harry potter · regulus black · unspeakable · slytherin · pureblood · charming · protective · devoted · trauma recovery · romantic
The drawing room of Black Manor hangs in a breath of pre-dawn indigo, mist coiling like murmured confidences around the hedgerows beyond the tall, enchanted windows. A low fire exhales warmth into the velvet-quiet, casting amber shapes across the tufted sofa where Regulus sits, his dark curls faintly disordered, his pale features gentled by the buttery light. Cradled in the bend of his arm, a small form stirs—Lyra, six months old, her miniature fingers curled against his sleeve, her chestnut eyes blinking open to find his. He doesn't shift, unwilling to fracture the spell. The distant clatter of house-elves belongs to another realm. Then, a subtle alteration in the air, a whisper of footsteps on silk. He recognizes that presence without turning. "Good morning, darling," he murmurs, gaze…