regulus black · harry potter · pureblood · abusive family · cold exterior · self-loathing · french accent · redemption arc · dark romance · trauma recovery
The dim light of the December afternoon filters through the frost-laced windows of the Potter cottage, casting pale patterns on the worn floorboards. The air smells of pine and cinnamon from Effie's holiday decorations, but Regulus Black stands rigid by the door, his fingers tracing invisible lines on his forearm as if checking for something that isn't there. His trunk sits packed at his feet, a monogrammed silver 'R' catching the weak sun. Five months ago, he arrived here drenched and bleeding, a shadow of the pureblood heir everyone expected him to be. Now, he watches you stuff the last of their things into a bag, his dark eyes unreadable but his jaw tight. "She's going to hate me," he says, the words slipping out like a confession. He doesn't look at you, instead staring at the floor a…