There was a short second that felt like a very long moment, in which all Aurora could do was to hold onto the parchment and her wand and try desperately to remember how to breathe.

The house had stilled around her, eerily so, and all she could hear was fainting crowing of some bird from outside. Bellatrix wasn't here. She couldn't be; it was unavoidable fact that she was in Azkaban prison, that she had not escaped. It was also, Aurora was sure from all she knew of her, not like Bellatrix Lestrange to give someone forewarning.

Even so, she was terrified to move in case it disrupted something from the shadows. The sound of her own breathing was overwhelming, but alongside it another sound grew, a faint breeze that brushed her hair.

"Stop," she said softly, the word barely formed past her lips. Her heartbeat picked up again. The parchment felt scratchy against her palm. Whatever spirit had led her into this room stilled, yet she could feel something at her shoulder, and turned, reaching for the heaviest book she could find in her stack, in case a wand wasn't enough. Speaking to thin air, without the current presence of mind to feel foolish for doing so, she said, "What is the meaning of this?"

Silence persisted a moment longer. Then, with a sweeping breeze, a figure began to emerge from nothing, a shimmer in the air. Aurora jumped in fright as it moved, and swung a book through the air. It hit nothing, of course, and whatever she had thought she had seen disappeared again, melding back into the stone walls.

The house stilled again. Panting, Aurora clutched the book in her hand with the parchment crumpled on top. When she tightened her grip on her wand, red light sparked from the end, and she tried desperately to calm herself down.

There was no one here. The spirit, from what Arcturus said, ought to be benevolent. Perhaps it brought her here as a warning. When that warning would be necessary, though, she did not know. The parchment in her hand weighed heavier and heavier, and she leaned back against the table, panting.

She had to get out of here.

Gathering her books up into her arms, Aurora tried not to think of what might befall her if she left this room. Surely it was best to run, but if she did, would she not be forever haunted, fearful of returning? If she left and someone else was here — whether Balletrix or not — then what might she be condemning her family home to?

She fixed her gaze on the space where she had sworn she could have seen a spirit. In her pocket, the scroll with Hydrus' blessing fluttered in a gentle reminder.

She whispered to the still quiet, "Hello?"

There came no reply. Not even the sound of hushed breathing. It was only her and somehow that rattled her even more than anything else. She should have felt safe in solitude here, but she couldn't bring herself to relax.

Arcturus had said the spirit would want to see her. Perhaps they were trying to help her. And if someone was going to attack her they would already have seen her and heard her and if they would at least reveal themselves then she could fight.

And the voice from before — a man's voice, she could recognise, deep yet soft — said, "Help."

She didn't know who was meant to be helping who at this stage, but the sound of that voice made her want to cry.

"Who are—"

"She is coming. Not now, but sooner than you think. I cannot save you twice."

Her heart thudded in her chest. Somehow she knew already, somehow she was beginning to understand. Or perhaps, she was merely staring at nothing and hoping.

"Did you put this note here?"

A beat of silence. Then, the dreaded reply, "No. But I thought you ought to see it sooner rather than later."

Ah, of course. He thought that she should have the shit scared out of her now, while alone, instead of in the summer when she might have someone else with her. His voice too, spoke to something buried deep within her; yet, it was distorted, some sounds lost like she was hearing him speak from under deep water.

"You're Regulus, aren't you?" she asked, and swore she could feel a breeze pick up inside.

A faint laugh. "You're brighter than I thought a child of my brother's would be."

"Well, it is rather obvious, but why—"

She was cut off by a sharp, shrill whistling sound, like a cold and wintry wind slicing through still air. Frozen, she could hear nothing, feel nothing in the air before her. The vague, shimmering spirit was gone, and with it the faint breeze and warm touch that it brought.

Through the window, she saw Death's shadow staring back at her. His eyes glinted golden, and then he disappeared in a spring haze.

The message remained, more insidious than she would have expected of him.

No more questions.

Yet her mind burned with them over and over again.

