stilted and aloof, like they were trying to tie one another in knots with their words, get around a riddle or a lie. Yet she knew it was only because she had started the conversation in that way. "Good," she told him. "Then we'll never speak of this again."

"Yes. At least then we won't have cause to lie to one another." He nodded and stepped away, and she mourned the emptiness of the space where he once had been. "Enjoy your day, Lady Black."

She tried to keep her face neutral as she walked back, slowly, towards her father. Yet the moment he caught sight of her, his own face changed, and he glanced back towards Theo, furious.

"What's happened?" he asked as she came to his side. "Were you with — him?"

"Yes, and it's fine, but I think we should leave soon. We won't get much out of today and… Well, it's not exactly a cheerful day."

"Did he say—"

"It's fine, Dad. He hasn't done anything wrong, and if you keep glaring, people will notice. Just — let's start saying our goodbyes." She swallowed tightly. "I don't think there's any use sticking around for very long. Where's Harry?"

"Over there," her father said in a dark tone. When she followed his gaze, she saw her godbrother holding yet another arduous conversation with the Minister for Magic. "Scrimgeour wants to talk about public relations."

Aurora almost laughed, but she couldn't; everytime she blinked, her gaze was drawn back to Theo, and her mind with it. "Harry doesn't understand public relations."

"No, but apparently his face will work wonders for the Ministry's new campaign."

"Harry doesn't even read their pamphlets."

"Shh," her dad chided, though he was smiling slightly.

"He could do with some PR training, though. Learn to comb his hair, at least."

"Aurora."

"Dad." She fixed him with a sharp, pointed look. "Do I need to save him?"

"Well…"

When she looked up, Harry was already hailing her over, and from the look in Scrimgeour's eyes, she didn't have much of a choice, anyway. Reluctantly, she and her father both headed over. Scrimgeour's smile made her skin crawl.

"Lady Black," he greeted, voice sober, "Mister Black. I was just speaking with Harry here — the Ministry's looking to incorporate youth voices in our safety campaigns, make sure your age group are more… Aware, of the dangers of the lure of the dark side." A shiver went down her spine. She was sure his gaze lingered on her as she said that. "I'm sure you can help me convince your godbrother, Lady Black."

"Of what?"

"That the Ministry actually cares about anything other than saving face right now," Harry said bluntly. Aurora cringed. He definitely needed PR training.

"I'll certainly try," she told the minister in a smooth, silky voice. "I think it's a noble mission. But the problem is not that youth are susceptible, or that they need Harry Potter to show them the right way. The problem is that society says it's alright to treat certain people are inferior, and the Ministry has spent a very long time enabling the sorts of people most likely to join Voldemort's ranks." At the sound of his name, the Minister gave a start, but not the usual gasp of horror. That, at least, was a point in his favour. "But of course, I'd be happy to share this with my fellow youths in your campaign." She smiled, and he grimaced in return.

"Thank you, Lady Black. I'll keep that in mind." He did not look at all pleased by her interruption now. "Anyway — I should like to have a proper meeting sometime soon, with you both. Say, before the next Assembly meeting at the end of the month?" They were to vote on an important bill, one that Aurora still had to work out with Lord Vaisey. It was something of a legacy of Lord MacMillan, and the matter that Vaisey and MacMillan — once good friends — had fallen out over before his death. The bill was to extend the work of the Muggle Liason Office, so that provisions could be made both for further agricultural trade that would benefit the Wizarding population, and also to better enable the assimilation of muggleborn students. Most of the trade points were frightfully dull to Aurora, but the newer amendments that had come about because of the war footing, were crucial.

She had to keep as much support for it as possible. "Of course, Minister. I'm sure that would be useful to all of us." Harry scowled. "If you'll excuse us, I believe we've some more people to speak with."

As she all but dragged Harry away from what was sure to be a sharp and useless argument, she caught sight of Pansy and Draco, huddled together in whispered at the edge of the garden. Pansy's face was conspiratorial, like she had just spilled a wonderful piece of gossip, Draco's full of confidence and glee, and her stomach turned. Nothing she could do to them would be enough, she thought. Angry impulse boiled beneath her again, pulling at her soul, making her very magic hum and pulse and sing for an outlet.

Next time she saw Scrimgeour, she thought, she would tell him everything she could. Have the Ministry tear up their floorboards and raze their gardens, have the papers and magazines spill every nasty rumour that had ever flown about these families and their children who could be so at ease in war, who did not understand that every day, she and the people she loved were crawling towards their own deaths, and no amount of dancing and making chatter out of idle gossip and the tipsiness from champagne could hide that from their own hearts.