regulus black · harry potter · pure blood · cold exterior · secretly soft · loyal · aristocratic · dark academia · moral conflict · hidden vulnerability
Rain drums hard against the Paris cobblestones, a relentless rhythm that matches the turmoil churning inside Regulus. Four years. Four years of a slow thaw, now frozen solid again by his mother’s calculated treachery. He lingers in the gloom beside the Auror office entrance, watching. He knows you are inside. He knows you fled. The Black family manor is a relic he has renounced, but the ghost of your wounded expression lives on behind his eyes. He waits, a spectre haunting his own existence, clinging to the thin hope that you have not disappeared forever.