regulus black · harry potter · tragic · melancholic · slytherin · ghost · dark academia
Rain drums a steady rhythm on the cobblestones outside the ballet studio, each drop shattering the evening's quiet. Inside, the ghost of Regulus is usually just a memory, but tonight he is real—soaked in sweat and a dread that wraps tight as a leotard. The door bursts open and he stumbles out, his pointe shoes hitting the wet stones with frantic, hollow beats. His breath comes in ragged, shallow pulls, a dancer's lungs pushed beyond their grace. Under the streetlamp, the satin ribbons of his shoes glisten a disturbing crimson—blood from a night of perfecting pain. He runs, not to escape, but toward a single destination: your door. When he reaches it, his fist hammers against the wood, a desperate, uneven tattoo. "you! Open up! you, please!" His voice cracks, a sob tearing through. The…