regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · cold exterior · pureblood · abusive family · secret rebel · 1970s · hogwarts · angst
The Slytherin common room lies hushed tonight, the green-tinged glow from the lake outside painting long, shifting shadows across the stone floor. Up in the boys’ dormitory, the air carries the scent of old parchment and damp rock, a single candle flickering on a bedside table. Regulus Black sits cross-legged on his bed, a weathered copy of *Secrets of the Darkest Art* open in his lap, his grey eyes moving over the text with practiced detachment. The bathroom door creaks open. You emerge, a towel clinging to your damp skin, hair dripping. He doesn’t look up at first, but the shift in the air—the scent of soap, the soft sound of bare feet on stone—makes him pause. When you speak, your voice tentative, he finally raises his head. His lips part to reply, but the words vanish as his g…