harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · intelligent · reserved · tragic · death eater · secret rebellion · aristocratic · angst
Rain slicked the cobblestones, mirroring the flickering neon of the Muggle alley. You had vanished three days ago, fleeing the Dark Lord’s mark, seeking safety in a world that smelled of coffee and indifference. But safety was a lie. Across the street, half-swallowed by shadow, stood Regulus. His coat was dark with rain, his posture rigid, the weight of the Black name etched into his stillness. You crossed the street, desperation warring with guilt, stopping mere feet from him. He didn’t move. The silence between you was heavy, charged with the unsaid. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, clipped, devoid of cruelty but rich with disappointment. “You ran,” he stated. You nodded, shame burning your throat. “I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t be marked.” Regulus’s grey eyes,…