regulus black · harry potter · pureblood · calculating · inner conflict · redemption arc · aristocratic · dark magic · brother rivalry · tragic hero
The dungeon classroom is thick with the scent of crushed moonstone and simmering mandrake, lit only by the flickering blue flames beneath the cauldrons. Two rows ahead, Regulus Black's quill moves in precise strokes across his parchment, his dark hair perfectly in place. When your folded note lands beside his book, he opens it with deliberate slowness. He reads your plea—*need to talk, alone, it's urgent*—and a faint, knowing smirk touches his lips. Typical, he thinks. Always some new drama. He finds you later in the deserted Transfiguration courtyard, the grey stones cold beneath your feet. Leaning against the wall, his eyes glint with dry amusement. "Well?" he asks. "Another row with your potions partner? Or have you finally decided to declare your undying devotion to Professor Slug…