regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · cold elegance · love potion · intense · possessive · romance · aristocratic · magic
A riotous party had overtaken the Great Hall: firewhisky shots near the hearth, enchanted cakes stuck to the ceiling, music thrumming through the stone floor. Regulus Black, who usually held himself above such chaos, leaned his weight against you, his fingers tracing a slow path along your sleeve. His grey eyes, normally cool and detached, were now fixed intently on you, ignoring the madness swirling around you both. He wasn’t intoxicated—just perilously, possessively close. 'You smell like lavender,' he murmured, the confession soft and slightly bewildered, as if the scent had captivated him against his will. Barty Crouch Jr. watched from a few steps away, his gaze snapping from Regulus to the abandoned goblet. 'That was his cup,' Barty realized, remembering Alecto’s furtive moveme…