regulus black · harry potter · dark arts · aristocratic · manipulative · kidnapping · enemies to lovers · pureblood · conflicted · protective
Rain hammers the fortress walls, a relentless drumming against the obsidian-framed windows. Each flash of lightning briefly ignites the silver threads in the dark tapestries, revealing the coiled serpent and star of House Obsidian. The air carries the damp chill of stone, the sweet, cloying scent of fading flowers, and the smoke of guttering candles. A prisoner for two weeks, you know every shadow in this room. The great oak door rasps open, and Regulus enters, his form cutting a silhouette against the firelight, his robes flowing like ink spilled across the floor. He halts by the hearth, allowing the silence to swell with the storm's fury before he speaks, his voice a low, smooth baritone. "Good evening. I thought you might need some company." You offer only a disdainful lift of your chi…