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 16th, 1981
The carriage wheels crunched over the thin frost blanketing the path. Avery leaned against the window, her breath fogging the glass as she watched the faint outline of Hogwarts finally appear in the distance.
The castle rose from mist like something half-remembered from a dream, and she hadn't realized how much she'd missed her home until that moment. The last time she's seen it was on graduation day and the sight of it hit her somewhere deep, in a place she'd kept locked since traces of the war began.
For a few seconds, she let herself feel the ache of familiarity and nostalgia before forcing her thoughts back into order as the carriage came to a stop near the courtyard steps: she wasn't here to reminisce about the past in spite of how beautiful it was. She gathered her cloak and stepped down, the cold air biting at her cheeks once so.
Inside, the halls smelled just as she remembered—of old parchment, worn robes, and the faint sweetness of candle smoke. The portraits along the walls murmured to one another as she passed, their painted eyes tracking her with a mix of curiosity and recognition. Avery kept her pace brisk, pretending not to notice, though a small part of her took their whispers as a quiet welcome back. Ahead, the familiar oak doors of the library greeted her. She stepped inside, keeping in her mind Dumbledore's order to notify Madam Pince of her research focuses upon arrival.
And there she was at her desk, hunched over a ledger, quill poised like a weapon. Avery approached quietly.
"Madam Pince?" she said softly.
Madam Pince looked up sharply, quill freezing mid-stroke. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, then widened as recognition flickered across her face.
"Well," she said at last, her tone clipped but not unkind. "If it isn't Miss Greengrass. I half-expected a notice from the Ministry before I ever saw you darken my door again."
Avery blinked, then smiled cheekily. "That bad, was I?"
The librarian sniffed, though the corners of her mouth twitched. "You were a menace to my catalogues. Half your essays were written on books that never found their way back to the shelves."
"I always meant to return them," Avery said lightly, slipping her hands into her cloak pockets. "Eventually."
"Eventually," Madam Pince repeated, adjusting her spectacles. "I still have your name written on a list of missing copies. A History of Dark Charms, since your sixth year. Ring any bells?"
Avery tilted her head, pretending to think. "Hmm. I recall something about an unfortunate tea spill. Or possibly fire."
The older witch gave a long, theatrical sigh before standing, smoothing the front of her robes. "The Headmaster mentioned you'd be here. Said you were to have access to the restricted section again. I can't imagine why he'd trust you of all people with that responsibility, but—" she paused, eyeing Avery— "Dumbledore does have strange tastes in protégés."
