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 28th, 1979
Hogwarts in January was always a peculiar kind of quiet. The snow pressed down on the castle like a thick woolen blanket, muffling every echo, every footstep. The ghosts seemed subdued, drifting solemnly through the frosted corridors. Inside the Great Hall, students were hunched over parchment and textbooks, scribbling furiously as if it would help them get outstanding grades on the upcoming quarter exams.
Even the portraits looked stressed for all the seventh years.
Avery Greengrass hadn't slept more than four hours a night since the term started again after the Christmas holidays. One thing she realized was that being Head Girl during exam season was a curse. Her calendar was a battlefield of color-coded ink: Transfiguration revision, Ravenclaw tower patrol, prefects meeting, Hogsmeade with my girls (cancelled).
And on a random Thursday, the Room of Requirement buzzed with anxious energy. Books were stacked precariously high. Quills scratched across parchment like frantic insects. Avery sat at the far end of a table, head bent over her Advanced Arithmancy notes, though none of it was sinking in. The letters blurred, twisted, shifted into something unreadable.
Across from her, Regulus Black sat equally still, his fingers locked together beneath his chin. His eyes stared blankly at a Charms textbook, but Avery could tell — he hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes. They hadn't spoken about the horcruxes in over a week. No whisper of the locket or the cup. No research. No theories. No stolen moments in the Room of Requirement.
It wasn't avoidance. It was exhaustion.
Earlier that week, in the middle of a DADA lecture, Professor Morwenna had passed behind her, voice steady and dry as always. But when she paused near Avery's chair, she said, almost absently:
"Tell me if the locket speaks again."
Avery hadn't asked how she knew. She didn't dare. But the words had repeated in her head every hour since, louder than any textbook, more urgent than any exam.
✧˖°.☾
That Friday, after her final Transfiguration practical, Avery stood outside Professor Morwenna's office. The halls were nearly empty — students either asleep or buried in last-minute revisions. The candle outside the door flickered, the flame dancing like it was whispering something too.
She knocked.
Morwenna's voice came from within, cool and measured. "Enter."
Avery stepped inside.
The office was as peculiar and alive as its owner — shelves crammed with books and items of every size and age, enchanted maps curling at the edges, a wall of framed moving photographs that rearranged themselves every few minutes. A set of dark, enchanted daggers hovered on the far side of the room, slowly rotating in place. The scent of tea and something flowery hung in the air.
