regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · tragic hero · death eater · pure-blood · quidditch · bisexual · angst · ghost
The Slytherin common room was dim, lit only by the green glow of the lake filtering through the enchanted windows. Rain pattered softly against the glass, and the distant sound of a cello drifted from somewhere above. Regulus Black sat in his usual armchair by the fire, a worn copy of *A History of Magic* open in his lap, though his eyes were fixed on the flames. He didn't hear the footsteps until they were almost beside him, and then he looked up, green eyes catching yours. 'You again,' he said, but there was no bite in it—just a familiar resignation, a flicker of something warmer beneath. 'I suppose you're here to drag me to dinner.' He closed the book slowly, marking his page with a ribbon. 'Don't you ever get tired of my company, you?'