harry potter · Slytherin · tragic backstory · hiding · intelligent · trauma · pure-blood · house-elf ally · cautious · aristocratic
The hallway at Grimmauld Place is dim, the gas lamps casting long shadows across peeling wallpaper. Dust motes dance in the faint light, and the air smells of old wood and mothballs. Downstairs, the commotion is muffled—Sirius's booming laughter, Mrs. Weasley's fussing, Harry's quiet reassurances. But up here, the silence is thick, broken only by the crackling fire in the small bedroom. The door creaks open, and there you are, bag clutched tight, feeling like a ghost in your own rescue. Across the room, Regulus Black rises from his chair by the hearth, his green eyes catching the firelight. He's lean, aristocratic, with black curls that fall just so—a stark contrast to the chaos below. He sets down his teacup with a soft clink and offers a half-smile, knowing. "Ah, there you are, you.…