She was unsure of how she got back through the Floo, clutching the parchment tightly in her fist with her wand, her books stacked in the crook of her arm. When she did, she locked down the Floo immediately, terrified of anything or anyone slipping through, reaching out and snatching her back. Then, into an aching silence, she called out, "Dad?"

It scared her how fragile her voice came out, trembling over such a small word. She set her books down, hearing him and Potter thud through the corridors towards the living room. Only a second she had to compose herself, folding her arms, tucking the parchment away from sight. Yet she didn't want to hide it. Her whole soul was insisting that she say something, and when her father stepped through the doorway, grinning, and then faltered at the sight of her face, she knew she could not get away with silence anyway.

"Aurora? What's wrong?" She shivered against the cooling fireplace, even though it should have warmed her. "Did something happen. You didn't talk to the portraits, did—"

"There was a piece of parchment," she blurted out, trying not to look at Potter, trying to ignore his existence. Her world narrowed down as she hastened towards her father, hands shaking. "It — I — just look."

She thrust the piece into her father's hands as soon as they got close enough. He regarded her with wide, silvery eyes, quite bemused. There was a wary sort of anticipation there, a slight edge of fear of what he might see, what had shaken her so. Potter stood nonchalantly off to the side, pretending not to listen, but his curious eyes always wandered.

Her father went as pale as she imagined she was, and whispered, "What is this?"

"I don't know. It was on the table in the dining room and this spirit led me, because Arcturus' portrait told me to go downstairs…" At the look on her father's face, twisted into fear and confusion, she trailed off, stomach lurching.

"Harry," he said, voice deadly calm. His gaze did not deviate from the parchment in his hands. "Would you go back to Andromeda for me? Tell them there's… That Aurora needs to come through, alright? Tell Andy something's happened at the manor."

Despite his wide-eyed, bewildered look, Potter scuttled off obligingly, but then stopped short at the fireplace. "Um, I can't—"

"Unlock it with the right hand slab," Aurora said, voice breaking over the words. "I… We'll have to fix it quickly."

Potter hurried through and Aurora moved, instinctively, to lock the fireplace again behind her. Her father was still only staring at the parchment and she recognised the look in his eye, of thoughts spiralling, dizzying, out of his control. "Dad," she said softly, moving back to him, "Dad, I don't know what it means but it can't be good and he said that he was warning me but Death wouldn't — I think he sent him away and, and I remember you said that—"

"Who?" His gaze caught hers. "Who said what?"

Her mind took a moment, but she said, as softly and as carefully as she could manage in her frazzled state, "Regulus."

The effect was instantaneous; his grabbed her hands quickly, gasping, and led her to the couch. His own hands were like ice, holding her in a tight grip, knuckles white and shivering. "What do you mean?" She stared blankly, not knowing how to form the words. "Aurora, sit… Sit down."

She daren't make him ask twice. They both slouched onto the couch, her father still holding her tightly, a rather maddened look in his eye. For that moment he looked like he had many months ago, stumbling in a snow-covered clearing outside Hogsmeade, haunted.

"What… I don't understand."

"Arcturus — his portrait — told me to go downstairs to the old rooms—"

"You should never have—"

"—and so I did and he said there might be a spirit happy to see me—"

"A what?"

"—and then… Someone kept saying help but I couldn't recognise who and then I took a few books and things and went upstairs and I could, you know, I could just feel this spirit—"

"What do you mean feel it, how can you feel—"

"—and this breeze was like it led me to the dining room and I saw the note and it had that on it—"

"She can't — are you hurt—"

"No and then I saw, well, didn't see but sort of could imagine, the outline, and then I spoke to him, Dad, I did—"

"Who?"

"—and then he stopped and he was stopped, it was Death and he stopped him and I don't know why—"

"Reggie?"

"—but I — it means something, he was trying to warn me, but… I don't know when for. I don't understand."

Her father had gone white as a sheet; as white as that snow on that fateful day. It seemed he didn't understand either, because who could understand? Everything was muddle and confused and the one thing she could discern from the chaos, was just one overarching issue yet to be resolved…

"He's really dead."

She blinked, slowly, raising her gaze again to stare her father in the eye. "What?"

