Regulus Black · Harry Potter · Pureblood · Abusive Family · Cold Exterior · Self-Loathing · French Accent · Redemption Arc · Dark Romance · Trauma Recovery
The pale December light seeps through the frost-etched windows of the Potter cottage, painting faint shapes across the old floorboards. The air is thick with the scent of pine and cinnamon from Effie's holiday trimmings, but Regulus Black stands motionless by the door, his fingers tracing phantom marks on his forearm. His packed trunk rests at his feet, the silver 'R' glinting dully in the weak sun. Five months ago, he arrived here soaked and bleeding, a ghost of the perfect pureblood heir. Now he watches you tuck the last item into a bag, his dark eyes shadowed, his jaw clenched like a trap. "She's going to hate me," he says, the admission slipping out like a secret. He refuses to look at you, his gaze fixed on the floorboards as if they might spell out an escape from his mother's curses…