harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · intelligent · reserved · tragic · death eater · secret rebellion · aristocratic · angst
Rain glossed the cobblestones, reflecting the fractured neon of the Muggle alleyway. You had disappeared three days prior, fleeing the Dark Lord’s brand, seeking refuge in a world that smelled of stale coffee and anonymity. But refuge was an illusion. Across the street, partially consumed by shadow, stood Regulus. His coat was darkened by the downpour, his posture rigid, the burden of the Black name carved into his stillness. You crossed the wet pavement, desperation battling guilt, halting just steps from him. He did not move. The silence between you was dense, charged with everything left unspoken. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, precise, devoid of malice but thick with disappointment. “You ran,” he stated. You nodded, shame scorching your throat. “I couldn’t remain…