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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November 1st, 1979
Avery stood in the chill dawn air, wand at her side, boots planted on frost-laced stone. It was just past six a.m., but already the enchanted sky above the open-air training grounds glowed with an eerie pre-dawn violet, like the calm before a storm that knows it's coming.
The Ministry didn't do warm welcomes. No banners. No congratulatory handshakes. Just a list, posted the night before outside the Auror Office: Candidate Assignments. Avery's name had been printed in tight black lettering, and beside it, in unmistakable script:
Instructor: Callum Rowle
Of course, it wasn't surprising at all considering the fact that he was a senior Auror and a recruitment lead.
The other trainees arrived in small, scattered pairs—some wide-eyed, some still yawning, a few trying very hard to look unbothered. Eleven in total, including her. All of them passed the same grueling assessments. All of them stood now in a silent half-circle on the frostbitten stone floor, facing the empty end of the grounds where the morning fog had yet to clear.
And then Rowle stepped through it.
His coat today was dark forest green, worn over dragonhide, and his wand was already in his hand. The scar by his lip caught the morning light as he scanned them all, and no one dared speak. Not even the cocky-looking boy from Bulgaria who had been bragging about his dueling titles just ten minutes ago.
"Welcome," Rowle says, voice cutting through the cold like iron. "You're not Aurors."
Silence. Yeah no shit.
"You're candidates. That means you're liabilities. Some of you won't make it to spring. Some of you will. Who stays or who goes doesn't depend on how clever you are, or how shiny your grades were. It depends on how fast you learn, how well you adapt, and how little you lie to yourselves."
He paced in front of them, boots making no sound on the stone.
"You'll be assigned weekly missions, physical drills, spellcasting scenarios, ethics simulations, and field theory. You'll also be paired with a mentor for evaluations. You break rules, you're out. You show up late, you're out. You hesitate with your wand—someone dies. Then you're out, or worse."
Then he turned and pointed at the center of the stone ring.
"First exercise. Partner up. Disarm, shield, and immobilize—nonverbal only. Three rounds. Go."
They scattered. Avery moved before the others could react, wand already raised. She wasn't here to waste time. The first to meet her eyes was a tall, quiet girl with thick braids and a calculating stare—Imani Shafiq, she remembered from the briefing folder. Top of her class in Healing but had taken a turn toward combat after the Carrow incident with her cousin. Good instincts, she'd bet.
