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, steady this time.
"You're up late," he says, 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. The tie was new. His collar too crisp for a regular morning. Even his shoes looked polished.
"Regulus," she says, drawing his name out like a warning and a question.
He exhaled. "Don't go to breakfast."
She blinked. "What?"
"I mean—don't yet." He slowed his pace and then turned to face her completely. "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 mutters, then pauses. "Just me."
He held out a hand. A little stiff, but deliberate.
She took it.
Regulus led her through quiet corridors, past moving staircases and portraits that whispered behind their frames. When they reached the empty stretch of wall on the seventh floor, he didn't hesitate. He 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.
Avery stepped through the doorway.
Warm sunlight poured in from an illusion of tall French windows, casting a soft morning glow across the room. A wrought iron balcony stretched out, just like the kind she'd described to him once—lined with tiny potted plants, overlooking a cobblestone street and rooftops bathed in golden light. 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."
