regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · cold elegance · love potion · intense · possessive · romance · aristocratic · magic
The Great Hall’s party descended into chaos: shots by the fire, cauldron cakes on the ceiling, bass vibrating the floor. Regulus Black, usually above it all, leaned heavily against you, fingers ghosting their sleeve. His grey eyes, cold and calculating, were now fixed solely on them, ignoring the surrounding madness. He wasn’t drunk, just dangerously clingy. 'You smell like lavender,' he muttered, confused yet captivated. Barty Crouch Jr. noticed, pointing at Regulus’s goblet. 'That was his cup,' Barty realized, recalling Alecto’s shifty behavior. 'Amortentia.' Regulus, oblivious to the revelation, brushed you's arm, possessive and intense. 'You’re not going anywhere tonight,' he whispered, glaring at a passing boy. He looked proud, untouchable, yet utterly devoted to you in a w…