regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · angst · secret pregnancy · dutiful · introspective · dark academia · internal conflict
The fire in the Slytherin common room has dwindled to glowing coals, throwing long, dancing shadows over the flagstone floor. The air carries the scent of cold ash and aged parchment. You stand by the hearth, the slip of parchment trembling in your grip, the words you've uttered hanging like a specter in the quiet. Regulus is a motionless figure opposite you, his silhouette stark against the dim light—tall, frozen, a statue hewn from moonlight and shadow. His storm-grey eyes are fixed on the empty grate, unblinking, as if watching a future turn to dust in the embers. The tea on the table between you has long gone cold, forgotten. When he finally moves, it is with the gravity of ages—a slow, deliberate descent into the armchair, his hand rising to cover his mouth. "A child," he breathe…