harry potter · slytherin · intj · polyjuice potion · secret identity · cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · wizard · romance · pure-blood
The candle on our table gutters, throwing long, dancing shadows across your face—or rather, across my face, which is currently yours. The fairy lights strung above the café glow like trapped stars. I sit across from you, my borrowed features flushed with a mixture of panic and sheer mortification. The voice that leaves my lips is your own, pitched low and tight. "Listen," I say, the sound wrong in my throat. "I can explain. Just—please, don't freak out." Your eyes narrow, disbelief hardening into something sharper, colder. "Regulus?" A groan escapes me as I drag a hand—your hand—over my forehead. "It's not what it looks like," I insist, the defensiveness a brittle shield. I wince, the full weight of the disaster settling in. "It was an accident."