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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April 22nd, 1981
Two months.
Sixty-one days since Barty Crouch Jr. last had Evan Rosier in his arms. And Avery had counted every one.
Sleep had become a battleground she was losing. Nightmares slithered into her head every night, twisting memories into horror and replaying moments she couldn't unsee. But when she did wake, her body betrayed her by locking her in place, the worsened frequency of sleep paralysis occasions leaving her grasping for air in the dark. The evidence was carved beneath her eyes: dark crescents and bruises of sleeplessness stark against her pale skin.
She was tired; prolonged happiness felt as a luxury she couldn't afford.
With the remnants of the nightmare clinging yet again to her like cobwebs, she woke up with a gasp. The sheets were tangled around her legs, damp with cold sweat despite the cozy chill in the air. She blinked, not sure whether it was the nightmare that really woke her up or a ring of the doorbell, because muffled voices drifted up from downstairs — low murmurs she couldn't quite decipher. After giving herself a moment to freshen up, Avery wrapped a robe around herself and made her way downstairs, following the faint sound of conversation as curiosity mingled with fatigue.
But as she approached the bottom of the creaking stairwell, the voices became clear enough for her to realize who was there, encouraging her to walk two times faster and causing her to nearly slip on the marble floor in her haste.
"Regulus?" she called as she skidded to a stop in the living room, where her mother and Regulus Black sat talking on the sofa.
Both heads turned toward her—her mother's eyebrows arching in that particular way that meant she'd be answering questions later, Regulus's gaze flickering over her sleep-mussed hair and bare feet before meeting her eyes with deliberate calm.
"Darling," her mother said smoothly, "Regulus was just telling me about—"
"International Quidditch regulations," Regulus interjected smoothly, too quickly. His fingers tightened imperceptibly around his own untouched teacup. "The league's considering new broom restrictions. Thought your mother might find it interesting."
Really? He thought he could lie to her? Good try, Avery noted dryly, watching him with a look that said she wasn't buying a single syllable.
"Fascinating," she drawled, stepping fully into the room, crossing her arms as she leaned her shoulder against the doorway. "I must've missed the part where you suddenly became passionate about broom legislation, Mum."
Her mother gave her a warning look—gentle on the surface, flinty beneath it. "Avery."
Her mother inhaled slowly, the kind of inhale that meant she was deciding between scolding and surrender. After a moment, she set her teacup down with soft finality.
