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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February 14th, 1978
By the time Avery stepped out of the common room for breakfast, Regulus was already waiting just outside, his posture sharp but restless, foot tapping an uneven rhythm against the stone floor. He straightened the moment he saw her, but not fast enough to hide the flicker of something—nerves? anticipation?—that passed across his face. It was subtle, barely there, but she caught it. The quick dart of his eyes to the side before meeting hers again.
"You're up late," he said, voice smoother than he probably felt.
Avery raised an eyebrow, falling into step beside him. "You're waiting."
"Yes."
There was a beat of quiet as they walked, his hand brushing against hers once, then again. She noticed he didn't lace their fingers together like he usually did. That was when it hit her; his tie was new and his collar too crisp for a regular morning. Even his shoes looked polished.
"Regulus," she said, drawing his name out like a warning and a question.
He stopped abruptly, turning to her. "Don't go to breakfast."
She blinked. "What?"
"I mean—don't yet. Come with me. Just for a bit. There's something I want to show you."
Avery tilted her head, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. "If this is about enchanted roses or singing cherubs, I swear—"
"No cherubs," he muttered, then paused. "Just me." He held out a hand. She took it.
Regulus led her through quiet corridors, past moving staircases and portraits that whispered behind their frames. When they reached the familiar empty stretch of wall on the seventh floor, he stopped and paced three times, eyes on the stone, murmuring something under his breath.
The door appeared. He opened it without ceremony, but he didn't walk in first. Instead, he turned to her, his eyes searching hers. Then, with a faint nod, he stepped aside, letting her go before him. "Ladies first."
Avery stepped through the doorway. Tall French windows stretched from floor to ceiling, opening onto a wrought-iron balcony overflowing with flowers and tiny potted herbs. Beyond it lay cobblestone streets and slate rooftops. Somewhere, faintly, an accordion played a lazy tune. Inside, a small round table was set by the window with flaky croissants, fruit, and two mugs of café au lait, steam curling up like a whisper.
She took a slow step forward. "Paris."
Regulus closed the door behind them and slid his hands into his pockets. "Sort of. The Room did its best."
Avery laughed softly. Months ago she'd spent nearly an hour describing Paris to him after finishing a novel set there. "Okay, what is this?"
Regulus walked toward her, a little slower now. He hesitated, then cleared his throat like he'd practiced this in front of a mirror and still hadn't nailed it. "Well. I have something for you. But it's... bureaucratic."
