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 were now over and Avery was back at Hogwarts, her thoughts lingered on her mother. The last time she saw Melissa, she was conscious — but only just — and the image hadn't left her mind ever since. She often caught herself drifting during lessons, staring blankly at parchment while professors spoke around her. Letters from Violet arrived every few days, but they were all frustatingly short and vague.
She's stable.
The Healers are optimistic.
There's been no change today.
The sort of words people cling to when they have nothing else to offer.
And then there was Regulus, too observant for his own good. He never asked how Melissa was doing. Never forced conversations Avery clearly didn't want to have. But she noticed the way his gaze lingered on her a second longer whenever he thought she wasn't looking, as though quietly checking she was still present. She noticed the almost imperceptible brush of his shoulder against hers in crowded corridors, the way he'd slow his pace just enough that she never found herself walking alone between classes.
The Potions dungeon was warm with the heat of simmering cauldrons, flickering candlelight casting soft shadows against the stone walls. Avery took her usual seat beside Dorcas at the Emeralds' table, trying to focus as Slughorn's booming voice cut through the room.
"Today we'll be covering a rather... infamous potion. Can anyone tell me what this potion is?"
He gestured toward the cauldron at the center of the room, where silvery vapor coiled upward in slow spirals, thick as enchanted smoke. Normally, Avery's hand would have been the first in the air. Tooday, her quill lay motionless between her fingers.
"Amortentia," Pandora piped up cheerfully from the middle row, her voice clear. "The most powerful love potion in the world."
"Very good, Miss Lestrange," Slughorn replied 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 giggled. A couple of boys in the back elbowed one another. Avery blinked, as though surfacing from underwater. She hadn't even realized the question had been asked. A flicker of irritation passed through her at her own distraction. She looked toward the cauldron and— the scent hit her the instant: warm coffee, the crispness of parchment, the clean sharpness of ink on skin, and something else.
Cologne. Familiar, expensive, clean with an undercurrent of mint. It was so achingly recognizable it scraped at her nerves, threading tension beneath her skin before she could stop it. The realisation came with such startling certainty that she almost stepped back from the cauldron.
Dorcas nudged her. "You okay?" she whispered. "You always beat others to it."
