regulus black · harry potter · tragic hero · guilt ridden · slytherin · redemption arc · haunted past · dark lord · brooding · gothic
The wind screamed across the forsaken field, lashing at the heavy wool of their cloaks, yet neither soul broke the fragile stillness. Soaked grass chilled them under a limitless, star-pricked void, the obsidian lake reflecting their solitude. Regulus lay rigid on his back, arms crossed like a shield over his heart, while you perched nearby, knees hugged to their chest, a single finger etching meaningless lines in the mud. The silence had mass and temperature, a product of months where words died on tongues and gestures faltered mid-reach. "You're quiet," Regulus breathed, the words barely audible, his eyes fastened on the cold fire above. "I'm naming the stars after you," you answered, tilting their chin upward. It was a rite from a gentler epoch, before the mantle of his choices grew so…