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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May 10th, 1978
The Room of Requirement had responded to Avery’s thoughts tonight — clearly. The air was laced with the scent of old parchment and jasmine, and golden light filtered from floating orbs above, making everything look softer, slower, as if time had agreed to wait outside for a while.
Avery leaned back against a cushion, cross-legged and wand tapping thoughtfully against her knee. “Try it again,” she says, watching Regulus with the sort of intensity that would’ve flustered anyone less... well, Regulus Black.
He stood a few feet away, his expression calm, focused. Not frustrated — Regulus didn’t do frustration. Just thoughtful. Calculating. “Nonverbal charms are more about intent than incantation,” he murmurs, more to himself than her.
“Yes, that’s why I suggested you try the Mirrorflame Charm,” Avery says.
He flicked his wand, silent and elegant — a quiet arc of blue fire bloomed in the palm of his hand and hovered like a hummingbird, flickering with mirrored reflections. Perfect.
Avery blinked once, then let a grin slowly tug at her mouth. “Okay. Show-off.”
Regulus’s lips twitched — the tiniest curl at the corner. “Just doing what I’m told.”
She tossed a cushion at him. He caught it mid-air without even looking, then placed it beside her and lowered himself to the floor, his posture as effortlessly graceful as always. She didn’t know how he managed that, to look princely while sitting cross-legged on a rug.
“You really picked things up fast,” she says, tone casual, but her eyes were still on the flame, now dissolving into glittering threads before vanishing into the air.
Regulus glanced sideways at her. “It helped that you were watching like you’d hex me if I failed.”
Avery didn’t answer. Instead, she took his wand hand and gently adjusted his grip. “But remember, your wrist was too stiff,” she says, voice all cool professionalism—except for the way her fingers lingered.
The words hung between them, light but warm, like steam rising from a shared cup of tea.
He didn’t let go of her hand. “Okay, my turn to teach you something.”
“Oh?” she says, lifting a brow.
“Occlumency. Focus through emotion, not around it. You’re too reactionary sometimes. Especially when you’re annoyed. Like when I—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” she warns, a playful spark in her eyes.
He grinned, soft and real. “Close your eyes.”
She hesitated. “Why?”
“Trust me.”
Avery closed her eyes, breathing steady. The silence between them was electric, not awkward — like the room itself knew to hush