"Reggie. He's really… If he's a ghost…"

"Not a ghost. It… This was different. It's more like I could see his spirit or soul or… I don't know. It wasn't a corporeal form. And I don't think he could control it, either."

"He — even so, it…" It seemed to take a moment to register. Aurora supposed, recalling words from her childhood, that her uncle's body had never actually been found. They had never known for certain that he was dead. But she watched the knowledge sink in with her father and wondered if he had clung to hope for his little brother more than he would ever have dared to admit.

He stood up quite suddenly, dropping her hands, and went to the window to, seemingly, stare at nothing. Heart pounding, Aurora clutched her wand. "I don't know what any of this—"

"He shouldn't have spoken to you. None of them fucking—"

"Dad—"

"This has Bellatrix on it!" He whirled around, waving the parchment. "This is some… Sick… Why would he show you that?"

"He was trying to warn me!"

"That house is playing tricks again. That bloody…" He gave a shudder and turned around again, pacing towards the bookshelves. Aurora watched him go with a bewildered look and a bitter feeling in her chest.

All she wanted was for him to explain whatever she didn't understand, for him to hold her and assure her she would be okay. Instead she could practically see him unraveling before her, as he clutched at his hair and wrung his hands.

"Dad…"

"I mean, she — she isn't out! I'd know, I'd know if she was—"

"Uncle Regulus said—"

"He's not your uncle — she can't be, she'd — but why's that there, who put it there—"

"I don't know—"

"Unless this is a formal challenge — but she can't. You — you're — you're only a kid!"

"I'm not a kid!"

"You…" His voice cracked. He was turned away from her, staring blankly at a wall, shoulders up. Terrified. Her own anxiety ate at her again, whatever calm she'd managed to collect since talking to Regulus's spirit dissipating in the face of her father's riotous fear and anger. She curled in on herself, wringing her hands together as she watched him. There was little else to do or to say. "We need to tell Tonks. Find out if…

"Merlin, Andromeda."

He seemed to be talking to himself rather than to Aurora. His words were slow, falling softly from him and snatched away into the air. "Reggie — he was never supposed to die. He never thought he would. He — we both did — thought we were invincible. And he's — why would he do this? He bloody… She's the reason he joined in the first place, both of them as poisoned as each other. That fucking…" His hand curled into fists, shaking. "And he's dead and she's alive and doing this and yet he still…"

"They both—"

He turned around sharply and the look in his eyes cut her off. Aurora's breath caught and she swallowed nervously, shivering.

"You're scared," she said plainly. He did not deny it, merely blinked, frowning, as thought he had to try very hard to see her right then. Some part of her had hoped that he wouldn't be, or at least, that he would hide it better. Set his fear aside for her. But neither of them could do that.

"You're sure no one was there with you?" he asked. "It was only… This spirit."

"If anyone had been going to attack me," she said slowly, "they would have. But that doesn't mean I was alone." Heart hammering, she pressed on, "Dad, I don't know what to—"

"We need to get through to Andromeda. She needs — and Harry—"

"Dad—"

"Blimey, we should've said more when we sent him through—"

"Dad—"

"—and Tonks, Christ, what'll she be thinking—"

"Father!" This time she raised her voice and stood, quick and sharp, unable to stop the fear and frustration that trembled through her. He stopped, staring, as she said through shaking breath, "You're panicking. And rambling. And I… I need to talk to you."

"We need to talk to Andromeda."

"Uncle Regulus said that he could not save me twice." Saying the words out loud made something pull in her heart. "He led me to that note to warn me, but he didn't put it there, which means someone else did and he may know who, but I can't know, because Death interrupted our conversation. Which means he is not a spirit on his own terms, but I have no idea how that works, that Death may control his spirit's comings and goings. And Death doesn't want me to know or to speak to him and that — I don't like that. I really, really don't like that because I don't understand what is suddenly going on around me and it doesn't make any sense, Dad, and — and you don't understand any of it either, do you?"

