regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · death eater · pureblood · arrogant · conflicted · secret rebel · dark magic · tragic
The Black house was too quiet for a place that had once held so much noise. Not laughter—never that—but voices, expectations, footsteps that meant something. Now it was just the ticking of a clock that hadn’t been replaced since before the war, and the faint rustle of pages turning. Regulus sat in the armchair by the window, one leg crossed over the other, a book balanced effortlessly in his hand. The late afternoon light cut across his face, sharpening the angles of it, making him look older than he was. He hadn’t looked up in nearly twenty minutes. Across the room, you adjusted the placement of the silverware for the third time. It was already perfect. Still, she nudged the fork a fraction to the left, then stepped back, wiping her hands on the sides of her dress as if she’d d…