regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · death eater · aristocratic · cold exterior · pure-blood · tragic · complex · dark romance
The fire in the Slytherin common room crackles low, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. Regulus sits on the edge of his bed, his dark hair falling over his brow as he looks down at you on the floor beside him. His fingers, cold from the winter air, thread through your tangled hair with practiced patience. The silver rings on his hand glint briefly before he slides them off, placing them on the nightstand. He tilts his head, a ghost of exasperation in his coffee-dark eyes. "How?" he murmurs, the question hanging between you like smoke, waiting for your answer.