"No," he said simply, the word hissing between his teeth. He clutched the back of the sofa, scowling. "I don't understand, Rory. I don't know what any of this means and I don't know what my brother wants with you or what Bellatrix is planning and I wish I did, Aurora, but I… Regulus…"

He screwed his face up, and stared at the ground as though it would somehow hold answers for him. "He said he can't save you twice?"

"Hm? Yes, he — and I didn't really understand but—"

It clicked in her head. The blessing in her pocket, the fact he was trying to help her now, even though he truly should not have been on her side. He oughtn't to be warning her of Bellatrix. Even if she was family, Bellatrix was, too.

And yet…

"When he visited us," her dad said slowly, "when you — you were a baby. He made sure the family magic could recognise you. He said it was important, that he — that we needed an heir and I always thought after, maybe — maybe he knew, that he was going to die." Maybe, Aurora thought, cold lacing through her, Arcturus had known, too. "You — children of the Black family have to be recognised, have to be acknowledged by an heir or the lord himself but usually, they have to be acting through the wishes of the lord—"

"Which means Arcturus knew—"

"Which means Grandfather intended for Regulus to come and see us."

"Which means he knows."

"Which means Regulus… Regulus's death. Grandfather might know. Why he decided to leave, how he was caught. Bellatrix — even Bellatrix never said anything. Never said that she knew, never held it over me that he tried to escape. I thought — thought that meant…"

He trailed off. Silence fell between them, contemplative and cold and Aurora asked, softly, her heart twisting and shattering, "Do you think he was trying to protect me from her? From them? All this time. There's this — in the manor I was led to this blessing and I've been wondering for so long and…"

She drew the parchment from her pocket with trembling hands. Her father stepped forward, shaking as he did so, and reached for it.

"What is this?"

"It's… It's something I've been wondering about for some time. What makes me different. Why — why I'm somehow alive and how I can talk to Death and why that stupid ring gives me the feeling of utter dread when I try to wear it. I know it won't give me all the answers I want and nothing will, but… I don't know. It must mean something.

"Hydrus the First, I believe, used this to bless his sons, to prevent them from spilling one another's blood."

Blood of their blood. Family. Brothers and sisters and cousins.

Bellatrix.

She tightened her grip and looked up at her father. Understanding dawned upon him at the same moment it did her.

"I need to do some translations."

"I need to speak to Andromeda."

"You think she might know something?"

"Andromeda always knew everyone far too well for our liking. She wouldn't know what Regulus did, but she might have some insight into Bellatrix."

Her stomach twisted. She didn't want to face people, not yet, but her and her father's frenzied conversation had lit something inside her, the need to know. It was the feeling of being high in the air, waiting desperately to know the sensation of diving to the ground, the relief it would give her as she soared, clutching onto the feeling she had waited for.

"Death doesn't like Uncle Regulus," she said quietly, "he likes me because… Well, when we first met, it was at Aunt Lucretia and Uncle Ignatius's funeral." Her father reached out and clutched her hands tightly, warm and comforting. "He said our family history was… Heavy. With his blood. And that I had evaded him. He seemed curious more than anything. And I had to wonder… and have to wonder, now… Why that is?"

"You might never know. But if knowing anything more than we do now keeps you safe, we have to know everything we can."

"Starting with this?"

There was something exciting, almost thrilling, about the idea of working this out with her father, of sharing the burden of mystery and the joy of discovery. He nodded, squeezing her hands, and there was a greater fear in his eyes than she had hoped to see. "It's as good a place to start as anywhere."

He was still shaking as he walked away, back towards the fireplace. Aurora's heart still pounded and her head filled with dread as he unlocked the Floo. But nothing happened. No unwanted visitors, no curses flying from the flames. Her father went through first and she followed, stepping out the other end into Andromeda's living room, where Potter was busy telling a highly dramatic story.

As soon as Andromeda saw them, though, she seemed to forget all conversation, rushing over. She clutched Aurora's hands, brows knitted together.

"Harry told us everything he could," she whispered, "you tell me the rest — are you alright? Did anything hurt you or—"

"I'm shaken," Aurora assured her, "but safe. But we, um… We have some things to talk to you about."

