Aurora liked to think of her life as one that, unlike seemingly everybody else nowadays, she did not want to re-live.
Sometimes, when she's lying awake at night, she likes to think that the fates, or God or whoever it was that planned out peoples li...
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Aurora was sat on her bed - it was dark now, and the waning moon hung low in the sky. She had been staying at the Burrow for a couple of days, and whilst it was wonderful, she found that she had too much on her mind to be able to focus on playful rounds of quidditch or painful mornings of helping Molly Weasley cook breakfast.
She was sharing a room with Ginny (Mrs Weasley wouldn't let her in the twins room, and always regarded her with a cautious eye whenever her and the twins were alone together) but the younger girl was sleeping over at Luna's for the weekend - so she was alone.
Her bag sat at the end of her bed; it wasn't much to look at, a second hand tote back with her initials sewn lopsidedly in the top corner, and an intricate ivy border running beautifully near it's rim. Aurora had sewn them on herself, and was actually quite impressed with herself and her abilities. Reaching forward, she traced the frayed edges gently, her eyes glued onto her initials - A.C.B; her fingers lingered for a moment longer of the last letter 'B', which was particularly messy from being picked at continuously.
Internally, Aurora was debating with herself - her bag held nothing of extreme importance, just a book and a packet of cheap cigarettes, but she had stuffed a crumbled piece of parchment at the bottom in an emotion filled spur of the moment situation. She hadn't opened it yet. She didn't know if she wanted too.
Shaking her head, she dropped the letter - which she had subconsciously began to unfold - and shoved it hurriedly back into where she had hidden it in an empty box of matches. It wasn't worth her time, she told herself, she didn't need to hear what he had to say, she didn't need him.
Ginny's bedroom was a lot like the twins - the walls were a warm beige and covered in various degrees of artistic vandalism. There was posters and Polaroids stuck everywhere in a sort of unorganized daze and small canvas's were lined up neatly on the mantle - Aurora assumed that Luna had painted them.
She lay staring at the ceiling for a while. The letter was bugging her, because had it been from anybody else she would have opened it without a second thought, but it was from a middle aged man whom she barely knew, and the fact that such a weak wall was standing between her and possible answers was irking her.
Perhaps he had written to apologize? Maybe to ask how she was doing - to see if she was still alive and not gotten herself warped up in gangs or laying homeless on the street. Surely Remus would of told him that she was at least alive - but then again Remus Lupin was a strange man.
On the other side of the spectrum, maybe he had written to express his obvious distaste for his daughter. Perhaps he had had enough of her envious and problematic persona - or maybe he wanted her to be nicer to Harry or stay out of his way. That was the thing, when you didn't want to know what could hurt you, you didn't know. And that left your thoughts to come up with ridiculous theories that seemed legitimate at the time, but are now just figments of an over active imagination - nothing more, and nothing less, yet still enough to send your mind into overdrive.
