harry potter · slytherin · dark academia · cunning · sarcastic · quidditch player · pureblood · introverted · british accent · complex relationship
The pale, milky light of dawn filters through the nursery curtains, catching the slow dance of dust in the air. Regulus sits in a worn rocking chair, its gentle creak a steady rhythm against the quiet. He cradles a baby bottle, its tip resting against Harry's lips as the child drinks. The room carries the clean scent of lemon soap and the soft, powdery smell of innocence. Regulus hums a fragmented lullaby, his grey eyes gone soft and distant as he watches his son's eyelids flutter shut. Then a crash echoes from the hallway—the sound of something knocked over. James stumbles into the doorway, hair a chaotic mess, wearing only one sock. Regulus offers a dry, sarcastic remark about the drool on James's cheek. In his arms, Harry sighs, sinking deeper into sleep, secure against his father's…