Being a Greengrass after all should sound pretty serene.
But being a part of "the Emeralds" should not, especially when hearts become entangled with the infamous Regulus Black.
Goodness, lawfulness, or evilness. Which path will they tread in the ti...
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December 24th, 1977
"So what happened?" Avery demands as she and Violet hurry through the bustling entrance of St Mungo's, heels clicking sharply against the marble. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, crisp and cold. All eyes seemed to drift their way, curious and lingering, drawn by the quiet elegance they carried in their Yule Ball dresses, a touch of something untouchable in the midst of polished chaos.
They reached the reception desk, but Violet didn't pause — just kept walking, dragging her sister along like the urgency alone could part the halls.
Violet swallowed, her face pale and drawn. "She was hit in the head—something heavy. Then she fell. Down the stairs. They said she might've blacked out before the fall."
Avery's breath caught in her throat and she stopped walking. "Was that him? Dad?"
Violet didn't answer. Just nodded stiffly. "She's got a cracked skull, internal bleeding. A wand injury on her ribs too. They said if the healer hadn't been nearby—"
A nurse in lime-green robes spotted them and approached. "Greengrass?" she asks gently. "You're here for—"
"Melissa Greengrass," Violet says, cutting in.
"She's stable, but still in critical care," the nurse says, "We've moved her to Spell Damage, third floor. You'll need to speak to Healer Norwood before going in. He's just finished surgery."
"Thank you," Violet murmurs, her fingers tightening slightly around Avery's wrist. Avery hadn't noticed she was still holding on.
They followed in silence through the ward, past floating clipboards and patients murmuring in half-consciousness. Every sterile hallway seemed colder than the last. Every flicker of magic buzzing from the sconces above felt too bright.
Regulus had caught up by then, quiet and steady behind them. He didn't say a word, just walked beside Avery like he was anchoring her to the ground.
She glanced over, her voice low and raw around the edges. "What are you doing here?"
Regulus didn't look at her. "You didn't tell me not to."
There was a pause, a short, breathless moment where Avery might've told him to leave. But she didn't. She said nothing. But something shifted in her posture, just slightly, as though a weight had been removed, or at least shared.
They reached the Spell Damage ward doors. Regulus slowed when she did, letting Avery and Violet move ahead without interruption, although he lingered by the doorway. The room smelled faintly of copper and potions — sharp, cold, clinical. Melissa Greengrass lay in the bed, pale against the snow-colored linens, her dark hair streaked with gray and matted slightly at the temple where blood had dried. Her wand arm was bandaged, ribs tightly wrapped beneath her hospital gown, and a thin line of magic pulsed faintly across her forehead where a spell tried to mend what the fall had broken.
