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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June 1st, 1981
The Ministry of Magic smelled like polish, parchment, and old power.
Avery stepped out of the lift on Level Two and felt it immediately—that familiar shift in the air when a room noticed you; conversations thinned, shoes slowed, and someone's quill paused mid-scratch.
Whispers followed.
"That's her, her father—"
"—Greengrass girl—"
"—The Dark Lord himself—"
Five days ago, the weight of it would've settled between her shoulders like a physical thing. Now it slid past her, familiar as rain. You adapted quickly to being looked at like a headline. She still didn't know how the news had spread so fast, but then again, every Death Eater attack made the papers within hours. An encounter with Voldemort himself had never stood a chance of staying quiet.
Avery adjusted the strap of her bag and walked on. The Auror training hall buzzed with low voices and the sharp crack of spellwork echoing from the far end. Trainees clustered in loose groups, some mid-argument, others laughing too loudly. A few stopped entirely when they saw her.
She took her place along the wall, posture easy, expression neutral. The trick, she'd learned, was not to perform. Let them fill in the blanks with whatever story entertained them least.
"You'd think she'd look... more dramatic."
Avery didn't turn. The voice came from behind her left shoulder, whispered but careless.
"She looks normal."
"That's worse."
She almost smiled.
The doors at the front of the hall swung open with a sharp bang, cutting the murmurs cleanly in half. Callum Rowle strode in. The last scraps of conversation died instantly.
"Right," he growled. "If you're here to gawk, leave. If you're here to train, pay attention."
His gaze swept the room—paused, just briefly, on Avery. He gave a short nod, more acknowledgment than comfort. She returned it, being grateful that he was early today.
"Pairs. Now."
They ran drills until sweat dampened robes and muscles screamed protest. Shield work first, then counter-curses, then scenarios designed to overwhelm rather than impress. Rowle didn't coddle anyone, least of all her. If anything, he pushed Avery harder, watching for the split-second decisions that kept people alive.
Lunch passed in fragments with eyes lingering and conversations breaking off when she sat too close. Dorcas, on her own break, had to glare and snap people away from the table more than once. Avery wasn't sure how she would've survived the hour without her. By the time the final dismissal came, the hall was quieter than it had been that morning. She gathered her things and left without ceremony.
