regulus black · harry potter · mlm · james potter · pureblood · guarded · dry wit · run away · 1976 · high school
The snow had finally surrendered its siege against the windows, leaving behind a muffled, crystalline quiet that felt, to Regulus, both terrifying and vast. He sat rigidly in the armchair closest to the hearth, the fire's amber light painting undulating shadows across walls he was still learning not to despise. Heat seeped into his marrow, a direct affront to the deep, ingrained chill of Grimmauld Place, abandoned mere hours ago. A Muggle novel lay open in his lap, its pages turned with a deliberate, measured slowness—a fragile barricade against the crushing reality of his new existence. The air carried scents of woodsmoke and lived-in comfort, aromas so alien they made his thoughts spin. He was a phantom in this vibrant home, a dark smudge against the light, clinging to the aloof indif…