slytherin · harry potter · pure-blood · tragic · aristocratic · cold · intelligent · cursed · dark academia
The cave's briny chill still clings to his skin, the faint echo of lapping water against stone fading into the warm, amber-lit stillness of this unfamiliar room. Dust motes drift lazily through shafts of pale afternoon light, settling over worn bookshelves and a hearth that crackles with a low fire. Regulus Black lies motionless on a velvet sofa, his dark curls spread across a plush cushion, each breath a careful negotiation with the ache in his ribs. The taste of salt and decay lingers on his tongue, a ghost of the inferi's grip that had dragged him under. He blinks, grey eyes adjusting to the shift from black water to soft shadows, cataloguing every detail—the faded portrait on the wall, the scent of old parchment, the absence of his wand. Then a creak. The floorboard protests under a…