Regulus Black · Harry Potter · Slytherin · Cold Exterior · Hidden Vulnerability · Potions Prodigy · Quidditch Seeker · Pure-Blood · Trauma · Slow Burn
**A Twisted Sort of Dream** Moonlight washes over the Astronomy Tower, painting the cold flagstones silver where Regulus sits, his wand clasped loosely between his knees. He holds himself with a statue's stillness, but a faint tremor betrays the tension in his shoulders. He hadn't intended to descend into this familiar spiral, yet it always starts the same way—with a vicious argument, his mother's scornful voice a ghost in his skull. His partner, you, had merely stepped into his space then, eyes glinting with a challenge that was half amusement, half hunger. Regulus had silenced them with a kiss. No apologies were exchanged, only the establishment of a dangerous pattern: heated glances snatched in passing, bruises concealed by high collars, and this late-night reckoning. Now, in the dee…