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 2nd, 1981
After what could not have been more than a few minutes—though time had become strangely unreliable inside the circular office—Dumbledore finally lifted his head from the Pensieve. For a moment, he said nothing. Both hands remained braced against the stone basin, fingers curled lightly over its rim as though the cool marble offered something steady to hold onto after everything he had just seen.
Pandora lingered near the shelves lining the walls, her attention drifting absently over the strange silver instruments and sleeping portraits, arms folded quietly around herself. Dorcas occupied the chair nearest the door, one leg bouncing restlessly beneath her.
Avery sat beside Regulus on the velvet settee across the room, their hands still tightly intertwined. She had not let go of him once since arriving at Hogwarts. Some irrational part of her remained convinced that if she loosened her grip even slightly, something would take him away from her before she could stop it. Beneath the pale glow of the Pensieve, she realized for perhaps the first time that Albus Dumbledore looked old and tired in a way she had never noticed as a student sitting safely beneath the certainty of his presence at Hogwarts.
"Well," Dumble finally murmured, "that is considerably worse than I had feared."
He straightened from the Pensieve at last and began pacing the office in unhurried steps, robes whispering softly against the floorboards.
"A Horcrux..." he said, "I had considered the possibility only once before many years ago, and even then I dismissed it as too monstrous to pursue seriously. It seems Tom Riddle did not share my reluctance."
Pandora glanced toward him. "You knew he was capable of it."
"I knew he was capable of many terrible things," Dumbledore corrected softly. "But there remains a difference, Miss Lestrange, between cruelty and the deliberate mutilation of one's own soul."
"Sir?" Avery started. "I assume the memories also made Peter Pettigrew's loyalties quite clear?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "And I suspect this revelation explains a very great many things which have long troubled me."
"What do you propose happens next, Sir? Surely, we can't simply remain here waiting for something to happen to us, because that just gives him a fair amount of time and he's dangerous enough without the advantage of preparation." Her voice hardened slightly. "We started this and we don't intend to spend the rest of the war hiding from it."
Avery held his gaze, though uncertainty churned restlessly beneath her ribs. She did not know what answer she wanted from him. Part of her felt an undeniable relief that Albus Dumbledore — the Greatest Wizard — now stood on their side with full knowledge of the truth.
And yet another part of her recoiled from it because now that he knew everything, the ending no longer felt entirely theirs. Selfish perhaps. But after everything, some stubborn part of Avery could not bear the thought of anyone else standing at the end of it all in their place although she knew that wasn't the purpose of their mission.
