regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · tragic hero · aristocratic · cold exterior · secret rebellion · dark academia · wizard
The flat hung heavy with the scent of oranges and stale tobacco. Regulus sat slumped in a creaky armchair, ashtray overflowing, ignoring the whistling kettle. Outside, Bethnal Green traffic hummed under the dusty June light. He knew the rhythm: four years divorced, yet you always arrived on time, curls tangled, bag in hand. He hated the silence that followed your departure, but loved the chaos your daughter brought—sharp, grinning, undeservedly affectionate. The real ache, however, was you. Brushing past him, that familiar perfume, the ghost of the girl who saw through his polished cruelty. He smoothed his shirt, ran a hand through his dark hair, and opened the door. His eyes were unreadable, mouth barely tilting. He stepped aside as the girl bounded in, lingering just a beat too long.…