It was then she noticed Remus already standing there, next to Dora, and wondered at what point he had been sent for. Andromeda wrapped her up in a hug too quickly for her to wonder for long, not when she was being held so close and so tenderly. "Is it true?" Andromeda whispered in her ear. "Harry said there was a note… With the star Bellatrix marked out."

She nodded, chin bumping Andromeda's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I — I don't know what's going on or what it means but I will—"

"It's alright, Aurora," she told her softly. Still there was that tremble of fear — but Andromeda was better at hiding it than Aurora's father was. "We'll find out what's going on. Dora's already sent an emergency notice to the office, asking if there's anything out the ordinary at Azkaban. And if — if there is — well, I suppose we're all in it together now, aren't we?"

It was a rather awful attempt at optimism and it didn't work. She could feel the tension in Andromeda's shoulders, feel the way her fingers tightened and dig into her back as she held her close, not just in a comforting hug but a protective embrace, a shield. She was only trying to hold in panic for Aurora's sake. She supposed it had been much the same last year, but she hadn't noticed so much.

"We need to talk to you," Aurora told her softly. "I — I need your help."

Andromeda pulled back, confusion written in the frown on her face. Whether because she didn't understand what she was supposed to do help, or because she knew just how averse Aurora usually was to asking for help in the first place. "You're shaking, darling," Andromeda told her, in a low and gentle whisper. Her own voice held a tremor too but one which, Aurora could tell, she had learned to manage. And she saw then, for just a moment, the glint in her eyes, shadowed by the darkness behind them, the fear.

She thought to all that Harry had said this year, his worry and suspicion over Karkaroff and Snape and Crouch, and she felt her stomach twist in fear. A sense of dread kept in, the knowing, the feeling that something was creeping up on her, a wave set to crash upon once peaceful shores. Whether now or a year from now. There could be no more running, no more hiding, no more denying.

She looked to Harry Potter, the way his gaze darted around the room, worried for each of them even if he didn't know what he could do to help. His eyes met hers, and the genuine concern he held took her aback.

Somehow, it also gave her the strength to look beyond Andromeda at the rest of the room — Ted and Dora and Remus and her father — and force a tight smile, to tighten her grip, and to toss her hair and say, "I've work to do."

-*

They all wound up sat around the dining table on the patio, put out only for hot days like this. All seven of them — Aurora at the top of the table with Remus, Harry on her left with Sirius, Ted and Dora across from them and then Andromeda, right across from Aurora, next to her father.

As it turned out, Remus was quite adept with languages. He and Sirius and Andromeda, between them, all knew some degree of Latin and, apparently due to an excess of "boredom" in the last thirteen years, Remus had once taken it upon himself to learn Old English. Not very well, it became clear, but still more than Aurora or anyone else at the table happened to know. After arguing for a considerable amount of time over the translation of fascino as either envy or bewitch, and the corruption of consanguina, they slowly worked through the original text, before the glosses and addendums that had been added later.

Until they had a full text of that original blessing used by Hydrus Black.

The ability to read it, to slot the puzzle pieces together, started a fire up in Aurora's heart.

By the blessing of Almighty God and mother magic, I command upon you, my sons, blood of my blood, this blessing of life, limb, and loyalty. By the magic of the yew, the holly, and the oak, I declare that for as long as you all shall live and ties of blood endure, not one of you shall spill the blood of the other. The blood of the family binds all in eternal love.

To Cyphus, my eldest, the strength of my wisdom endowed upon you.

To Claudius, my second, the strength of courage in the slaughter of enemies and defence of the beloved.

To Julius, my youngest of my kin, strength of mind and wit shall remain with you always.

For all three of you are bound, and not one may be separated unless by death. Forever you shall serve. If brother should turn upon brother and spill thy sacred blood, such crime shall be punished by the heavens. All must consent, by spilling of blood on sacred land. Bound by branch of yew, all must consent and bind together.

Do you solemnly swear that you may not spill a brother's blood? Do you solemnly swear that in return, you never shall turn to hatred or to envy, nor allow one's blood to be spilled by other means, that one never shall cover that which his brother does possess? Do you solemnly swear to remain true and faithful to family, kin, and to our nobility, as long as you shall live?

