false god | 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘵

.0 prologue

Rory was only a baby when her father passed away.

Alone and forgotten, somewhere in a dark, mucky cave, Regulus Black's only fleeting thought in his last moment was of the tiny infant that turned up on his doorstep one fateful night only a few months before his demise.

She had arrived to him the same way he was leaving her: alone and cold, quietly accepting whatever fate the gods threw upon them. Regulus wasn't sure where Rory's mother had gone (or, in truth, who Rory's mother was). A random fling from his time at Hogwarts, he was sure.

The evening Rory arrived was bitter; a downpouring storm mixed with the high winds made the air outside punishingly unwelcome.

He was a skinny nineteen-year-old boy, who had seen more horrors in his short time than most would see in their entire lives. He was sickly pale, resulting from his natural skin tone, the weight of his responsibilities, and his lack of self-care. His curly black hair was getting much too long and was beginning to remind him of his brother's.

The thought of him being a father, much less a single father, was downright laughable and he did laugh as he read the regretful note that had been placed in Rory's baby carrier on the front porch of his humble home. Karma had truly the best timing.

She was a carbon copy of Regulus; anyone could see it. The mess of black curls that had just barely began to form atop her little head contrasted with the pale of her skin. Her eyelashes were long and dark, and light freckles littered her face as she slept soundly in the middle of Regulus' living room.

She hadn't been named yet, so Regulus took it upon himself to do just that. As he laid in the floor next to the baby carrier, he admired the little girl, who slept so peacefully he almost couldn't believe she was real. After a few moments of deliberation, he mumbled out just above a whisper:

"Aurora Auberon."

He laid there for the rest of the night, flat on his back in the living room of his first apartment, staring up at the white ceiling as he thought.

He thought about his brother, Sirius, who he hadn't spoken to in a year and how delighted he'd be to learn of his new baby niece. He made a mental note to write to Sirius as soon as he worked up the courage.

He thought about James and Lily Potter, who were expecting their son in just a few months. He decided to reach out to them as well. Surely, they'd know more about this parenting thing than he did.

He thought about his parents and the Dark Lord and the unavoidable black ink on his arm that tarnished not only his appearance but also his reputation.

Of course, none of these things mattered. Regulus never wrote to Sirius, nor to the Potters. They didn't matter and neither did his reputation, as Regulus Black died alone just a few months later, leaving Aurora in the care of his parents, who swiftly passed her off to another relative when her blood status was unconfirmed.

Aurora was, of course, a pureblood (Regulus had never entertained a girl who wasn't), but the debilitating fear of potentially raising a child whose blood was not pure was enough reason for Walburga Black to send her granddaughter to be raised by the Malfoy family, who had recently welcomed their son, Draco.

Narcissa Malfoy was Regulus' favorite cousin. She wasn't as terrifying as her sister Bella, but also not as rebellious as her sister Andromeda, who had run off to marry a muggle a few years prior. While Regulus and Narcissa were never particularly close, they had a mutual understanding of one another.

Narcissa and her husband, Lucius, were a beautiful couple, both equally respected and feared among their peers. Their son, Draco, was a quiet baby and not one to fuss much, which made the decision to take Rory in much easier than it typically would have been. Narcissa didn't mind. She'd always wanted a daughter anyway, and Lucius was happy if Narcissa was happy.

So, they took her in, raising her to be a delightful and respectable young witch. She was raised with poise and dignity. She was raised to know how to use her charm to her advantage, to ballroom dance, and to know which spoon one uses with each meal. Her father was a touchy subject and one to avoid at all costs in the Malfoy manor.

Rory was never one to dwell on the past, anyways.