Forevermore | H. Potter

•Chapter Sixty-Five•

The dim light of the setting sun barely penetrated the darkened windows of Malfoy Manor. Aurora Black stood alone in her temporary room, its cold stone walls casting long shadows around her. It had been days since she'd arrived, and the weight of her mission bore down on her with suffocating pressure. Every step she took felt heavier, every interaction with the Death Eaters a reminder of the growing distance between herself and the life she once knew—between herself and Harry.

Her heart ached with the memory of their parting, the way his hand had trembled when she pressed the Black family ring into his palm, her whispered words echoing in her mind. "You'll give this back when it's all over... when you survive." But now, as the chill of the Manor wrapped around her, she wondered if she'd ever see that day.

Her gaze drifted to the mirror. She hardly recognized herself anymore. Sirius' piercing grey eyes stared back at her, but the delicate features of her face were hardened by sorrow and the ever-present weight of what she had to do. Her long platinum blonde hair—a Narcissa's daughter signature—cascaded down her back, beautiful and pure, a relic of a time she was no longer a part of. A time of innocence. Of Harry.

She took a deep breath and looked at the small dagger on the table in front of her. It glimmered faintly in the low light, the silver blade cool and sharp. She had found it in one of the Manor's dark corners—an ornate weapon, probably a family heirloom. Now, it served a new purpose.

Her fingers trembled as she picked it up, the cold metal unfamiliar in her grip. For a long moment, she simply stood there, staring at the dagger and her reflection. Cutting her hair wasn't just a physical act; it was symbolic. She was no longer the girl who fought beside Harry, who dreamed of a future with him. She was Aurora Black, a spy entrenched in the Dark Lord's camp, living among those who would kill her if they knew the truth.

With a sharp intake of breath, she lifted the dagger to her hair. The first lock of platinum blonde fell away in an uneven chop, landing softly on the stone floor. Aria stifled a sob, her chest tightening. Each slice through her hair felt like cutting away a piece of herself—her memories, her hopes, her love for Harry.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she pressed on. More strands fell, her once long, flowing hair now jagged and uneven, as though the pain inside her had been laid bare. The dagger trembled in her hand, and when the final lock of her hair hit the ground, she couldn't hold back anymore.

She dropped the blade and collapsed to her knees, sobs wracking her body. The sound echoed in the quiet room, swallowed by the thick, oppressive walls. Her hands gripped the hair scattered on the floor as though trying to reclaim what she had lost—what had been ripped away from her when she chose this path.

Her shoulders shook as the tears came harder, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She thought of Harry's face, the way he looked at her with both love and despair the night they said goodbye. The touch of his lips against hers, the way he whispered promises they both knew might be broken by war. She longed to be back in his arms, but here, in this dark place, that dream felt like a distant fantasy.

Aurora leaned her forehead against the cold floor, her tears pooling on the stone. Her heart pounded in her chest, the weight of her dual life crashing over her. She had to remember why she was here—to protect Harry, to protect everyone she cared about. But in this moment, all she felt was the pain of losing herself.

The door creaked open behind her, and Aurora hastily wiped at her tear-streaked face, pulling herself back up. Her breath was shaky, but she forced herself to stand. The new, short strands of her hair barely brushed her shoulders now, a stark contrast to the long, regal waves she had before.

In the doorway stood Draco, his expression unreadable as his cold grey eyes scanned the room and then landed on her. He didn't speak for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the hair scattered around her feet. Finally, his voice, detached but not without a trace of understanding, broke the silence.

"You're cutting ties."

It wasn't a question. Aurora nodded, unable to trust her voice in that moment.

Draco stepped into the room, his presence imposing, yet oddly familiar. "It gets easier," he said, almost a whisper. His tone was devoid of warmth, but she recognized the faint trace of empathy buried beneath his usual mask. He had been forced into roles he never wanted, just like her.

"Does it?" Aurora croaked, her voice hoarse from crying. Her hand reflexively reached for the spot where her family ring used to be, but it wasn't there. Harry had it now. The only connection she had left to him.

Draco hesitated, his expression darkening as if he was weighing whether to say more. But in the end, he turned to leave, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Aurora stood alone once again, her reflection in the mirror now different. Short hair framed her face, sharp and determined, but her eyes... her eyes betrayed her sorrow. She had cut away part of herself, but the pain, the love she held for Harry—it was still there, deeper than ever.

She took a deep breath and wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks. She couldn't afford to be weak. Not here. Not now.

As the room darkened with the setting sun, Aurora pulled herself together, gathering her emotions like shattered glass and hiding them deep within. Tomorrow, she would continue the act, pretending to be one of them, a loyal Death Eater. But tonight, in the solitude of Malfoy Manor, she allowed herself this one moment of grief.

Her hair was gone, her innocence lost, but she was still fighting. Even in the darkest places, she would fight. For Harry. For herself. For the hope of a better tomorrow.