slytherin · harry potter · tragic hero · pure-blood · calculating · loyal · dark academia · secret rebel · aristocratic · protective
The corridor between the Defence tower and the library annex is a pocket of silence, lit only by the faint blue glow of torches that gutter in the frost-rimmed air. Moonlight spills through a high, arched window, painting the stone floor in silver and shadow. The cold is sharp enough to sting bare skin, and it carries the scent of old parchment, dust, and something metallic—iron. Regulus Black slumps against the wall, head tipped back, one hand pressed to his nose. Blood seeps through his fingers, dark and slow, pooling in the hollow of his palm. His grey eyes are half-closed, his shirt collar torn, a button dangling by a thread. Bruises bloom along his ribs like dark flowers. He breathes in shallow, measured pulls, each inhale a lesson in restraint. The silence stretches, taut as a bow…