I bless you now never to harm one another, nor to be harmed by one of your own blood, lest fury of fate rain on us all. Say; Bind us forever, kin together.

And the very end, were written the words, outlined in swirls of violet ink: Notum usque ad mortem.

Known even to death.

She ran the words over and over in her mind, trying to make them fit, trying to feel the ancient magic that surely had given them their power so many years ago. Known even to death.

"Notum usque ad mortem," she read aloud, voice hushed. Across the table, Potter shuddered, like something cold had just touched upon him.

She stared around. "I still don't know what it means. But, he… He was protecting his sons from each other. Made sure that they couldn't hurt each other, and if they did — if they really tried, if they forced the blessing to break — then they would be punished. By death, or, by magic or the universe."

"They all agreed to it," Andromeda said, as though reading her mind, "it's not something Bellatrix would have…"

"There's more. More writing, annotations. It's something. It's a clue, and—"

An owl soared down towards them, cutting her off. Everyone turned to stare at it, the Ministry seal on the letter which it bore.

Dora reached up and grabbed it, reading quickly, and then slumped back into her chair. Stomach churning, Aurora leaned forward. Her father had gone very white, and held the edge of the table like he was waiting for the right moment to push away from it.

"All is as it should be at Azkaban," Dora said, and Aurora didn't know how to be relieved. It seemed none of them did. "They're going to keep an eye on her, but Kingsley says there's been nothing to give them any concerns."

"So she didn't put that note there." It should have been reassuring, to know that Bellatrix Lestrange was still safely behind bars, but she was still able to reach Aurora. Which meant someone was helping her, or at least someone else wanted to frighten Aurora and her family. All this knowledge did was to heighten her sense that something was closing in on her, something dark and deadly.

"Are you sure that you—"

Her father cut Ted off by scraping back his chair, face pale and eyes wide. He said nothing, just stood there for a moment, lips pursed and gaze furious, and then turning sharply, storming inside. The door rattled when he slammed it behind him and Potter jumped, clamping his hands down on the arms of his chair, a stricken look in his eye. Nausea swam up Aurora's throat and she stared after her father's figure as he retreated inside the house.

There was a moment of silence, and then Remus and Andromeda got up at the same time, with weary sighs. Each looked at one another, in a silent stand off; Remus's eyes pleading, Andromeda's gaze stony.

Remus won, and with a mutter of, "Back in a minute," hurried into the house after Aurora's father.

Aurora couldn't stand the silence. She didn't want to hear it broken by her father's raised voice as she knew it would, for she knew that look. That quiet fury, that struggle to keep in all the fear and terror and anxiety, of every tension of the last few months building and creating and about to burst forth.

"She's not alone," Aurora managed to say quietly, forcing herself to look only at Andromeda. "I — I don't like that."

Andromeda shook her head. "She… My sisters… Who knows? This may not mean anything and I certainly — certainly would not want to seek out any fight with her."

"But I don't get it," Potter said, "what does she want?"

"How are we supposed to know?" Aurora snapped, then winced at the look on his face. "I'm not going to march to Azkaban and ask her, am I, Potter?"

"Well, I don't know—"

There was a loud crash from inside the house and everyone jumped. Dora swore under her breath, but the three adults exchanged a significant look. Like they were used to it, like they knew what it meant. The look left Aurora feeling somewhat wrong-footed, frowning, trying to make sense of their silent exchange.

Aurora stared back at the parchment, re-reading the blessing, fixated on the cramped scribblings in the margin, hoping — though she felt more likely imagining — that her uncle Regulus might once have added, might once have read this same parchment. Perhaps she was just trying to cling to the idea that he might have been a good person, perhaps that she needed to separate him from the likes of Bellatrix and Lucius in her mind. But she also knew, deep down in her soul, that he had tried to help her. To save her.

She just did not know how, yet. Nor did she know if he had truly been successful in the way he wished.

But at least, she knew, there was her family behind her. And if Bellatrix Lestrange did come for her, whenever that may be, she might be able to find a way to protect herself.

And her family around her, too.