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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January 11th, 1978
Though the Christmas holidays are over and Avery is back at Hogwarts, her thoughts remain with her mother. The last time she saw Melissa, she was conscious — but only just — and the image hasn't left her mind since. She catches herself zoning out in classes, fingers clenched around her quill as if bracing for news that never comes. Letters from Violet arrive, but they're short and vague. Hopeful in the way people are when they don't know what else to be.
And then there's Regulus. Too observant for his own good. He doesn't ask, not directly, but she sees the way his eyes linger on her a second longer, the way his shoulder brushes hers in the corridor like he's trying to ground her. Like he knows she might float away otherwise.
Now, the dungeon is warm with the heat of simmering cauldrons, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows against stone walls. Avery takes her usual seat beside Dorcas at the Emeralds' table, trying to focus as Slughorn's booming voice cuts through the air.
"Today we'll be covering a rather... infamous potion. Can anyone tell me what this potion is?"
He gestures to the cauldron at the center of the room, where a silvery vapor coils upward in spirals, thick and slow like enchanted smoke. Normally, Avery's hand would be the first in the air. But today, her quill just lies in her fingers, unmoving. She watches the steam drift.
"Amortentia," Pandora pipes up cheerfully from the middle row, her voice clear. "The most powerful love potion in the world."
"Very good, Miss Lestrange," Slughorn replies with a pleased nod. "Yes, indeed. You'll know it not only by the steam but by the scent—it smells different to each of us, depending on what we find most... alluring."
A few students giggle. A couple of boys in the back elbow each other. Avery blinks, as if surfacing from underwater. She hadn't even realized the question had been asked. A split second of irritation flickers in her gut, at herself. She looks toward the cauldron and—
The scent hits her. Warm coffee. The crispness of parchment. The clean sharpness of ink on skin. And something else.
Cologne. Familiar, expensive, clean with an undercurrent of cold. Like snow melted on silk sheets. It's so achingly recognizable it scrapes at her nerves, threading tension beneath her skin before she can stop it.
Dorcas nudges her. "You okay?" she whispers. "You always beat others to it."
Avery swallows. "Didn't sleep much," she murmurs, eyes still fixed on the cauldron. Or maybe on something far beyond it.
Across the dungeon, Regulus is leaned back slightly in his seat beside Evan, fingers drumming lightly against the table, eyes calm. But when Avery risks a glance, she finds his eyes already on her. Not a passing look. He's watching her like he had been waiting for her to notice.
She shifts her gaze away too quickly, heart unsteady in her chest. Her stomach feels off-balance. Not in the swooning, teenage sort of way. Something quieter and deeper. Like a thread pulled tight without her realizing.
