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 2nd, 1979
The brittle wind bit through their cloaks as Avery and Regulus stepped onto the cracked cobblestones near Little Hangleton village. The village was quieter than expected for an early January afternoon, the narrow streets empty except for drifting snowflakes that settled like whispers on forgotten windowsills.
It was a few seconds before their eyes discerned the building, half-hidden among the trees: the Gaunt Shack. It sat hunched and decaying like something forgotten — moss crawling up its cracked stone walls, tiles fallen from the roof, rafters exposed in places like brittle ribs. The tiny windows were clouded with grime, and nettles grew high around it, brushing the glass and curling into the broken seams of the door.
"Feels wrong being here," she whispers, voice barely more than a breath. "Like we're stepping into a tomb."
They entered carefully, stepping into the stale, dark air of the shack. The inside was dim — just one room, mostly. A stone hearth in one wall, a crooked wooden table with two collapsing chairs, and a battered cupboard with a rusted hinge. Everything was coated in grime and dust. A nest of dead leaves lay scattered by the door. The walls were lined with cracks and mildew. Water dripped somewhere in the far corner.
"Lumos." Avery's wand flicked instinctively. "There's not much here."
A soft, steady light spilled from her wand tip, revealing faded symbols etched into the stone archway—symbols she recognized, but couldn't place fully. They were faint, overlaid with another layer of magic, old and worn, but not entirely faded.
Regulus opened the cupboard, pulling out a few moldy tins and a rotted book with pages half-eaten through while Avery crouched down, tugging at a crooked drawer that refused to open all the way. Inside were fragments of letters too water-damaged to read, a moth-eaten cloth pouch, and a tangled mess of twine and buttons.
As she sifted through them, her hand brushed something cold — metallic but heavier than expected. She frowned, moving the pouch aside.
It was a ring. Unlike the other worn and rotting items around it, the ring was oddly intact. The gold band gleamed faintly even in the low light, smooth and unblemished, as though time had never touched it. Set into the centre of the band was a stone — dark maybe, or the kind of green that looked black in shadow.
She turned it in her fingers, staring at it for a few seconds longer.
"Anything?" Regulus asks from across the room.
Avery looked back. "No. Just junk."
She placed the ring back where it was, nestling it among the twine and parchment scraps, and pushed the drawer shut again until it jammed.
Regulus nods. "Let's go. Place feels like it's watching."
Avery didn't answer, but she cast one last glance over her shoulder as they stepped out of the crooked doorway. The shack groaned faintly behind them as if exhaling after holding its breath. They pushed through the nettles, brambles tugging at their clothes, and left the moss-eaten ruin behind, swallowed again by the trees.
