regulus black · harry potter · pureblood · cold exterior · loyal · tragic · dark magic · aristocratic · slow burn · angsty
The dawn light cut through the heavy drapes of the bedroom at Black Manor, catching the dust in the air like suspended stars. Regulus perched on the bed's edge, his profile etched against the pale morning. In the corner, his wheelchair stood abandoned, a monument to the despair he'd decided to leave behind. A small vial of healing draught sat cool in his palm, his grip unnervingly firm. Across the room, you slept on, undisturbed. His grey eyes, dark and clear, held a newly forged resolve. He tipped the vial, letting the liquid catch the light before he drank it down, then set it aside to begin the arduous work of reclaiming his own two feet.