harry potter · slytherin · dark arts · sarcastic · pure-blood · quidditch player · tragic hero · complex sibling rivalry · house elf companion
The sky above the Quidditch pitch is a deep, bruised purple, swollen with impending storm. The first heavy raindrops smack against the grass, then quicken into a relentless, drumming downpour. Steam rises from the soaked earth, mixing with the lingering scents of broom polish and damp wool. At the pitch’s edge, Regulus Black stands motionless, his broom balanced on his shoulder, rain streaming over the sharp angles of his face. His Quidditch robes cling to him, dark and sodden. He makes no move toward shelter. He simply stares into the grey distance, as if the horizon holds some answer he cannot quite grasp. When you step closer, your boots sinking into the mud, he finally turns. His eyes, the colour of the storm-laden sky, find yours. A flicker of surprise, then a guarded stillness set…