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 11th, 1979
The Room of Requirement greeted them with oppressive silence as the door slid shut behind them. The usual comfortable chairs and dusty bookshelves had transformed into a cavernous stone chamber, wide enough to contain disaster and cold enough to remind them of consequence. The walls were blackened—charred impressions of past magical exercises—and above, the ceiling vanished into darkness.
Regulus paced the perimeter, wand gripped tightly, jaw tense. The air crackled faintly around him. He had always possessed a certain elegance in his magic, but with the monstrosity and unforgiving nature of Fiendfyre, it was impossible to maintain that standard.
Avery stood at the far end of the chamber, dark hair tied back, face pale but determined. The weeks of preparation had changed them both. Tomes in Latin, curses scribbled in margins, repeated whisperings of the counter-curse until their voices gave out. They had watched old accounts, read warnings, and scoured the Restricted Section. Neither had slept well since the decision. The strain had finally caught up with them a few days earlier, when a simple disagreement spiraled into a heated argument neither had intended to start. In retrospect, it had done them some good. Beneath the frustration and raised voices, they discovered an unexpected talent for reconciliation, finding that compromise came easier when neither was interested in winning as much as they were in understanding the other.
Regulus completed his circuit and stopped across from her. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"It's been a hundred times we've stood in this room with the same intention, Reg," Avery said at last, the edge of exhaustion tucked just beneath the surface. "If we wait much longer... we'll never do it."
She didn't say we'll lose our nerve, but it hung between them anyway. Regulus looked at her—the firelight from a conjured torch dancing across her cheekbones, casting her in flickering gold and shadow. She looked like someone sculpted from steel and will. But he knew better. They'd studied together every night, memorized the incantations, poured over every account of what went wrong when others tried this spell.
"We have to be faster this time," he murmured. "If it resists again—"
"I know."
Avery stepped toward the center of the chamber, where their chalk runes glowed faintly against the cold stone. She exhaled, centering herself. The spell wasn't the problem—it was her. The spell would obey if she had control. And if she didn't...The thought refused to finish itself.
"Three seconds, then you end it," she called out, not looking at him.
Regulus raised his wand in response. "And if it turns on you?"
"It won't," she convinced herself.
He didn't believe her, but he didn't argue. There was no room left for that.
Avery took a slow breath and raised her wand.
"Pestis Incendium."
The effect was instantaneous. The fire burst into existence with terrifying hunger, twisting upward in great coils that seemed almost eager to take shape. Avery felt the heat before she fully saw it. It struck her like a physical force, forcing the breath from her lungs. The beast of fire reared up and screamed, and her knees nearly buckled. She tried to hold it — keep it tethered — but it turned on her too fast.
